Entry 1 - I Died Today
The sensation on Nathema felt different. It felt almost strange to let flow what had been kept inside for so long. The Dark side flowing freely through him was almost a breath of real air while before he had only access to the recycled system of a ship. It was a toxin, a drug that required more. He wanted more. He was almost surprised that he could have forgotten how it felt, the embrace of power, the pumping of energies right through his veins. The Force almost immediately had shifted in his favor, bend to his will. Where before he had simple control and could order it, now it was a total, absolute supremacy.
Imperius felt the amalgamation of his emotions echoing through his limbs, his organs and his brain. Suddenly unleashed they had to be tamed and while he had given an early show of self-control to the Shadow Hand, it had required effort that upon turning his back on the man, blood was dripping from his nose. He bled. He did not bleed since fighting the Bryn'adûl. Pain. Embarrassment. Fury. Hunger. Wrath. Lust. Pride. Fear. All rushed through him, took momentary control as he had to bend his own feelings to his will. It was a battle that he would not lose. He had conquered planets, killed conquerors and survived for four millennia. He would not lose to himself, even though ironically it was the only one his pride allowed him to lose to.
After finally getting into his personal quarters aboard the Eternal Triumph, the bulkhead shut and all prying eyes gone, the golden clad angel of death sunk to his knees, the weight of his battle almost drowning him in agony. It was not only physical pain he felt, it was mostly a hurt pride and fear of what he had kept at bay was out of control. Was it too much? Was his path already broken to pieces and all he could hope for was servitude? Again?
He threw away his helmet, denting the wall, his eyes were burning red, the corruption of the Dark side had crept everywhere, the pupils darkening, veins had appeared all over his paling, sick skin, cracks had formed in it. Servitude? The thought caught him both off-guard and was what he would have previously laughed about in an enemy, something he prided himself to find on every battlefield: a mistake. It was enough. He remembered.
Pain sharpens the mind. Embarrassment unveils mistakes. Fury guides the hand in battle. Hunger reminds us to be ever unrelenting. Wrath remembers failure, remembers opportunity, is our will made manifest. Lust fuels the desire to go ever further forward. Pride sets us apart for what we have achieved and will achieve. Fear is a weapon.
The figure who was brought to his knees was Aurelian and he died there, crouching like a whimpering fool.
The being who rose, had become Darth Imperius.
