"This is your last chance to leave this place."

Were Dacian the wry, dry-witted type of evil overlord, the kind who sought constantly to declare their superiority lest any in hearing range doubt it, he might have replied with a deadpan quip like "No, old man - it is yours." Even a coyly raised eyebrow and a hearty evil laugh would have been sufficient to convey the sort of arrogant distaste expected of a Sith.

That was the enemy's great mistake, however - thinking Dacian was just another upstart Sith trying to seize their petty, self-aggrandizing mantle. The Sith thought they were winning because the bodies of their enemies littered the ground, but for the Crusade this was no hindrance. Indeed, where the Sith could think only selfishly of personal challenges to their power and exulted in private victories, the Crusade saw the whole battle. The temple rocked once more as a fresh wave of ordnance impacted against it.

The Crusade's forces quickly rallied around their leader once more, weapons bristling. Their numbers had not suffered notably from the bloodbath, unlike the Sith, whose casualties were few but whose every loss noticeably dwindled their fellowship. Dacian and Silk, their elite brethren packed all around them, remained at the front staring down the Sith for a few moments.

Wordlessly, Dacian peeled the black rags of his robe back, revealing the stained suit of armour beneath. It had belonged to a great leader, slain by Dacian before his nascent Force power had been discovered. The artifact, however, was still infused with the essence of his ancestors. Like the mask perched on Dacian's brow it was an object of the Force, but dedicated to a very different alignment.

The armour revealed, power welled up in the young Crusader, but this was of a different sort than the darkness that roiled within the temple's cramped corridors. Indeed, to the shock of the assembled forces piercing white lights shone from Dacian, dazzling and illuminating the shadows and sparking as a beacon in the Force. The Lightside was briefly invoked, and though the power felt bound and broken rather than pure, it was undoubtedly present.

All round, Dacian's faithful struggled to their feet. In part born of will that went beyond sanity, in part born of the soulless void they filled with the Crusade, in part born of the pulsing energy from their master, the Void knights returned.

Again, another dark lord would have felt the need to exposition this strange turn of events, or give a moment to gloat and let the mystery sink in on his adversary. Dacian had no need for such theatrics - the moment the power at his command was called, he threw himself forwards once more. Even as the light dimmed and shadows returned, Dacian was already charging towards Vicirus - and the Crusade was once more sent barrling into the Sith.

This time, however, it was different. Their strength tested and their bloodlust sated, the Crusade struck as a cold and inevitible machine. The knights poured either side of Vicirus, an impenetrable wall of scything lightsabers that cut down impetuous Sith and drove the rest to flight. One does not duel an army, nor does the fighting prowess of a lone warrior compare to a well-coordinated army, and as concentrated volleys of fire from elite Crimson Brothers forced the Sith to fall back, the fatal flaw of their enemy was revealed - the Sith were brilliant warriors, but terrible soldiers.

Dacian too was different, coming after Vicirus with wild abandon. The tactical benefit of this move was questionable, considering Vicirus was the more experienced swordsman and Force user, but with the Crusade surging all around them, the chaotic swirl of the Force engulfing the battle, and the constant rocking of the temple as fresh attacks hit home, the two seemed at least temporarily evenly matched.

Leaping into the air, Dacian landed to Vicirus's back, between him and his fellow Sith, who were being driven steadily back by a growing wave of charging Crusaders. Two Void knights turned by unspoken command to their master's side, mirroring his stance as he prepared to attack again.

"You won't be walking away from this," Dacian stated, without an ounce of malice or emotion - merely an utterance of fact. Lightsaber swinging in erratic arcs through the air, Dacian and his servants charged the Sith Lord anew.

(OOC: This is Dolash. Subbing for Silk in his absence.)

The Crimson Brotherhood continued their push, marching in tight formation behind the advancing wall of Void Knights. The Crusader army was driving deeper into the temple, which burned with clashing dark fire and shook with every fresh bombardment. The disciples of two different teachings tore one another apart in the name of their masters, fighting and dying by laser, lightsaber, and good old fashioned brutality.

Silk had once believed as they did. In his youth, he had looked up in awe at figures like Palpetine and Maim, and his blind devotion had seen him stranded, expected to waste away on Yinchor. Against all expectations - including, at times, his own - he had survived, and a new way of seeing the galaxy was born.

That was the start, Silk knew, of the philosophy that became the Crusade. In the caves of Yinchor and the jungles of Mandalore, on the road while travelling the Unknown Regions, in dark places where there was no blind ritualism or complacent comforts - there it had been forged, hammered into the deadly spearpoint that thundered unstoppably through the temple before him. It was the tide of change that sought to sweep Xa'Fel away.

The harried soldier Silk had assigned to follow with communications to the Crimson Emperor came pushing through the ranks to reach his lord. Offering a quick bow even in the middle of the carnage, he raised up the comm and said "My lord, the Crimson Emperor has spotted Imperial reinforcements appearing in orbit."

Snatching the comm from his servant, Silk hissed "Update me on the situation immediately." Upon hearing of the situation, the dark lord suppressed a harsh growl. "So the Empire has chosen to involve themselves... no matter. Call in the Lazik reinforcements immediately, raise shields and prime weapons. Remain in position and keep them at bay for now - you must stay in place until our work is done."

Even as he said the words, the Crimson Emperor itself came to life, with its' large shield generators crackling to life. Cannons more akin to ancient days yet packed with modern lethality rose rack upon rack to face the distant Imperial threats. The Lazik pirates, themselves lurking just out of system, were ordered to microjump back in - and they jumped, rocketing towards glorious battle like only the truly criminally insane can.

But the battle in space was not yet a concern for Lord Silk, who turned his attention quickly back to the battle in front of him - and the one behind him. Further back was Dacian and Vicirus, whom Dacian had insisted on engagin alone, and as the Crusade drove the other Sith further and further into the temple, they left their master further and further behind.

Silk wanted so much to strike at Vicirus, to destroy him for daring to claim a throne which he had no right to. Had he served at the feet of Emperors, or gleaned dark secrets from the raw earth? Silk saw through titles and pompous superiority to the character beneath, and beneath he saw a weakness.

The Sith relied on others to be themselves. They needed temples. They needed titles and flowing robes and the fear of inferiors. They needed sycophantic apprentices and mewling servants, for without these things? Without them they were nothing - they were bitter old men, bereft of purpose or stature. Without the precious Order that cocooned men like Vicirus, they were dust. And that was when Silk knew how to strike a blow greater than any Dacian would strike in battle. "We must open their eyes..."

Suddenly breaking from his command position, Silk pushed through the tightly packed ranks of his Crimson brethren, through the massed horde of the Unspoken, and through the glowing phalanx of Void Knight sabers to where the Sith - apprentices of all stripes, the great majority of the Order's new generation - stood fighting. They seemed in high spirits despite their strategicly weak position, no doubt taking the great casualties they were inflicting as a sign of victory even as they lost the larger battle.

Some turned and sneered at the new challenger pushing to the fore, for none, not even the eldest and most knowledgeble, recognized the man that stood before them. He didn't even brandish his blade as they approached, though some of the more observant noted his own allies backing away.

Here the Old Silk would have thrown in a quip, or a disparaging remark, but for the moment his disdain was... Unspoken. The dark clouds of Force energy that hung over the battle began to swirl around him, as the Crusader army waited expectantly for him to begin.

Decades of training and experience. A lifetime of pain and of inflicting pain. Years of mastery of the dark arts. The touch of a god. The Dark Side infused Silk's ever fiber, his entire being. To stand in a place so consecrated to his faith, as misunderstood as the Sith saw it, only fed his power as a foul storm began to sweep around him. The Force was running strong in this battle, and the time had come to call on it.

Winds began to whip from nowhere as Silk rose his hands to the vaunted ceiling. Lightning in mighty arcs shot from his hands as the semi-etheral clouds of Force energy became manifest, swirling into the vortex that rose above him. The apprentices tried to turn away, tried to escape, but they were as leaves caught in a whirlwind. Their own blind lust, hunger and fumbling love of the dark side only made them all the more vulnerable as it crackled in greater strength around Silk.

Then the chanting began. First the Unspoken fanatics, wild and desperate men from all walks of life whispering feverish prayers of preservation. Then the Crimson Brotherhood, with the deep, harsh tones of the true believer. Then the Void Knights, in a terrible drone, syncronized beyond the bounds of humanity. Each note adds to the rising storm, the spiritual battle-meld of the Crusade that unites its' disparate elements in a twisted faith.

The darkness washed over the Unspoken, for they were consecrated in its' belief. The darkness washed over the Crimson Brotherhood, for they were as one with their master. The darkness washed over the Void Knights, for they were soulless things, immune to the deadly allure. But for the apprentices of the Sith, in their folly, the Dark Side was seen as death. It was a poison, to be used as a weapon but never embraced - the Crusade embraced it, lived, it and so as Silk at last began hurling the dark power accumulated in their souls, the Dark Side seperated the worthy from the false, and the Sith died.

Bolts of lightning and shadow tore into the apprentices, the storm all around them an inescapable wash of the Dark Side. For most, it was simply too much, for they were mere acolytes and they could not endure the very evil power they sought to master. As they fell screaming and shuddering to the ground, souls and minds lost in lethal floods of the Force, only the barest few escaped alive - those few gifted enough to be spared the wrath of the Dark side unleashed. They scattered in the face of Silk's bewildering attack.

"Run!" Silk howled as the storm raged all around, the Crusader army advancing now unimpeded into the temple. "Run while your unseeing eyes and ignorant souls can protect you, for the Force shall not!" The temple rumbled once more as chunks of masonry shook loose from above. The Sith would die. The Dark Side would live on.

With a fierceness that belied his calm exterior, Xykarn slashed and mutilated his way through the oncoming enemies. His red lightsaber cleaved through multiple targets in single movements, the young Apprentice making use of the heavily-powered Form IV; wherein every stroke was an effective spin or twirl, basically leading into the very next attack in the same motion. Aside from the fatigue garnered by his own body the young man could keep the minimal strokes and attacks constant for an indefinite amount of time, however the battle had already lasted for a considerable period – in terms of actual enemy engagement – and no sessions in training could account for real combat.

Needless to say, the effort of maintaining combat forms and evading enemy attacks was becoming strenuous; yet, the only thought that kept the Sith Apprentice going was the fact that the enemy would surely be feeling the same, and that they didn’t have the Force to call upon as Xykarn did to replenish themselves as wholly as he could…

Stabbing into another Void Knight, Xykarn gritted his teeth as a blaster bolt impacted with his shoulder. The wound was superficial, as the energy it had once maintained was absorbed and turned inward; the Sith Apprentice felt a wave of power flow over him, as the dissipated energy gave him a momentary boost of surplus power. Deciding on how to spend the energy, the Apprentice pulled one arm backward, close to himself; then, focusing his use of the Force, he sent a Force-wave crashing across the enemies immediately in front of him.

A smirk crossed the young man’s features, before he realized that another, far more deadly threat, had just presented itself…

How to explain the sensation of the Force, or more accurately the Dark Side, being unleashed against you in an ill-intended manner? One could not wholly fathom the complexity of the touch, pain, suffering that such a use of the Force could impart on another being; one did not willingly succumb to such a spell of rage and destruction, and it remained that the Sith Apprentices were caught almost completely off guard.

…save they weren’t idiots.

Training in the use of the Force not only brought to one’s knowledge the ability to destroy an opponent’s mind, but also how to defend against such happening to you. To say that Master Vicirus had been so dim-witted as to only impart offensive teachings upon his students, was to say that Palpatine had simply gotten lucky to become Emperor. Defence against the Dark Side came as well-regarded as against the Light Side; the Sith Apprentice’s knew how to guard their minds, how to employ the Force to construct shields against attacks such as the one being unleashed by the enemy leader, and it was out of sheer foolishness that the man known as Silk believed killing the Sith would be so easy.

Xykarn noticed the gathering power, he had felt it through the Force as well as witnessed with his own eyes. He was no stranger to the powers being used, and even if he couldn’t rise to such Force-manipulative levels as Silk, he could recognize and take appropriate action…

“Fall back,” The young Apprentice snapped, even as he finished his attack on a nearby Void Knight, the creature’s head falling from it’s neck with the passing of the red blade. “Escape the initial radius of the Force attack, protect your minds!”

Following his own advice, Xykarn began to retreat, moving backward as he maintained a defence in front of him. He would never turn his back on the enemy, as that was the height of stupidity. Likewise, fellow Sith Apprentices began to fall further into the depths of the temple passageways, effectively disengaging from the struggle with the use of their weapons and the Force.

Only those few who felt it unnecessary to heed Xykarn’s warning remained; and they would be the few who perished in the oncoming onslaught.

“Spread out, begin Master Vicirus’ plan,” Xykarn bellowed, as he rounded the passage corner, before he promptly spun and began sprinting away from the immediate area. He knew that others were doing likewise, and that they would begin to spread out through the temple, to begin guerrilla tactics against the enemy – just as Master Vicirus had planned.

Somehow the Sith Apprentices had managed to stay with their Master, ignoring his advice to begin with. Now, however, Xykarn saw the wisdom in the Sith Master’s words: he simply wanted to spread the Sith out in order for them to escape being decimated in one fell swoop, and while it could be considered dangerous to move in smaller groups against a larger enemy, it remained that being killed in one big group was far less effective. At least by employing hit-and-run strategies they could take out some of the opposing army.

Searching for Camiron, the young Apprentice caught the distinct blonde of his companion. Motioning, Xykarn began to lead the way he had decided would be best to make use of, taking a right down another corridor and opening his body to the swiftness granted with enhancement of the Force. While the army beyond were numerous, they still couldn’t keep up with an opponent with heightened speed. As he came to a slowed stop, having evaded the enemy for the time being, Xykarn turned to look after Camiron…

He only hoped the other had made it as well.

Vicirus had lost his patience; no longer did he see the need to play the part of the pitiful Sith Master who had fallen into a state of complacency, to impart the belief he was but a meagre stepping stone to be crushed under foot. The enemy brought their armies, the enemy brought their star ships, the enemy brought a staggeringly strong self-belief in what they did and how it was felt as nothing but true.

It was a fanatical insanity that would come of use to the Sith Master soon.

The Sith Master had pushed forward, repelled the enemy, only to have them rush forward again. It seemed their horde were endless, with each individual holding a connection to the nexus of the assault; namely, Silk. How Vicirus wished that Recon would step up to the challenge, to engage Silk through the will of the mind, for even as Vicirus knew he could, he couldn’t while also engaging the enemy on the frontlines.

"You won't be walking away from this," Dacian stated, his voice underlining his equilibrium.

Pitiful boy, Vicirus thought to himself; the young man opposing him was nothing compared to Silk, he had left the temple as a mere Apprentice – and he remained so. As such the Sith Master’s attention was partially on the leader of the army, the ex-Royal Guardsman...

Even as Silk disappeared into the throng of enemies crammed into the temple passage, Vicirus couldn’t help but encourage the seething hatred of the man to bubble over once more. Even as Dacian and his stooges began to attack him, slicing and slashing with lightsabers in hand, Vicirus couldn’t help but encourage the growing power Silk had begun to call upon. Even as the Force ripped through the area, tearing into the Sith Apprentices that had remained to engage the enemy, Vicirus couldn’t help but smile within himself as Silk’s very power rolled over the Sith Master…

Instantly, Vicirus was empowered, pulling the formidable Force attack into himself, absorbing the very essence it offered, embracing the pure darkness and converting it into a source he could readily use against his own enemies. Vicirus understood a considerable amount of the depths of the power he used as his own, the slithering touch of the Dark Side; he understood the allure the power offered, the deathly grip it imposed on those who sought it, and he understood that he could fall into the darkness without abandon just as easily as the one wielding the power presently. And while Silk was talented, this was true, he still had a far limited touch on the power and understanding Vicirus could employ with his more extensive knowledge of the Force… and employ them the Sith Master would.

Right now.

The enemy that surrounded the Sith Master were holding back, seemingly unwilling to engage him directly. He used this fact to his advantage, even as he deflected one of the attacks made by Dacian, and called upon the Force to activate the ancient temple doors to the Sith Master’s back. With a grinding crash the stone expanses closed, the doors closing together in the middle of the doorway; they were constructed of the same stone as the temple itself, they were heavy, and Vicirus destroyed the controls for them with a simple thought. The crusaders pouring into the temple were suddenly halted, their numbers cut off as quickly as the doors had closed. Even if the ploy didn’t hold them for long, it would be long enough…

Vicirus looked at Dacian, caught the young man’s eyes, held the stare. For but an instant there seemed an echo of the words he had spoken moment prior, you won't be walking away from this, save the feeling was being passed from the Sith Master. With it came the underlying threat of pain, suffering and death; the process would be swift, the result final.

If the boy felt fear, he would feel it now.

Calling on a whole different understanding of the Force, Vicirus channelled a far more elusive power through his body, filling every inch of his physical self; and with an effort of concentration the Sith Master seemed to blink out of existence, almost literally disappearing into nothingness. Suddenly the enemy were left staring at one another, the hole in their lines where the Sith had been now void of any presence, mental or physical or otherwise…

He was, literally, gone; yet the hollowness and anxiety of approaching destruction was very present and very real...



With a blink, Phenrik saw his Master appear. The small Aing-Tii monk had been awaiting Vicirus’ arrival, had even been manipulating the enemy below in the lower floors of the temple in his own way. Now, however, the time had come for the plan Vicirus had concocted to be realized, and it would be truly decimating to the crusaders.

“I was growing concerned, Master Vicirus of Sith,” Phenrik intoned, giving a short bow as he walked quickly to the Sith Master’s side, offering a steady shoulder. Even if the creature was only as high as the human’s waist, at least it was something to place a hand on if required.

As such, it came as no surprise when Vicirus merely walked to his meditating chamber, ignoring the offer.

“Your use of my people’s teleporting ability has finally come full circle, and you use it very well after our months of practice,” Phenrik continued, impassive to the dismissal. He instead focused on the task at hand, of the state of mind the pair would be required to fall into in order to destroy those beneath them. “I have prepared as best I could, we should be able to construct that power which you wish effectively and quickly. I also bring news of my fellow Aing-Tii, and they shall arrive within the next standard twenty minutes… they are finalizing the preparation of their war craft, and then will teleport to aid your Imperial brethren.”

Taking his seat promptly, Vicirus glanced to the Aing-Tii. The words spoken by the creature were superficial, merely lingering thoughts amid a more important thought path. The enemy were now pressed into the temple, where they were waiting the systematic death that would come to them through the use of the Apprentices; the Sith Master, however, had a far grander plan in mind, one which was now about to begin:

The destruction of the crusader’s army.

With a smile, Vicirus closed his eyes and focused himself. Phenrik would remain on hand, ready to defend his master if required; while also being the voice to Vicirus’ wishes as the Sith Master concentrated. He would need every ounce of power at his disposal to complete the move he now attempted, and it would do no good for him to remain without protection…

Vicirus began to channel his power.

Phenrik, on the other hand, had moved to the communications station located in one corner of the Sith Master’s chamber. Activating the secure line, he keyed in the decryption code that would allow for a short-range, tight beamed transmission to be made to the Imperial forces above Xa Fel.

“This is Phenrik Osh’lan of Aing-Tii, advisor to Master Vicirus of Sith,” The small being spoke, broadcasting at the same moment he spoke into the speaker. “The Sith Master has tasked me with informing the Imperial forces of the enemies we face, and the numbers they command. Our sensor arrays have recorded the appropriate information pertaining to the Crusade’s fleet, while at present there is a considerable army presence surrounding the temple ranging in number according to species and unit…”

After another minute of updating the Imperial communications officer on the situation, including sending the planetary sensory reports, Phenrik disengaged the communication with a farewell and good wish. The alien turned to the Master, skittering his way back to Vicirus’ side, the Aing-Tii’s large eyes searching the human’s features.

“It is done,” Phenrik said simply, before he stood back and watched.



Outside the temple, the masses of Crusaders that had been locked off from the internals of the structure felt a steadily increasing pressure forming all around them. Following the closure of the temple doors things had seemingly changed in the environment around the temple area…

It was hard to explain, difficult to understand, yet it was happening; something foreboding was approaching.

The first indication was a crackling of displaced energy in the midst of the army outside of the temple. The Force was a diluted fathom of misunderstanding and mystery, however the use of the power was unmistakable. When the first wispy lengths of swirling dark cloud began to appear, slowly rotating around a single nexus of a focal point, did the armies of the Crusade understand something was wrong. Even as that swirling vortex began to expand, increasing in power and lividity, the hordes were at a standstill, as the situation played out over a matter of heartbeats…

Without any more warning, the power of the Dark Side exploded. The swirling mass became fuelled with deadly winds, the eye of the storm growing as the space within became darker, all light slowly disappearing in the wake of the maw that already devoured the closest to its emergence. The armies were thrown into disarray, for no matter the species or their control of their emotional selves, could witness the slowly expanding form of a Force Storm and willingly face it!

The storm broke through their lines, its radius spreading to grip those within the grasp of the dark, rippling waves and tear them into the vast void of the black hole that now formed in its center. Hundreds of crusaders were obliterated, sucked into the nexus, while more began to tumble into the vacuum that ripped ground, trees and every physical element from where it had been prior; nothing was safe, not even the laser fire from the starships in orbit, as their deadly beams began to angle in toward the gravitational disturbance before reaching their intended target, the temple.

Limbs were torn asunder; cries of pain from those literally shredded apart feeding the inferno of fear and death; the crusaders army had had the Force Storm dropped on them, in the very center of their formations and, consequently, the most populated area of their military might. Despite the onslaught, despite the death and chaos, the Force Storm continued to grow, expanding to devour more and more…



Sweat beaded down Vicirus’ forehead, the effort maintained to remain in control of such a powerful element almost overtaking him. His mind felt as though it were going to be torn in two, his body felt as though it had been sucked completely dry of any semblance of life; yet, now deeply connected with the Dark Side, the Sith Master continued to feed the raging maw beyond the temple with wild hatred. No crusader, no enemy of the Sith, would step foot in this temple once he had finished. None of Silk’s army would survive, Vicirus would ensure to that, even if the effort killed him; the Sith Order would remain, and it would continue to be untouched by those who sought to step beyond the bounds of the Sith code!

At the point where the nexus of Force energy had become akin to a living thing in itself, Vicirus began to pull his presence away. He forced the Dark Side to relinquish it’s grasp upon his being, to unhand his mind and to allow him to return to his physical body; and for a moment it was as though he were going to fail, until a familiar presence joined his own, empowering the Sith Master with enough strength of will to resist the deep summoning of the maw without…

“Master Vicirus of Sith,” Phenrik breathed, the alien crouched beside the Sith Master, peering down at the human’s sprawled out form with concern. “You have used too much power, filled the storm with too much of your essence… you cannot do more until you recover. I must get you from this place while we are able, for the maw expands of it’s own accord now… it will not stop until the limits of it’s own power are reached.”

With a heavy head, on a body that felt of nothing but numb pain, Vicirus slowly shouldered to a sitting position. The Sith Master had succeeded in creating a Force Storm capable of decimating Silk’s army, and left to its own devices it would surely do its work… and even if some managed to escape, the destruction would be enough to severely hinder the crusader’s progress and attack. It would give the Sith the time that both the Imperials, and Lupercus, needed to join the fray.

“It may even reach the temple, Master Vicirus of Sith,” Phenrik said, his voice low with the implication of potential death.

“Good, I would have the storm grow until Silk’s entire horde is completely destroyed, even if that means the loss of this temple and even Xa Fel.” Vicirus sneered, his eyes flashing with anger as he looked at the creature. The Sith Master moved to his feet with effort, being supported by the alien. Just the energy required to stand was enough to cause the Sith Master to consider simply rolling over to await whatever fate his destiny should bring.

“The Apprentices now have a chance, but you must warn them to be ready to abandon the temple at a moments notice. Use me as the conduit, as I wish to keep your presence a secret for a while yet,” Vicirus continued, walking toward his chamber, before sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. “Prepare for Silk and his temple-dwelling numbers to surge through this place. They will seek to find all of us and administer death. To stand against them I will require both time and energy… once you have warned the Apprentices, we will begin the replenishing techniques of the Aing-Tii.”

Phenrik simply nodded, turning his attention to the Sith numbers, of which there remained so little. He relayed the information he had been given, channelling his energy through the Sith Master, sending the message through Vicirus’ presence…

Skygge watched as the Void Knight crashed through the undergrowth. Well, not crashed necessarily, but compared to her he sounded like a kryat dragon. She moved behind him without sound, without an indication of her presence. And she knew something that he did not know. She knew that there was another following him.

There was a beast on Xa Fel, one of the most deadly in the galaxy. Some had postulated that it was a hybrid between the Vornskr and some other sort of animal, but what sort no one was quite sure. What was known was that it had the ability to hunt through the Force while still hiding its presence. Not only that, but it's six legs and two rows of teeth were incredibly dangerous in combat. Fighting one was hard enough.

The Knight didn't have a chance. An entire pack of Wolfin were on its tail, subtly influenced by Skygge's manipulations. Twelve Wolfin against one Void Knight. She didn't have to worry about him any more. The only indication of the attack was the screams of the dying man as the Wolfin ripped his legs off and the silencing of those screams when the beasts tore out his throat.

Skygge smiled. It was not the Sith way to live in symbiosis with nature, but she still retained those parts of the Jedi philosophy that were useful to her. She had, in the past, fed this pack with apprentices who were, as she deemed them, unworthy, and they knew that whenever she touched their minds, food would follow. As such, she protected herself from both the wolfin and her enemies.

Two down, three to go, she thought. Two of the Void Knights had gone completely in the wrong direction, and it would take them a long time to hack their way back to where Skygge was. The Huntress, though, had disappeared. Apparently whoever it was was skilled in stealth, as Skygge was. This would be interesting.

The Void Knights had turned towards Skygge's position, thinking wrongly that she had killed their comrade. Skygge touched the wolfins' minds once more, warning them that danger was approaching and pointing out Force signatures. Most would think it a courtesy to those who had helped her, but Skygge had a different purpose. The Knights, upon reaching the wolfin, would find twelve beasts with teeth and claws waiting. They would either die or be occupied for some time. Now, time to find the Huntress.

Skygge thought back to the last indication of the Huntress's presence. It was still near the punji pit, and so she headed in that direction. It took some time, of course, as she had followed the Void Knight for some time. By the time she reached the area around the pit, the other Knights were quite close to the wolfin. It had been thirty minutes.

Skygge stepped out into the path and looked around. The Huntress was still invisible, both to the Force and to the naked eye. Now, to draw out the Huntress. As screams echoed through the Force - presumably the death of the remaining Void Knights - Skygge spoke. "Huntress, your allies are dead. It is you and me now, alone. Show yourself."

Sailors of every navy have confronted their fears as they cast off their moorings for the first time. Stories of baudy matrons whose promiscuity was legend filled every tavern in every port of call, something every sailor and officer could rely on when he put in, regardless of allegiance. There was something else in those taverns, though, along with the tales of glory and plenty and conquest - martial and human - usually told by the seasoned veteran who spoke few words, making each one bit out the subject of rapt attention. Yes, while his younger comrades dreamed of harlots and hauls, he told of the darker realm that was adventure - monsters so great they could tear a battleship in two, lands so desolate not even scum could be found, forces so evil not even the fire of hell dared touch them. The men and a few women cast off and took with them the nighmares of others, dreaming and believing as he and she saw fit. Most would never encounter anything but a favorable wind and balanced account book; some would disbelieve and die regretting having forgotten the warnings of that caloused old veteran.


Digging down into the pit of his stomach, Henrold Odin remembered his first shoreleave as an Ensign, he remembered the woman who had made him a man, and he remembered afterwards having laughed as he bragged of his deed to his fellows. He remembered now the hoarse preview of things to come from a barrel-chested Chief Petty Officer who had been demoted more times then some men would be paid, he remembered ignoring his tale of ghost ships and heartless enemies. Odin remembered forgotting - now he remembered why he was scared. His eyes looked down at the screen before him as long-range holoviewers scanned over the beast of steel a hundred kilometers off the bow. From crevices and boxy turret-like constructs protruded open ended shafts that may have been guns, some gilded with bronze heroins and the images of beauty, some with fireblasted iron pictures as grotesque as a man could imagine. Scarred steel ran next to shined tubing, windows were surrounded by gargoyles and phantoms, some so off colour that he thought them crafted from stone.


The Captain shuddered and looked away. He looked at the Commodore, stone faced and calm for the crew, his eyes screaming the terror dared not show. He mouthed a command that no one heard. Odin found the strength to nudge his superior who nodded in thanks. He looked to another screen and observed the situation as best possible: troops were on the planet and most of the enemy fighters down supporting them. The Commodore's voice rang out, the traces of fear bottled up as well as any man could. " Flight Ops - send four Fighter and both Scimitar Squadrons against that ship. Detail orders to maintain maximum speed in case they some defensive batteries we cannot detect."


Handtsin did not wait for acknowledgement that was sure to come; he let the words fade into the cacophony of a battleship steering towards the enemy. He made his way through the crewpit and up the rear stairs. Back on the command level, he gazed out into the stars, out to the long warship silhouetted against Xa Fel. Even from here, slowly slipping into the periphery of maximum STL range, the white whisps of clouds dancing in the upper atmosphere seemed to shy away from the darkness incarnate. Realist that he was, he knew it was meerly the remnants of a storm leaving the area only he and his flag captain knew to the be the area of the Sith Temple complex; the man inside, hidden behind the uniform and training of an Imperial Officer, drew every correlation as a portent of doom.


" Ops, arc those fighters to port, now!"


Captain Odin did not need prompting from the Commodore, indeed the order was his to give. Concentrating only on their task, the broad sphere of Defenders had drifted in its path between the battleship and its adversary. A curt order from fighter command brought a swift change as the formation dove and turned gracefully. The path open, Odin followed his next set of orders. " Guns - bring the STLs to full power and train them on that ship. Orient batteries on us and the cruiser to point twelve on their centerline. Fire when ready."


" By individual guns, Captain, no salvos. We have no idea what suprises could be in the belly of that beast, let's keep our options open."


Odin wiped the sweat from his brow and relayed the command to those who needed to obey it. Meanwhile outside, the fighters found their mark.


Though specs in the distance against the black shape of the massive enemy battleship, flashes of fire dotted the scene. The closer holos tracked the fighters' progress, the hotter the fires became. Missiles were loosed as the Defender formation broke as close as they dared, then large torpedoes when the Scimitars rolled and dove below the hull. Blasts of laser fire belched from embrasures, more random light then well-trained shots against a sortie. Here and there a fast-firing laser traced a TIE and holed it with a few shots that brought death to life.


" Sir, we're tracking subspace distortions grid 6387, port side."


Captain Odin moved to the forward most station in the crewpit, looking up at Handstin. " Subspace distortions? Cloaked ships you think?"


" I doubt it, they could be using a very old hyperdrive system that gargles space before reversion. That means reinforceme-"


Omniscient though he was not, Commodore Handtsin predicted correctly the course of events. A maw was born from the void between the Imperial capital ships and the massive hulk laying siege with its offensive guns to Xa Fel. It looked as if hyperspace had spat an unpalatable meal upon the system then coughed and closed its mouth. The maw closed, the Imperials looked on a half-dozen yellowish craft in various states of disrepair. They each had the mold of a general ship class, though they were as different from one another as cold was to hot: modifications and horrific icons adorned the surface, not fitting any pattern or plan. They appeared to be weapons housings grafted to drive engines with little form or function - regardless, they were now between the supership and the Imperials.


They were also between the Imperials and their fighters.


" Captain, take the leashes off our frigates, they have friends who have come to play."

He had barely entered into the temple before his danger senses tingled; yet none of the enemies near him seemed to be the source of it. Necros parried attacks from two of the Forsaken whom were in the process of rushing him. He motioned with his right hand, drawing his two enemies towards him with a force pull. With a single horizontal slash of his light saber blade, he cleaved both of his enemies in two, their bodies splattering onto the stone floor behind him.

The sith knight stepped over the fallen body of an apprentice, multiple puncture wounds on the youngling's body leaving his blood spilling over the floor. He stopped his advance when a line of enemy soldiers formed ranks several feet in front of him, their blaster rifles pointing at him. They loosed a single volley at him, which he parried easily with the Hel-Hemarde. With his one free hand, he snatched up the fallen apprentice's light saber blade and ignited it.

The enemy soldiers began firing intermittently, and he parried their bolts using both of the light saber blades. The enemy blaster bolts were deflected back towards the enemy, and he began to fall, until only two or three of them were left standing. They fled, although from what he sensed, they were not retreating in fear of their lives so much as they were regrouping for another assault on him. Yet it wasn't this group of soldiers that was making his danger sense go crazy now.

Then, he felt it.

The essence of the dark side of the force formed into a powerful force storm, gathering its strength from the army of darkness, the crusaders who fought to overthrow the current Sith monarchy. It swept over the sith, sweeping away many of the apprentices, killing them on the spot. Others were luckier; a few who managed to flee, although they were pursued by the Forsaken and other crusader troops.

Necros himself used the Hel-Hemarde and the apprentice's light saber to parry a pitch-black lightning bolt. At first he thought he had succeeded in parrying it, then the bolt struck again, and blew past his defenses to hit Necros in the chest.

The sith knight went flying out of the temple, back into the forest where he had just come through earlier. Hissing in pain, Necros landed several tens of feet from the temple entrance, lying on his back, a nasty burn scar marking his chest. Electricity still ran through his body, and his heart stopped briefly, before starting to beat again. The two light sabers he had been holding were still in his hands, although both were de-activated. His body felt numb, and burned all over.

Necros closed his eyes as the pain in his body that wasn't numb threatened to consume him.

Am I going to die?

He coughed up blood, and his breathing was strained.

I will embrace death then.

A blinding light came to Necros's vision, even though his eyes were closed.

So this is death?

No...this is something different...

He saw a vision, a vision that was being presented to him by the force. Enemy soldiers were surrounding his body, easily two hundred of them, of all types, from the forsaken and crusaders, with even a few void knights in their mix. They did not approach him within five feet, although they held their weapons at the ready.

Either I will succumb to my injuries or they will finish me off...

Then his vision shifted, and he saw the apprentice, the girl that he had killed earlier, to ease her death. With it came another thought, a memory. He had made a promise to her that he would avenge her death. If he allowed to himself to die here, now, at the hands of the crusaders, he wouldn't carry out his promise, and her death would be for nothing.

No...

Necros's eyes opened, as the vision faded. A void knight was standing over him, raising it's light saber high in the air, it's tip pointed down, preparing to finish him off.

"NOOOO!" yelled Necros, unleashing a tidal wave of force energy upwards from his body. The void knight was thrown upwards and back, away from the circle of troops, landing against the temple wall several tens of meters away. The other crusaders raised their weapons, preparing to fire on him.

Necros jumped up onto his feet and began to spin rapidly, igniting both of his light sabers as he did so. With the force, he channeled oxygen around his light saber blades, and the air ignited, flames spreading away from his blades and into the ranks of troops forming a circle around him.

The forsaken and the crusaders alike howled in pain as the fire engulfed them. The ranks of troops around him fell back in shock and sudden fear, as a halo of fire surrounded Necros and burned their comrades.

He threw both of his light sabers to the ground, and stretched his hands out, ignoring the spasms of pain from his burned body. He began to draw in all of the force energy that he could, the pain, hatred, and fear emanating from the troops surrounding him, the dark side of the force from the temple, anything he could get his hands on. He continued until he felt full, like he could take no more force energy into his body.

With a savage yell, Necros released all of the stored up force energy he had harnessed into his body, an explosion of pure and raw force energy rushing out in all directions from his body. It was like being burned all over again as the force energy rushed out of his body.

The effects of the force explosion were immediate and catastrophic, to both the crusader troops and to the surrounding forest. Trees within a one kilometer radius were blown down, and leaves and foliage five kilometers from the epicenter of the explosion were ripped from the trees and ground and flung into the air, forming a mighty mushroom cloud of dust and smoke that rose high into the sky.

Of the crusader troops that had been surrounding him, the ones that were thrown in the direction of the temple suffered an immediate death upon impact. The others were thrown into the forest, those unlucky enough to survive landing being unable to move with their broken and battered bodies.

Nothing but scorched earth was around Necros, where earlier had resided the troops, trees, and even grass, and all of that was now gone.

The sith knight made a croaking sound, the sound of a sigh coming through a dry throat and parched lips, as he telescoped to the ground, and lay still.

He had fulfilled the promise he made to the sith apprentice.

Now, I may die in peace.

With that final thought, he closed his eyes, and lay still.

Moments later, he stopped breathing, and his physical body dissolved, leaving behind the death mask, cape, and his battered and torn clothes lying on the ground.

With a bluish flash of force energy, Necros was gone.

Imperial Vessel Red Dawn, some time previously, location Classified

Ithron was in the medical bay of one of the vessels of his Master, Lupercus Darksword. Time had passed since Ithron's ordeal on Naboo, many months in fact, but the injuries sustained there still haunted him. Some of them would never heal. The lessons he had learned that day were still sinking in - indeed, his entire approach to life had been called into question as his very being was taken to the brink of destruction.

Now though, he slept.

In his dream, there was a group of figures. Each moving exactly like the others, they were synchonised in movement and attack. Each held a lightsabre, or something of very similar design. As Ithron watched, they charged into another group of individuals - Ithron knew them to be Sith, but he couldn't make them out. Sabre met sabre and passion met soulless persistance. Suddenly, one turned and looked at Ithron. It advanced on him, quickening its pace. Ithron had no time to react before it changed into him with its sabre raised.....

....the scene changed....

Now he was watching a planet. Specifically, Ithron knew this was Xa Fel - the hidden planet of the Sith. Even when it was only a figment in his dream, the planet was unmistakable both through its appearance and its presense in the Force. Xa Fel hung in space, and Ithron was aware of cloud approaching. It was red, crimson red and denser than any nebula. It moved as though being pushed by a wind and surrounded the planet. Ithron thought that Xa Fel had never looked so vulnerable in reality. The toxic cloud was instantly aware that the cloud would suffocate all life on the planet - including the Sith.

All Ithron could see now was the red cloud - all else had been obscured. Moving out of the mist was a figure. It was running, and was unmistakably Mira. Following the dream-Mira was the sound of steady footfalls. A man moved into Ithron's view, calmly walking after the girl. He was a young man, possibly around Ithron's age. He stepped past Ithron, locked in slow pursuit of the female Sith.

Ithron turned, only to find that the figure had changed. It was now Darth Necros, and the setting was the forests of Xa Fel where Ithron had first met the Knight. Necros was stood, staring into the forest. Suddenly there was a loud noise - as of hundreds of men shouting a battlecry - and the forest seemed to come to life as an army moved out of it, bent on the lone knight. In a flash, the army was gone, replaced by the man Ithron had seen chasing the dream-Mira.

Necros was kneeling now. Overcome. He shouted and the sound seemed to tear the air......

Ithron awoke with a start.

What the hell was that? He thought. Of course, he knew that all force users were prone to having interesting dreams, influenced by events past, present and sometimes future. This though was more real than any dream the Apprentice had ever had before. Ithron swung himself off the bed and hit the ground. He needed to find Lupercus.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Medical Officer walking over.

"Sir, the Diktator gave express instructions that-" the man began.

"It's the Diktator that I'm going to see." Ithron growled. "Unless you want to try and stop me?"

* * *

Minutes later, Ithron was walking through the deserted corridors that led to Lupercus Darksword's private chambers, showing only the barest hint of the pain in his right leg. There were guards, of course, but they knew who Ithron was by now and stepped aside, saluting.

I wonder, Ithron thought with a smile. Are the guards there to keep Lupercus safe from the world, or to keep the world safe from Lupercus? They're not very useful either way.

Upon reaching the large ornate door which marked the entrance to his Master's quarters, Ithron hesitated. Lupercus could be doing anything from meditating to 'entertaining' one of his female entourage. Even though Lupercus was undoubtedly aware of his presence, Ithron decided to err on the side of politeness and knock.

As his hand reached the doors, though, they were thrown open, slamming into the walls. The room was dark but the ornate and lavish decorations could still be made out. Lupercus was standing with his back to the door, staring out at the stars as they moved past.

"You are back on your feet again, Ithron." It wasn't a question.

"Master." Ithron's footsteps echoed as he moved across the room to stand by his Master at the observation window. "I-"

"It hasn't happened yet. What you experienced was a premonition. Every Force User in the fucking galaxy will have felt something, I'd imagine." Lupercus said, answering the unspoken question.

"Then.... Xa Fel? Vance and his Sith?"

"May not exist in a week's time."

"Who will do this? Noone can take Xa Fel, surely?" Ithron's questions hung in the air, with Lupercus seemingly fascinated by the moving stars. "We mus--"

Ithron's voice was stranged as Lupercus spun around and force-gripped his Apprentice by the throat.

"Do not suppose to tell me what must be done. Never forget, I can read you like a book. You want to go to Xa Fel. You will find a vessel in docking bay 8. Take it. Go. You may arrive in time." the Sith Master hissed. "Much good may you do them - Vance and the rest. They're getting what they deserve for their foolish ideals of Brotherhood."

There was a pause. Lupercus released Ithron, who gasped for air.

"That said," the Master continued. "A universe with Vance is preferable to one without. At least, for now. Go, Ithron."

Ithron bowed and walked off towards the door.

"And Ithron," added Lupercus. "Do give my regards to Darth Vicirus."

Near Xa Fel, Present Moment

Ithron's small one-man vessel dropped out of hyperspace near the Imperial fleet. Ithron could see other vessels - their ugliness contrasted with the sleek efficiency of the Imperial vessels. The usual darkness of Space was illuminated with the exchange of weapons fire.

It's started then, he thought. I need to get onto the surface.

Quickly, he had the computer mask his engine output as best as he could - seeking to stay hidden for as long as possible. He set his course for the Imperial flagship and activated the communications array.

"Imperial Commander. My name is Ithron. Think of me as a....special envoy from Diktator Lupercus Darksword. I assume you're familiar with that name? I have a small problem - viz a viz, those vessels blockading the planet. I need to be on the surface. Believe me, getting me down there will greatly increase the chances of us winning the land war. Would you be so good as to provide me with an escort and some cover fire, Commander?"

If not, he added to himself. I'll might have to come on board and discuss it with you, personally.

Diktators Personal Quarters, RSD Red Dawn.



The arrival of Ithron had certainly been forseen by Cho'va, and not simply because his Master had warned him to expect it. The Defel had lurked behind the hologram of Lupercus, knowing full well that at some point he would have to manifest himself as more than the presence of his Master, especially considering his proclivity for accenting his words with pain. As such Cho'va readied himself, and after the discussion between 'Master' and apprentice, the Defel collapsed onto the floor.

The true Diktator had been away from Ithron for over a month now, knowing full well the importance of his apprentice's time alone to consider what he had become. His near destruction on Naboo had a similar affect to that which Lupercus had experienced at the hands of Gash Jiren, and the Sith Lord felt it important that Ithron came to grips with this new power on his own.

The way of the Sith is not to molly-coddle their young, but to throw them in the fire and see if they burn. Ithron had burned, but the young Sith was still here. Already Lupercus could sense the hunger lurking deep within growing each day. Granted, that hunger had always been there, which was why he had not simply killed Ithron for his impudence during their first meeting. But now it was self sustaining, growing with every lecherous thought and twisted deed. His passion for hatred was something the Sith Lord had not seen since Tevarii Ginalo had almost destroyed the Hapes Cluster and, as such, Lupercus' vainglorious pride in his apprentice was rising daily.

But now would be the perfect venue for the newest Sith Knight rampant...



Sith Temple Catacombs, Xa Fel.



They had been sitting and watching throughout the hour. Some had howled in ecstacy as petty Sith and mockery forcers threw themselves at each other, limbs hacked apart, brains spilled and dark arts finally put into use after years of practice. And yet they did not act. Their Master had told them of the eventual outcome and since it had fit into their plans, all was well.

The hooded acolytes sat in a circle around another as they concentrated on keeping themselves and their location hidden. Still they watched on, but never risking their task simply to satisfy their own desire for blood. They knew that it would be their blood spilt if they did.

The tall man in the centre of the circle stood with his chest barred, dark twisting runes etched across his skin in an unholy tapestry of pain and power, his muscles twitching as if he was boxing in the prize fights of Corellia and running the Duros multi-marathon at the same time. Sweat drenched his entire body, coating the man in glistening sheen, the white shirt hanging loosely from his pants was completely sodden by now and was cast aside.

High above them the battles raged, flowing along as had already been forseen, which would lead to the first bloody nose of the Crusade. The Sith would prove their power over the empty whores who had come to challenge them, and the whores would withdraw, leaving only an Order burning to return the favour. It would be business as usual, leaving only the Sith as their worst enemies once again.

But suddenly the course of events was diverted from where it should have travelled. And while the man in the centre of the circle knew the pretender whore's did not have the ability to change it, only one other man did.

The cataclysmic storm that now raged forced a change to everything that had been planned. It was an unavoidable sadness that the pretenders would not be destroyed in battle as he had wished, but rather by the twisted force storm that now raged. It was a sad waste, but it was having some unintended consequinces for the man in the circle also.

The acolytes suddenly heard the distant chittering of twisted and clawed appendages echoing through distant, and not so distant, hallways. The walls nearest them seemed to swell with life and movement as the darkness seemed to come alive. Twisted calls of furious hatred and brutal malevolence pricked the ears of the Sith in the circle, the older recognising them with revulsion while the younger flinched in obvious fear. Only the man in the circle smiled at their approach.

"Go, secure my personal chambers. And don't let Klain take you on your way up..."

Some of them smiled at the joke, but the others knew full well that what approached was not the worst thing in the catacombs, not by a long way. They fled quickly, both with a desire to please and also to flee what they knew was coming.

But the man who had stood in their circle was grinning insanely, his teeth glowing like eerie tombstones as the clicking, chittering mass approached him. The Cenobites, after years in hiding, had returned to serve their master.

And Lupercus Darksword, the Lord of the Cenobites, embraced the shambling twisted minions as his children...



Moments Later, Darkswords Personal Quarters, Sith Temple, Xa Fel.



"What the fuck do you think that shit was, Terran?"

The acolytes had climbed the catacombs one access point to the temple in silence, but as they entered their Masters quarters one of the younger of the troupe spoke up.

Terran, the oldest of the group shuddered, as did a few of the others.

"Those, my sad little sithling, are the former inhabitants of Olanji and Gallinore..."

It took all the sith could do to hold back a retch as his mind caught glimpses of images he had long shut out. The sithlings did not understand.

"Olanji and Gallinore, but arn't they planets in the cluster?"

Terran only nodded. He had no desire to relive any of those months towards the end of their raids through the cluster. Still, the ignorant sithling persisted.

"But how could people survive this long down there?" His pointed thumb over his shoulder aimed directly at the hole from which they had come.

The elder ones exchanged significant glances as the group stopped in the chambers atrium, unable to progress past the massive onyx 'door'.

Open it...

So conditioned were the acolytes to receiving the orders that Lupercus wondered whether or not they considered it an order from him or simply the obvious and natural thing to do. Their obedience was immediate. The twelve acolytes stepped back and drew upon all their efforts to force open the massive door. Such an act was simple of a Master of the nefarious arts, but the group struggled initally.

Suddenly though, they could hear the chittering mass again, and fear spread through the group. That fear led to anger and, well...

Slowly, the door begun to open.



Temple Hallway, Xa Fel.



"Schakhatar!"

The battle cry echoed hatred and power, but also the perfunctory release of air from the apprentices lungs as he rent another one of those 'shambling crazies' almost clean in two. He had been seperated from the others after charging down a wounded and particularly munted looking opponent, and by now the flow of the battle had taken Kalrsh further from any potential assistance.

Still, he revelled in the slaughter, the sweeping, spinning ballet of gore had brought about a sense of power and purpose that the apprentice had not felt in many months. A momentary lull in the fighting allowed him to catch his breath and check his location. He was in the restricted part of the temple, where only Knights and such were allowed to tread. Still, he was sure that Viricus would parden his presence just this once!

From his left another mindless minion lept at him, ripped fingernails covered in muck and blood leading the attack. A quick pivot saw the attackers face disintegrate into muddled flesh as Kalrsh's sabre skewered its head. He couldn't help but chuckle...

Suddenly though, the apprentice felt uneasy. The further he moved into this forbidden area, the stronger the sense of unease grew. Parrying and slashing his way down a dark corridor, he was shocked to find a dead end. Furious with himself for his lack of foresight, Kalrsh flamed with anger, but the feeling could not assauge the unease which had peaked now as he stood back to the massive black wall.

Momentarily he considered if it was possible for the sense of unease to be a premonition of his own death at the hands of these creatures but, upon looking up the hallway and only seeing about thirty of the shambling type enemies, Kalrsh immediately dismissed that possibility.

"You sad little fuckers are going to have to do more than that to stop me!"

The arrogence that was bred inside every Sith swelled as the enemies appeared to responed to his call, pausing for a moment before pressing on towards the apprentice.

Sad little fuckers! If thats all it takes to scare you...

The thought was interupted as Kalrsh was smashed to one side, his skull cracking with a sickening thud against the high walls. The 'dead end' of the hallway was no more, and in its place hundreds upon thousands of twisted mockeries of humanity swarmed forth towards the mindless soldiers of the void.

The animal savagery of the invaders was no match for the twisted purity of the vile creations that were the Cenobites. As they pushed forward through the voiders the Cenobites made no sound themselves, only the click of taloned feet and the wet slap of formerly living flesh pounding upon dark rock as the blood flowed steadily. The last thing the final voider in the corridor saw through the furious mass was two red lightsabre blades igniting...

The Sith Temple was deserted. Or, rather, it looked deserted as the spatter of rain washed across it's stone and steel edifice trailing down gullies of mortar and chasms of architecture, the purpose of which known only to the first builders whose names have long since been forgotten.

The lush vegetation of the surrounding jungle-forest had claimed the area in the interim of years. Now, where once stood simple materials of construction and terraforming, a conglomeration combining the aggressiveness of nature and the nuances of Sith alchemy had given birth to a symbiosis of both life and death. If the inanimate could speak, of what sort of horrors would this structure shout out to the galaxy?

The sap of the vegetation dripping from hidden orifices down interior walls as blood from a dying body mixed with the mold that clung to walls dark, damp and rank with misery.


A lone figure was found scurrying across the empty corridors, looking every which way as if he was being followed stealing across stained crimson carpet making no sounds. A paranoid sort of person and one who's healthy sense of self preservation was appreciated by the one to whom the figure had come to see.


The cold within the stone ebbed away as flickers of light and the warmth of fires permeated outward with each step towards the inhabited chambers.


It was a welcome sight to the visitor and he proclaimed his joy out loud when having reached his destination. "You would not believe how bad it is out there, Master Perrin," the man exclaimed removing his rather thick outer garments.


"Dar, I assume the seasonal snows have begun?"


"Begun? They've been falling for the better part of the week. Rain, sleet and snow. Not a climate one expects here." The tone was friendly but Perrin knew the visitor was everything but..


The old man, wrapped in blankets sitting in a high-back chair simply shrugged, his white hair tied back despite it's being dry. This was a man used to the comforts in life and this was a man who spared no expense in enjoying them.


For what use was the Dark Side if you could not enjoy it?


When the visitor, Dar, had shed his coverings he moved to the carpet at Lord Perrin's feet and sat down.


"I take it you are here for another story?" the Sith Master asked in a slight tone of annoyance. The question was both unnecessary and painful for it held out to Dar the hope of the old man complying to the request without the actual commitment.


"I have come to hear the rest of it," Dar said eagerly.


A little too eagerly. Perrin was instantly wary of the turnaround in attitude for upon the boy's first visit, he was unruly, arrogant and a general pain in Perrin's side. Such persons weighed heavily on what little patience the Sith Master had nowadays and so he prepared to make Dar an ex-member of the living for the mortal sin of having the arrogance of the young..


A sin he knew well for he was arrogance personified at a younger age.


The boy wanted to know things but had not the patience to listen. He even had the audacity to grow angry when he did not like the answers that had come. Perrin had finally cut the boy's blathering short by brushing his hands across the youngling's forehead causing the young force-user to stagger back as if the Sith Master had struck him a powerful blow.


Perrin had, however, given the other a taste of something far more powerful than a mere blow...




Vision



The young man had come back several times after wanting more. Each time, the aged 'Master Perrin' would simply say, "Come back tomorrow" silently enjoying the torment that played across the stage of the boy's face.


Each successive visit drew the boy's patience thinner and thinner but, at the same time, also drew out his dogged determination. Each attack on his patience drew the youngster's anger out to the fore. That anger propelled his desire.


Until such a time that the boy, even with the probable risk of being turned away, ventured into the blistering cold and snow at the mere idea of the chance that Perrin would say 'yes'. It was one thing to sacrifice time but this time, for what he sought, the boy sacrificed his life.


It became a payment adequate enough for Perrin's time.



but....


...to know what?



What was the boy really after? It was a subtle question that preyed upon the older man's mind like an amusing puzzle.


Despite the fact that the boy tried to hide his force aura, Perrin deftly plucked it's existence out of shadow and into the Sith Master's full awareness, watching...judging.

It was amusing to the old man to witness the raw strength contained within the boy's frame and his novice attempts at masking it.


Why do those with the power attempt to hide it?


It was an observation that brought a memory to conscious thought and upon realizing the connection, linked the two. It was a similar observation made as a younger man at another place, in another time..


His eyes took in the seated boy with experience knowing that the young man had stationed himself in such a strategic manner... easily able to avoid any unsuspecting attack, easily able to draw his own lightsaber, the hilt of which was not nearly so cleverly hidden as the boy would have liked to have thought, with room enough to launch his own attack and cut down the old man if necessary.

It was as if the boy had thought of all the natural combat alternatives that might come upon him not willing to give Perrin the benefit of the doubt, much to Perrin's approval.


But it was a trap. An insidious trap to be sure but one most effective.


A trap that the old texts referred to it as a Double Blind. It was a trap that very few could successfully cast, especially against great numbers, largely because part of its success depended on the actions of those being trapped.


Especially hard when your foes held onto their force-awareness like children to security blankets.


Perrin's hands clasped together in front of his chin contemplating the youngster.


"What do I show you, young man? I wonder.. what would make an impression on your logical, yet skeptical, progression of thought? Or what passes for thought in that mass you call a mind? Should I take you to the beginning? To a cusp period? To the end?"


The boy leaned closer and closer to the old man as he mused to himself.


Perrin suddenly snapped his fingers.


"I know just the thing! A Lesson in Stupidity!"


The boy looked confused and Perrin wagged a wrinkled finger at him. "All you've heard are stories, legends and made up myths of these larger-than-life people. So romanticized are you by their accounts you are already on the road to self delusion!"


His finger tapped his chest. "I. I have lived during the time of Gods and Men. Of Men and Gods! I have lived during the time of Daemon Hyfe, of Lupercus Darksword and of Darth Vicirus! Of Lady Skygge, Recon Klain, of Doan Silk...and yes, of that baffoon Lord Maim and his whore, Athena.


But most youngsters nowadays? All they want to hear is the story of Dacian Palestar!"


He rasped out a chuckle and gestured, moving another piece of wood onto the two fireplaces set on either side of the room.


"A story of monumental stupidity on such a grand scale as I have ever seen."


The young man's features drew closer in anger. "If you are going to..."


"Oh shut up," petitioned Perrin, waving the youngster's comments away as if they were no consequence, which, in fact, they were not.


The old man leaned forward and gestured for the boy to move up as if they were two old hands scheming.


"Don't take my word for it... Let me show you."


His trembling arm stretched out and as his fingers touched the boy's forehead, they were no longer seated in the room. In fact, they were no longer in the Sith Temple in the middle of a jungle in the middle of a freezing winter.


They were standing on a mountain top with winds blowing wildly at their clothes and in the far distance, amid both white and dark smoke rising heavenward, stood the defiant Sith Temple.


"Where... Where are we?" the youngster stammered, suddenly feeling weak at the knees.


"Xa Fel," The old man, Perrin, answered quietly, himself taken aback by the sights before him. "I stood on this very spot and gazed at this very scene, the bloody stupidity of everyone's position so crystal clear at that moment in time to one with insight it's a wonder I did not fall down dead at my lack of it!"


"Stupidity!?" cried the youngster over the roar of the winds.


"No, Insight..." Perrin purred in response. He knew the boy was balking at his heroes of old suddenly having the faults of ..of... mortals?


Well, we all are mortal! Foolish child!


Perrin waved his hand about the scenery in irritation. "Things you do not know... Lupercus Darksword and his pet Ithron stupidly come back into the inner sanctum of Darth Vicirus knowing that they both are at odds! Darth Vicirus stupidly allows Lupercus a foothold into his own kingdom and while he licks his wounds from that!" he points to the black smoke rising high in the distance.. "his entire Order now is in the hands of his fellow rival, Lupercus! Doan Silk stupidly submitted before a Church which is, yet again, another variation of Sith power probably following in his old fool-Lord Maim's footsteps. A hack if I ever heard of one!"


"And Dacian?" Dar's voice seemed like a squeak.


"Palestar?" Perrin snorted, "He had the stupidity of the young."


Even his contempt, so crystallized in one of his advanced age, for the players involved in the scene before him did not erase his acknowledgment that these giants, in this place, at that time, were probably the largest gathering of those who were the most powerful beings in the entire galaxy. Never mind the Empire's machines! These titans among men swept up in their personal passions were far, far more dangerous!


Beings of which were the Tales that mortals trembled in telling!



At that moment, a low boom was heard, more like distant thunder, as energy pulses sizzled through Xa Fel's atmosphere in a downward descent striking the Sith Temple without grace. The intent of the attackers shouted in detail with each weapon fired...


They wanted the Sith Temple to burn!


To be wiped from the face of the planet!


The constant fury behind the intent revealed in the mass of enemies in the far distance.


Perrin could not hear their war cries, their yells or the sounds of fighting as the wind dispersed such sounds in the distance that separated the Sith Knight and the apparent war taking place without him.


Without him..


The old man's eyes blinked in the wind even now, his desire to fight, stirring from deep within his soul. He clearly remembered the emotions of a younger self opening and closing his fists at the sight laid out in the distance.


But even the temptations and stirrings of old emotions at the memory before him could not dissolve the admiration for the Double Blind trap forming so far away. He had never seen such a trap constructed so intricately and encompassing so many at one time.


At the time, standing far off on a mountain peak, he had not recognized the glaringly obvious that was spelled out before him. Truth wrapped in a package of feral combat.


The boy beside him was silent in awe at the distant spectacle.


I was just as stupid..., the old man mused to himself.



The enemy had complete air superiority and having it, had landed their barges in such a way that surrounded the Sith Temple all the time keeping their orbital weapons standing at the ready. Bombers and fighters circled from above and with the brilliance of hindsight came a realization that the old coot, Azrael Zell, was right all along:


As powerful as the fucking Sith are, they can't execute a plan for shit! Take Xa Fel for example. If you are going to blow the shit out of the Temple, you don't achieve air superiority only to fuck it up by landing thousands of soldiers! Who the fuck are the bombers going to bomb now? Their own forces? An electromagnetic pulse in the heart of that air-fucking-superiority would have downed all those birds on their own fucking people! Crusading dipshits. Sith by another name, if you fucking ask me!


Perrin's chapped lips parted in a grin. Only an Imperial would care about the numbers. Perhaps that is why they won wars. But the nature of the enemy attacking the Sith Temple told the Order that they did not give a damn about numbers. They would sacrifice as many of their soldiers, their entire army possibly, to make a point. Perhaps the pragmatic Imperial military response would be to simply let them until they burned themselves out but what sort of action would this mean to a Sith? Sith who have survived for thousands of years?


"It is obvious.." the old man whispered watching the sealing of the enclosure surrounding the Sith Temple. No other place on this world was being harrassed. No other structure seemed to hold interest to these... Crusaders.


He knew who they were now... but then? Then it was just shock at the idea of such an assault against the center of the Sith Order. The kernel of a future Sith Empire.


The memory of what was above the Temple, in orbit, was like a dark blot against a white sky. To see it filled one with a searing burn of pain as if the craft high above them had traveled to Xa Fel on the dying souls of a million, million beings. As if the very coffers of hell were thrown opened to fuel a ship whose keel was laid in misery, whose armour were screams of shattering terror, and whose weapons were the combined spite of an entire universe rolled into one and spit out into the eye of god.


The darkened masses of bodies moving about on the ground below, some in chaos and some in ordered arrangement, were shadows upon the land surrounding the Temple. Most took no note of anything else destroying only that which they found hindering their march, rank and file, towards the Temple.

All of these things... were clues. Obvious, glaring, and shouting as to a fact that Perrin himself missed. He wondered if anyone else at the time had made the connections..




This was personal!



The enemy knew exactly where they were going.. knew exactly what they were doing.. knew exactly how to arrive, when to arrive and by what route to arrive.


The Sith Order should have known who was on the other end of the swinging saber!


An errant child of the Sith coming home to burn the house his parents lived in? A wronged alcolyte or apprentice returning to show his Masters that he had entered into power on his own?


To move forward, to advance... the parents must die!


Was this the catalyst that added fuel to the Double Blind that was being enacted?


The irony of the situation was that the Double Blind was not set in place by any Sith Master that he had known. The Double Blind was the trap of the Temple itself.


Those ancient builders immersed in the arts, alchemy and powers inherent with the Dark Side knew their craft and took pride in their work. They knew intimately the philosophy and psychology of those that would reside in such a place and of those that would dare attack it.


Those who simply walked it's corridors and trained in its halls and left never realized the power of such a place that served as seat to many Sith Councils.


They couldn't!


Those nomadic Sith cults and offshoots that roamed the stars looking for their place in the legends of galactic history never realized the truth about such historical centers of Sith activities.


They couldn't!


That the structure itself could take the beating these invaders were unmercifully pounding into it was a testament to the galaxy that these buildings were something more.


These were structures whose outer skin was the cold sweat of the darkside itself and the only thing in want of these beautifully crafted works of art was simply a worthy resident.


Those attackers were declaring their worth and value with every step they took towards the Temple. Their marching between it's doors and crossing of it's threshold put the ownership of the Temple on notice and in question.


..and that was what was at the heart of a Double Blind.


The surrounding of an enemy from the center. A contradiction in terms to be sure but a circumstance that trapped a hunter just as completely as they thought they had trapped.


The invaders had surrounded the Temple preventing the Sith from fleeing but they themselves could not leave for to leave was to admit defeat and failure. The very design of the Temple augmented the power of the one while reducing the power of the many. The invaders were trapped in a circle of their own self delusions, their own plans that they would not, could not, admit were flawed.


To do so was to go against everything that a leader of fanatics, a cult of personality, thrived in.

For who followed a leader that was unsure?

Who followed a leader whose philosophy and whose callings were ulitmately... flawed?


Especially if such ones were powerful in the use of the Force!


That was the deception that was the darkside. And to succumb to such deception was to allow the darkside to rule oneself instead of the other way around.

And being ruled by the darkside took away the one thing that made one powerful. All powerful, in fact.


Choice


Which was why once you start down the road to the darkside, forever would it dominate your destiny.


For those that started down the road did so by choice!




Spurred on by their blind hatred, warped visions, flawed strategies and the chains of desire... the invaders, these Crusaders, would soon find their choices diminishing at a cascading rate.


Their actions would be dictated by brutal necessity rather than choice and once the invaders found themselves led rather than leading, they would fall apart, unraveling under the force of the Double Blind.



*


The old man smiled grimly.


The Double Blind worked another way as well. For the Temple only served those worthy of it.


Darth Vicirus and his minions....

Lupercus Darksword and his minions...

Doan Silk and his minions...

Dacian Palestar and his minions...




...Self delusion could go either way.






"So... what happened?" the boy's wretched voice intruded and Perrin felt a wash of annoyance flow through him.


He gazed down from his vantage point seeing a younger self slowly climbing down in an effort to get to the fight.

But the truth was, his younger self was too far away and the fight would more than likely be over by the time he even felt the heat of the cratered Temple grounds.


But there were always options and he remembered being resourceful as a youngster, wincing at the next memories recalled.


I was stupid when I was younger...


"Boy, I've polished my boots on the skulls of Dark Lords. I've walked in a time of giants. You do not have the steel in your backbone to see what happened next!"


There was a flash of anger in the boy's eyes and his voice calmed. "What do I have to do to prove myself to you?"


Perrin Descartes, Sith Master of Illusion, smiled inwardly.


A Double Blind is treacherous indeed!





The fires of the conflict on Xa Fel continued to burn....