So much had changed, and so fast. But a word, and my place in it all had shifted. I had been given a Legion, I had been given an Ark - a microcosm of Jutrand to call my own. A guiding dark light to herald the Sith through the anarchic storm of a Galaxy remade.
I had been given a home, finally, aboard this great vessel of impossible vastness. A home that is truly mine, not under the dominion of petty governors or dark lords. I am master here.
Yet it brings me little joy, this mind can not settle. It is difficult, duty compels me to be here, necessity demands it lest the Emperor finally claim my neck. I remain unsatisfied. The machine watches me, I can feel its beady false-eyes glaring at my every movement. Typhojem they call it. It is the pinnacle of the weakness that festers…so much it controls, so deep are its roots. Am I master? Or is he? It is a grim notion, one I put aside for as long as I may. Many of my meager possessions have already been brought to Darklight’s vast command-quarters.
It is not the bleakness I have grown accustomed to, but in the many chambers I can now dub my own. I have found a corner dark enough to suit my needs. A place of dim light and black metal, untouched by the opulence that plagues power. I have deigned myself to dance to their tune plenty as it is, furs and gems, polished plates and baubles to show I too am of the highest this Empire has to offer. But here? Here I do not have to act. Where I can be with the one person that understands the beast they call Lirka Ka.
It has been many cycles since my brief, silent, disappearance to Geonosis. A falsified reports, and poof, it was merely work. They do not deserve to know the truth. For that is something only for us to share, it is an intimacy so deep I could never dare to bring it to the light. It is a hatred so fiery, it belongs only in darkness. They wouldn’t understand it. They couldn’t understand it. All I would see is judging, hateful, eyes once more.
I examine the skull grasped so gently between my claws. It is a weathered thing, brutalized by the elements for many years. The sands of Geonosis are not a kind place, nor the stomping feet of Petranaki. Yet, it remains intact. A slender piece of bone, with edges most sharp. It is undeniably Sephi.
It is the purest of company. So, with the eyes of the machine far away. I finally speak to my truest of companions, and my worst of foes.
“What do you make of it all, Lirka?” I ask, my voice oozes a mocking venom. Oh how nice it feels to float.
“To see what I have become. The beast that wears your skin, the monster that has stolen all that you ever were.”
Cathartic. That’s what it is. So long have I dealt with the judging eyes of a specter unworthy of even being given a funeral worth remembering. The judging eyes of a creature less than ever a foot-note. Yet…we are still one. My hatred can only run so deep for a face so familiar, yet so alien. A face that should be mine, but the possibility of ever wearing it again lost to the impossibly vast sea of time, and the writhing horribleness of power.
“Imperator, they call me now. It’s a wonderful word isn’t it? Like what we dreamed of, all those years ago. To be a leader of men…to be respected, to be feared, to be more than just another brute. Another blade in the arsenal of men who wouldn’t even know our name.”
I run a claw over the skull, feeling for all the nicks, all the little wounds that peppered a thing that felt so alien to the new foulness of our being. This little relic of an age gone past. I balk, truly, the gall of ghosts is something impressive
“Please. You never amounted to much, Lirka. All your “honor” got you was a trip into a hole in the ground, I have no such weakness. You were blinded by the Force, it warped your mind into thinking you were more than you were ever meant to be. Now, there is only me. Imperator. Imperator Ka, whose sight goes beyond sight, who has seen the truth of the universe. Who walks the Dark Path.”
I lean close, my voice is soft. These are words meant only for us.
“I’m going to be the conqueror of Firefist, Lirka. That is what I am charged to do. Look at all the ways I have become what you never could. Do you know what comes next, Lirka? I will make it mine. I will forge it, I will hammer it into place, and from companion besh. A new power will rise, a new Sith. A Transcendent Sith, filled with all the dishonorable monsters you would hate.”
I could crush the skull with but a single squeeze, rend it to dust and cast it off to the void. Sever my one connection to the memories that burn in my brain with a life that was not my own. I do not. I merely stare, and I grin. I grin wide, I grin that smile that only comes when I let the malice take hold. When I know something will hurt.
“You’ll watch it all, Lirka. With those judging eyes of yours, and you won’t stop me this time. I will tear Firefist apart and remake it as I see fit. Then, Lirka. They will cry our name, my name. Lirka Ka. They will scream. Lirka Ka, they shall cry. In horror. In love. In hate. Till from the rancor, shall rise a Darth, of the new way. A Darth worthy of being a true lord of darkness. They will know it, they will respect it. And then, they will walk beside it. As I move along the Dark Path, wearing that name: finally my own, not this…veneer I have remade.”
I place down the skull, and we lock eyes. I listen to her rant, and rave, and cry. All I can do is grin, I have won. The first of the many victories of the newest Imperator, and in time: the greatest Imperator.
The words of a ghost, for once, is like music to my ears.
I had been given a home, finally, aboard this great vessel of impossible vastness. A home that is truly mine, not under the dominion of petty governors or dark lords. I am master here.
Yet it brings me little joy, this mind can not settle. It is difficult, duty compels me to be here, necessity demands it lest the Emperor finally claim my neck. I remain unsatisfied. The machine watches me, I can feel its beady false-eyes glaring at my every movement. Typhojem they call it. It is the pinnacle of the weakness that festers…so much it controls, so deep are its roots. Am I master? Or is he? It is a grim notion, one I put aside for as long as I may. Many of my meager possessions have already been brought to Darklight’s vast command-quarters.
It is not the bleakness I have grown accustomed to, but in the many chambers I can now dub my own. I have found a corner dark enough to suit my needs. A place of dim light and black metal, untouched by the opulence that plagues power. I have deigned myself to dance to their tune plenty as it is, furs and gems, polished plates and baubles to show I too am of the highest this Empire has to offer. But here? Here I do not have to act. Where I can be with the one person that understands the beast they call Lirka Ka.
It has been many cycles since my brief, silent, disappearance to Geonosis. A falsified reports, and poof, it was merely work. They do not deserve to know the truth. For that is something only for us to share, it is an intimacy so deep I could never dare to bring it to the light. It is a hatred so fiery, it belongs only in darkness. They wouldn’t understand it. They couldn’t understand it. All I would see is judging, hateful, eyes once more.
I examine the skull grasped so gently between my claws. It is a weathered thing, brutalized by the elements for many years. The sands of Geonosis are not a kind place, nor the stomping feet of Petranaki. Yet, it remains intact. A slender piece of bone, with edges most sharp. It is undeniably Sephi.
It is the purest of company. So, with the eyes of the machine far away. I finally speak to my truest of companions, and my worst of foes.
“What do you make of it all, Lirka?” I ask, my voice oozes a mocking venom. Oh how nice it feels to float.
“To see what I have become. The beast that wears your skin, the monster that has stolen all that you ever were.”
Cathartic. That’s what it is. So long have I dealt with the judging eyes of a specter unworthy of even being given a funeral worth remembering. The judging eyes of a creature less than ever a foot-note. Yet…we are still one. My hatred can only run so deep for a face so familiar, yet so alien. A face that should be mine, but the possibility of ever wearing it again lost to the impossibly vast sea of time, and the writhing horribleness of power.
“Imperator, they call me now. It’s a wonderful word isn’t it? Like what we dreamed of, all those years ago. To be a leader of men…to be respected, to be feared, to be more than just another brute. Another blade in the arsenal of men who wouldn’t even know our name.”
I run a claw over the skull, feeling for all the nicks, all the little wounds that peppered a thing that felt so alien to the new foulness of our being. This little relic of an age gone past. I balk, truly, the gall of ghosts is something impressive
“Please. You never amounted to much, Lirka. All your “honor” got you was a trip into a hole in the ground, I have no such weakness. You were blinded by the Force, it warped your mind into thinking you were more than you were ever meant to be. Now, there is only me. Imperator. Imperator Ka, whose sight goes beyond sight, who has seen the truth of the universe. Who walks the Dark Path.”
I lean close, my voice is soft. These are words meant only for us.
“I’m going to be the conqueror of Firefist, Lirka. That is what I am charged to do. Look at all the ways I have become what you never could. Do you know what comes next, Lirka? I will make it mine. I will forge it, I will hammer it into place, and from companion besh. A new power will rise, a new Sith. A Transcendent Sith, filled with all the dishonorable monsters you would hate.”
I could crush the skull with but a single squeeze, rend it to dust and cast it off to the void. Sever my one connection to the memories that burn in my brain with a life that was not my own. I do not. I merely stare, and I grin. I grin wide, I grin that smile that only comes when I let the malice take hold. When I know something will hurt.
“You’ll watch it all, Lirka. With those judging eyes of yours, and you won’t stop me this time. I will tear Firefist apart and remake it as I see fit. Then, Lirka. They will cry our name, my name. Lirka Ka. They will scream. Lirka Ka, they shall cry. In horror. In love. In hate. Till from the rancor, shall rise a Darth, of the new way. A Darth worthy of being a true lord of darkness. They will know it, they will respect it. And then, they will walk beside it. As I move along the Dark Path, wearing that name: finally my own, not this…veneer I have remade.”
I place down the skull, and we lock eyes. I listen to her rant, and rave, and cry. All I can do is grin, I have won. The first of the many victories of the newest Imperator, and in time: the greatest Imperator.
The words of a ghost, for once, is like music to my ears.
