Few things could break the Tyrant's attention.
Disrupt, sure, but sever that thread of thought so completely? Rarely ever, no event within recent memory could have accomplished this. But nonetheless, in the boroughs of His study at the heart of that accursed machine-world, the Dark Lord snapped the desk before Him in half without lifting a finger. A shudder had passed over Him, through Him, and in doing so had coaxed such destructive power from Him without His desire. Objects tumbled from the now broken desk, clattering to the floor in a cascade of thumps and clangs.
Rising from His seat, the arms of which bore the indent of clenched fingers, Carnifex strode several paces forward before coming to a stop at the center of the room. He reached out with His senses, peering in one direction, and then turned His head to peer in another. He was not mistaken, what He had felt was not an illusion or nightmare.
"So," He spoke to the empty air, "He is dead then."
He did not mourn, nor did He weep. Such things were beneath the Tyrant, for His mind perceived others in terms of value. The boy's value had long since dried up, what use He had provided had been so thoroughly wrung from His mind, body, and spirit, that the Dark Lord had all but neglected His existence. That was up until now, the moment of His son's death.
The one who burst into the study, however, was not like His father. Kaahlil strode forward, completely disregarding the shattered desk to stand mere feet from His father. "He's dead!" Yelled, practically screamed, the white-haired youth. Tears flowed down both of his cheeks, almost unbeknownst to Kaahlil; for he could not comprehend why he would weep for one he loathed so bitterly.
"Kahlil is dead," more softly this time, almost in disbelief. For so long, Kaahlil had dreamt that it would be by his hand that his counterpart would fall. To be snuffed out by such lowlifes, it beggars apprehension, rage, and resentment. "My reason for existence... Dead by another's hand." He looked down to his right hand, clenching and unclenching the fingers. "What am I except a slave to my anger, and now that which I hate is gone. Am I to be discarded like so many others? Am I to join him in death?"
Carnifex was silent, still turned away from Kaahlil.
Then He turned to face him, His eyes glowing with the power of darkness.
"No," He answered, that single word sending reverberations through the Force itself. "You are mistaken, my son, about many things concerning your origins." He took a step towards Kaahlil, who instinctively thought to step back but found himself incapable of doing so. "That boy was not your reason for existence, you were the reason for his." He reached out and placed a hand on Kaahlil's shoulder, perhaps the first moment of potential parental affection ever bestowed upon the hateful youth.
"You are not a clone of Kahlil, he was a clone of you."
Kaahlil's world shattered, and he fell into darkness.
