But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?

Tsavong ascended up the staircase of the Obelisk leading to the top-most chamber of the temple. There was only one door... and it didn't open without much exertion from the massive Myrshavong. He entered the chamber and was held in awe of what he saw.​
The dust-filled room was dimly lit by a skylight above, the stars of the night sky breaking into the ancient chamber. There was a still mist that permeated the floor of the chamber, wafting only when Tsavong stepped through it to explore the shades surrounding him. Massive shadows cast by massive figures adorned the first stretch of the room... Tsavong's slow, cautious pace taking him towards the first shadow and casting light upon it with his torch.​
A beautiful figure was beheld, a statue much akin to the one in the lobby of the Obelisk below.​
Her facial features seemed tattooed, but simple. Her face seemed kind, but proud. She was only about 2 meters high, but seemed Yuuzhan Vong in appearance. Between both hands she carried a rose, and her face was lowered to the floor as if she was praying.​
He read from the plaque upon this statue.​
Tsavong continued to the next statue, shedding light upon it. This statue was slender and masculine, sporting a naked tattooed torso with a missing head. There was no visible sign of where the head had gone... it almost looked purposefully removed.​
He moved to the next and beheld a figure of awesome power, much larger than the preceding two. His face shone with many marble piercings, a vicious scowl and furrowed brows. His haunches lurched forward as if he was holding something, but both his hands had broken off at some point in time. This statue was as large as Tsavong himself, if not larger, and seemed menacing and terrifying.​
This person, whoever he was, had been a great and terrible warrior.​
Tsavong wiped the dust from it's plaque.​
There was yet another statue standing at the end of the long hall, but it was far separated from the other three. It was much larger than the others, obviously not to scale, and from it's base emanated the cause of the mist on the floor. Black and grey fog rolled off of its dais as Tsavong shed light upon the statue, a monument that stood so tall that it nearly scraped the skylight above. It's head was cloaked but the humanoid statue donned what was clearly Vonduun Skerr-Kyrric armor, or an older variation of it. There was no visible face underneath the hood as the Myrshavong approached for a closer inspection.​
"...Al'Khattazz... " Tsavong echoed in the silent chamber.​
The Qah'sa in Tsavong's pocket began chirping. He fiddled his massive hands into the folds of his rags to fetch it.​
The mist began to emanate a red glow, and the qah'sa lay silent once visible under the stars.​
"....what is this place?" He asked, staring at the Qah'sa, rolling it through his fingers.​
The red glowing mist began to throb, bolstering itself to an even higher volume within the chamber. The obelisk, the floor, the walls of the chamber... all began to pulse.​
Fear began to overtake Tsavong's mind and he turned to leave the chamber in a hurried fashion.​
A tentacle of mist and blood burst threw the floor, barring his exit with explosive might. It appeared solid, dripping blood onto the floor. This place wasn't some dead ancient thing. This temple wasn't forgotten.​
This temple was still alive.
Multiple tentacles burst through the floor, each of them finding a limb of the mighty Tsavong to hold on to. He struggled, and ripped one tentacle from the floor with his left arm, throwing it to the ground.​
Two more burst forth, latching onto him.​
In the fight, the Qah'sa dropped to the floor, and a voice echoed from it.​
"I... have done a great and terrible thing."
"Many great and terrible things."
The way it was said... the voice... this was not the original recording.​
Tsavong's eyes widened as he was pulled by the tentacles across the room and back towards the monument. The lid of the dais between the massive statue's feet began to shift, falling to the floor and revealing the object inside emanating the smoke.​
The Simulacra.​
It pulsed with the blood of the Horsemen, it pulsed with the same blood it had centuries before.​
Tsavong was consumed, by blood, by smoke.​
His body blistered, skin sloughing off in droves as he began to scream in agony. His lower arms, for which he had four, began to wither and die.​
His tail fell to the floor as eldritch tattooes began to sear their way up and down his naked body.​
His rags burst aflame, singing his skin from its purple hue to a deep red.​
Tsavong, blinded by pain, screamed one final time and collapsed in the mist.​
Many hours later, what remained of the beating organ under the monument of the Dread Lord lay in a pile of ashes.​
The mist had dissipated.​
The temple no longer pulsed and seemed once more lifeless.​
Yet something stirred on the chamber's floor.​
A figure rose in the shadows, his shoulders barely lit, his face hidden by the darkness.​
It made its way out of the chamber and down the stairs.​
Before exiting the Obelisk, the figure stopped, his skin glowing red in the dusk. It paused, its head directed at the statue guarding the temple's entry and stood there staring for quite some time.​
After the long moment, a single hand rose to caress the marble face of Bethany Kismet, wiping the dust from under one of her oblique eyes.​

"...We will not meet again."
The figure stalked out of the temple and into the jungles of Zonama Sekot.​