Death. Death had tried to claim her once again, reach it’s sickly talons around her before pulling her down into the abyss: even Lirka’s broken form found a disturbed amusement in the whole thing, she was beyond death now. All that was destroyed, could be remade. She was being remade. Patched together from blobs of flesh and strands of DNA…

She remembered, even as her mind warped and contorted even more perversely, she remembered agony: the dusty grounds of Moridinae, where her blood had been spilled. The bastard Australis had tried to send her to the depths once again, as so many had tried before. She remembered as her body broke and failed, the vile mechanisms that had kept her broken and savage form pushing ever onward: the vile connotation of poisons that pushed her beyond the limits of sanity, destroyed what had remained of her...but Australis had failed. Oh yes how he failed, she was a Phoenix that would arise from the ashes of defeat, arise as perfection made manifest. To truly become a force of nature itself…

But Lirka did not look the part, a broken mess of gore and nerves floating within a large tank of fluid: the flesh around her not grown but sculpted, she was becoming the very art that her people had venerated: but a monstrosity nonetheless. Near lifelessly did the Grand Moff float, a rushed endeavor to save her decaying form: now watched over by the careful eyes of a Sith, a new project, a new experiment, a new dive into the boundless possibilities that one could create. Lirka saw none of it, whilst what remained of her form laid immobile, her mind was alight with false images, memories, premonitions, but even in her fantasy world: one figure had began to dominate, a voice, thunderous in nature: like a thousand voices speaking as one, it cried, it screamed in wrath and misery, it serenaded, and it commanded all the same. It dominated all, for to Lirka’s mind it was Truth.

“Awake, O’ child of Truth! Purveyor of the Way!”

Her eyes opened, she saw scientists churning away, flesh floating in their containment chambers, bodies hurriedly scampering like insects to serve their queen. But all this began to distort, to swirl and twist into unnatural forms: and only the blackest of black began to rise, an abyss with no end. A darkness without compare, The Dark. It had finally come to acknowledge her service.

“Gaze upon mineself, gaze upon The Dark! Feel my power within thine’ heart, for you, Child of Truth are to be mine icon. To spread The Way into the depths of reality, until the End claims all, until mine tendrils embrace all in entropy and decay!”

“Awake, arise Lost Queen! Arise Icon of Darkness, for all must quake in thine’s presence! Mine strength flows within you, accept mine loving embrace, O’ Child of the Truth.”

Lirka was paralyzed, she could feel the darkness engulf her broken form, sickly ichor as dark as the void itself filled every hole, engulfed her, consumed her, drowned her in the dark truth of the Galaxy: of The Dark, of the end of all things. And Lirka could finally see now, she saw Legions dark legions, the vague color of blood, marching under her command: a world in flames, engulfed in ceaseless bloodshed, she saw the bloodied head Australis, and the Empire she had sworn to serve crumbling apart, she saw the end of all things: and most of all, Lirka saw her ascension: to grow beyond the weakness of mortal coil, watching as she became the very manifestation of the Dark she had sworn loyalty to, a Black Hole that only grew larger and larger until it engulfed all things.

And then her eyes, her new eyes, opened: she glanced down at a pale arm of perfectly sculpted muscle, to that of nervous scientists watching to see if they had succeeded in their wild endeavor. But the visions that Lirka’s twisted mind had gifted her had consumed all things, and as her new body yanked and pulled against it’s restraints, one thought filled her mind: it was time to begin.