Eternal Father
The Library-Temple: Mord'RetharClouds churned and lightning continuously struck the earth, unadulterated hatred seething through the very atmosphere of this desolate no-name world deep in the Unknown Regions. Long ago a cabal of ancient Sith Lords had discovered this planet, and through their despicable dabbling in the dark arts they saturated the world with their own malice to the point that all life, however little there was, was scoured clean to leave behind only rock, ash, and the eternal maelstrom that swirled above the tallest mountain peaks. Those Sith took the location of this hidden world to the grave, but left behind clues as to its whereabouts in long discarded tomes filled with mad ravings and tales of monstrous eldritch abominations that inhabited the darkness of the void unseen to the eyes of the sane.
Many of these tomes had been scattered and destroyed by those who wished to bury the secrets of those mad Sith beneath the sands of time, but over the long eons they were slowly recollected by those who either disregarded the warnings or who willingly sought out to make the collection whole again. Eventually those writings and outdated star maps fell into the hands of Darth Vornskr, and for many years he dedicated some of his more cunning servants into deciphering the crazed ramblings so that, at long last, the mythical Library-Temple of Mord'Rethar could be found.
But this ancient secret would not reveal itself so easily, and for many months the Epicanthix Sith Lord had found himself at an impasse until he cross-reference the ancient texts with that of more modern star charts and the journals of explorers whose names have been lost to history and the Four Hundred Year Darkness. Probes were dispatched, and a planet resembling the one mentioned in the scrolls was cataloged and a secret expedition was dispatched to secure a jump vector into the unknown. It would take another month before Vornskr was ready to make his journey into the shadowy heart of the Unknown Regions to discover if the myths were really true about Mord'Rethar.
In the end: they were not.
There was no great reservoir of long lost knowledge to be found at Mord'Rethar, nor was there a trove of artifacts that could sunder entire stars. All that remained of that ancient structure was thick layers of dust, more scattered tomes and pages of mad writing, and decrepit skeletons strewn about the many chambers of the temple. Still, the Dark Side was strong on the nameless world, and it was a world unknown to the greater galaxy. Only he, Darth Vornskr, knew of its existence. Over the next few weeks he had several crate loads of equipment and otherworldly apparatuses ferried down to the planet via the skyhook that had been constructed ever since the world's rediscovery.
Entire rooms were cleaned out of debris and outfitted with machinery, gurneys, and swathed in thick clouds of burning incense until at long last it began to feel something like home to the Sith Lord, who breathed in the decadent odors greedily. Lost in thought he gingerly thumbed through a tome penned by his own hand, its pages crafted from Human skin and written in blood, illustrated with ghastly depictions of warped flesh and skeletons so irregular and obtuse that they might as well have been constructed out of malleable clay. It was one of many where he had recorded his experimentation with the art of flesh-shaping, and it would not be the last either. There was a reason he sought out this place so fervently, for if not for its alleged treasure trove of knowledge then for its isolation.
He turned away from the dais that displayed his wicked grimoire to hungrily glare at the individual bound to one of the imported gurneys by manacles that fiendishly dug into their wrists the harder they struggled, and despite the blood that poured freely from tears and gashes the boy continued to fight against his bonds. It was admirable, but ultimately futile. Vornskr approached slowly, eyeing his prey as one might eye a tasty morsel, his lips moistening at the very thought of what was about to transpire. Upon the Sith's approach the boy attempted to make as much distance between himself and the foul being cloaked in darkest shroud as possible, but thanks to his restraints he was unable to achieve much.
"They'll come for me!" the boy bellowed, his voice cracking from fear despite the defiant gleam in his azure eyes. "They'll come for me, and they'll... they'll... They'll kill you, Sith! Your kind always fails, always falls to justice!" Bold words for a boy hardly older than fourteen, but then again he was a Jedi padawan instilled with all of his order's creeds and self-assurances that their cause was holy and just. How amusing.
Uncharacteristically Vornskr did not deign to reply, but he gave both an amusing and exasperated expression in response to the boy's very loud outburst. He had heard such utterances too many times in his long life, all of them from a Jedi, and all of them from the snug confines of one of his laboratories. The tenacity of Jedi was infuriating to him sometimes, but there were those magical moments when the Jedi either resigned themselves to their fate or lost all hope. The latter was usually a byproduct of his prodding and experiments, but he didn't have the resolve at this moment to go through that game again, and so he decided to just get right to the point.
The sight of him picking up a serrated blade caused the Jedi to blanch, his eyes widening in fear as the attempts to escape the bonds that bound him to the gurney became all the more desperate and erratic. Ultimately, he could not escape. The iron manacles shackled around his wrists and ankles had been inscribed with powerful runes from the ancient Sith culture and had been rediscovered by several Sith since the end of the Darkness. No matter how hard he struggled they would never break, and he would only weaken himself as the bladed underside cut into his flesh.
The boy was about to let loose another tirade of nonsense, but was immediately silenced as Vornskr's heavy calloused hand clamped tight over his mouth, his nails digging into the boy's cheek with such force that blood began to well up uncontrollably and stream down his face. The boy's eyes went wide as Vornskr, one hand on his mouth and the other grasping the dagger, now plunged said dagger into the boy's chest, cutting through his rib cage like it was nothing more than flimsy foam. He slowly carved out the boy's chest, sawing and tearing at the flesh until he began to cut through lung, but took extra caution not to damage the still beating heart hidden beneath. Blood started to spill out between Vornskr's fingers as the padawan wailed in silent agony, his cries stifled by the heavy hand of the Sith Lord that was cutting out his heart.
For all intents and purposes the boy should've died long ago, but by some dark magic that seeped from Vornskr's very being he stayed alive, and conscious, throughout all of it. At last a hole large enough for the Sith's hand had been cut out of the boy's chest, and with a callous discard of the dagger that had made the wound he plunged his free hand into the soup of gore and in one terrifying motion he tore the heart free. He held it aloft so that the boy could see his own still beating heart before his very eyes, and then at long last he allowed him to die; the light and terror bleeding from his eyes as the heart stopped beating.
He released his vice grip over the corpse's face and turned towards an empty cylindrical glass contained that had been sitting nearby. Effortlessly he crushed the heart to pulp in his hands, letting the chunks of gore and the waterfall of scarlet fall unhindered from his stained hand into the container. Meanwhile the body still strapped to the gurney was being manhandled by diminutive creatures dressed in dull robes, his flesh cut away to reveal the bone and organs as more of his blood was collected in bowls and other containers.
"One down. Three-hundred and fifty eight to go."
