Private Back In Void Black

[Darth Virelia]

"Feel the power of the Force."

Tags - Delsin Shaw



Malachor groaned beneath her boots.

The bones of cataclysm still sang here, long after the Jedi and the Mandalorians, long after the wound that had split the planet like a sacrificial throat. Power bled into the soil, soaked into the obsidian crust like ink into parchment. Echoes of unmaking. Of finalities never buried.

It was perfect.

Serina Calis—Darth Virelia—stood alone in the center of what would one day be her sanctum.

The skeletal girders of durasteel and synthcrete pylons clawing upward from the black stone like the ribs of a sleeping beast. Suspended slabs of darkstone hovered in place, half-etched with glyphs older than Republics, awaiting installation. Scaffolds creaked faintly in the distance, but the construction droids had long since withdrawn from this space. Whether commanded or merely compelled to leave, they understood something unspoken: this was a place for silence now. For stillness.

The foundations of something grand. And grim.

Steel bones of a temple-to-be, suspended above the caldera of a crater that had once swallowed armies whole. Malachor's air hung heavy with ancient ash and the scent of scorched stone. And yet Virelia stood unmoved, untouched by the wind or the whispers.

Tyrant's Embrace clung to her like prophecy fulfilled. Her silhouette was sovereign, alien, motionless—save for the whispering silk of her split cape as the wind curled around her form like a supplicant. The synthweave shifted with hypnotic grace, blood-hued shadows trailing behind her, coiling toward the unfinished dais that would soon hold a throne.

Six violet eyes glowed softly from her helm, arranged like the facets of a predator's gaze. They drifted across the broken horizon, scanning the jagged ruin where towers once stood. Her posture was regal. Composed. But her mind…

Her mind moved like a slow tide through the dark.

A ship would arrive soon.

Delsin Shaw.

The name pulsed like a dark chord in her memory. She had felt his presence long before the transmission had reached him. The way one senses a storm in their bones before the thunder ever breaks. There was a pressure to him. A peculiar sort of mass in the Force—and in what existed outside it. Clever. Brilliant. Utterly singular. Exactly the kind of man you don't underestimate.

Exactly the kind you keep on your good side.

And he was coming to her.

Hopefully, as an ally.

Virelia simply waited. Like a void blooming at the edge of the galaxy. Like a singularity in slow rotation. Patient because she could afford to be.

The ash swirled around her like incense. The wind curled like a question.

He would come soon.
And when he did… the real architecture would begin.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

Malachor V was a planet known for its heavily steeped Dark side influences. For generations it was a grounds for great powerful Sith of old. Now, Serina Calis, proclaiming themselves to be Darth Virelia, a Tyrant Queen of Darkness and Shadows had called for me. Not a command. A request given as we crossed paths times before. It was with this that we were to meet again. Each of us finding our own spots in the galaxy and doing what we could to influence where we could. I could see she had attempted to call upon a Kaggath against a Council Member. Therefore, she was excommunicated. While I still had such access to the Blackwall they so carried as some safety net.

The Quinn's Passion flew down from orbit. Closing the distance with no real fanfair. Avoiding any kind of air traffic that could have been around the planet with its various stealth systems. It took no time to reach the sanctified halls of such a place. Moving through the sky, it came to a stop at the temple. Even through the view port of the vessel, the location in which the Six-eyed menace stood could see at one another as it landed down. The blackened frame of the vessel only broken up by a Pinup of the very illustrious Quinn Varanin . Her visage painted on the hull of the ship as it landed. the engines shutting down before I walked through the vessel. My voice yelling out to the computer Intelligence.

"Keep the Bay unlocked. I may need it."

A couple beeps as the system fixed itself as I had asked. Moving down the ramp and walking through the onyx and obsidian halls. Pillars that were breaking apart and barely holding itself together. My eyes played across the walls. Absorbing the little light that illuminated them as I walked through. Eventually coming to the room in which she stood.

The doors were already open. Boot-falls echoing slightly in the room. As no other individuals were here. Walking up beside her as she looked out into the forests of Malachor, I let my hands rest behind me. One hand clasping the other's wrist in a parade rest. Drilled into me as a child. Now just a normal stance for me to hold. My eyes peered out and didn't look to her. Already knowing what was likely going to transpire here.

"I hear someone was removed from the Order."

A soft smile sliced through my visage. Toothy and exposing them lightly. Unnaturally sharper than humans and perfectly fitting one another.

"I will give you credit. You were willing to stand when no one else would."

head turning with a snap.

"How well did that turn out?"

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Feel the power of the Force."

Tags - Delsin Shaw



The wind curled softly around the bones of the temple, dragging the scent of scorched stone and something more ancient beneath it—something bitter, electric, and oddly sweet. The ruin hummed with old wounds. Her cape whispered across the obsidian underfoot as it fluttered behind her, and the violet light in her six glowing eyes dimmed slightly, contemplative.

Only when he finished speaking—his voice wrapped in that familiar smug precision, biting with a smile she could feel even without seeing—did she respond.

The laughter was quiet. Low. Silken.

"You always did know how to greet a girl."

Her voice drifted through the chamber like a fine perfume—intimate and amused, but not defensive. If anything, she sounded relieved. That someone had finally said it aloud.

She turned now, slowly, to face him. The obsidian armor that encased her body shimmered with subtle motion, like oil sliding down glass. Six insectile eyes glinted beneath the shadowed hood, and though her faceplate was expressionless, the slight cant of her head—predatory, poised—was unmistakably human.

"Yes," she said simply. "Exiled."

Her taloned fingers rose, curling inward like a dancer's gesture before lowering again. Not a shrug. Something more deliberate.

"I challenged decay and the laziest Sith in history. How very inappropriate of me."

She stepped forward, unhurried. Close enough now that her presence filled the space between them with violet light and mechanical hush.

"They say the Order lives still. That the Blackwall is strong. That our 'Eternal Rule' is enduring." A pause. "And yet it grows fatter with each cycle, doesn't it? Slower. Duller. Its greatest strength is how it ignores rot until it forgets where the stench comes from."

She circled him now with the grace of a stalking noble, not predatory but appraising, her tone light but laced with thought. "It is not a tree, Delsin. It is a throne stacked on corpses with no one left to challenge the climb. I was merely the one fool who could climb it."

Virelia stopped beside him again and tilted her head toward the view beyond—toward the jagged forest edge of Malachor's shattered terrain. Her voice dropped an octave. Thoughtful. But still warm.

"You gave me credit. Let me return the favor."

She looked at him fully now, the six eyes narrowing with conspiratorial delight.

"That Quinn pinup on your ship? Fantastic." A quiet purr escaped her vox-grille, half-mocking, half-envious. "You know when I was younger, I had the worst crush on her. Just terrible. The kind that makes you write poetry and do something foolish in your dreams."

She clicked her tongue once and shook her head slightly, a smile clearly behind the mask.

"Seeing her immortalized in cartoonishly glorious fashion on the hull of a stealth cruiser? Beautifully sacrilegious. I approve."

The moment lingered for a second longer, warm in the ruins.

Then she returned to herself, to purpose, and her tone cooled—not in malice, but in focus.

"You didn't come to mock me," she said, now stepping beside him at the ledge. "You came because you know the Order's spine is soft. And you wonder what I'm building here—beyond the stone, beyond the titles. Is that right?"

 

[Delsin Shaw]

Her words smooth as silken sheets. Comfortable but stiff with some rigidity to let the beholder feel its threads. It filled the room from behind her mask as she spoke. Waxing poetically about how she had challenged the Sith Order and their falsehoods. The smile hung upon my face like a broken crack. Teeth baring lightly in their sharpened form as she came to the other side of me. Her eyes peering to me like they always have. Always one to hide her face behind such a Mask. Using her title as the visage to inspire others to be at her beck and call.

However, the chuckle that escaped my throat, nails upon stone as it grated against her silk. Commending me for using the image of Quinn for the Stealth Vessel. A light shrug of my shoulder as she spoke of once having a crush upon her. Nodding my head, I understood what she meant. Even spoke it to her.

"Many have their eyes and hearts drawn to a woman such as her. Title or person, it draws deeply. She uses that to her advantage. Just as much as you do."

However, her words went to why I was here. Of course. She was someone who wanted power within the Order. She didn't want it to become stronger and dominating, but because she felt it her right. For a while now I have heard much of her progress in attempting to get within the Third Legion. Even showing up to see her removed from the status first hand. Now being completely exiled was a change I almost expected to happen. She had the gall to do so. Respect to call out what she felt was wrong. However, that is where I stopped along the same path she had. For I did not want to bolster the Sith Order. Nor tear it down. I saw them as a means to and end. If they should perish, then I will take what I can from the ashes and move on to stronger and more resilient Sith gatherings. Not fix it to become better.

"Yes, they draw strength from where they can, and their wells are running dry."

My eyes looked away from her. The swaying of the trees in the forest as it blew across the winds. The rustling entered the room, whistling through the openings of the windows to what was held outside. My eyes closed softly as I could feel her beside me. Her presence was getting stronger. More refined over the time we had met.

"You have not built anything yet. You are too eager to cut the cloth you wish to use, without sharpening your blade."

Eyes opening and looking to her mask. Always hidden behind it. Always using it as a visage for who she is. A hand raised just in front of the mask. Fingers splayed open as if attempting to control it. So close to her eyes as they marked the room with its violet glow.

"Your consequences have yet to be faced. Exile was not the end of your faults, my dear Serina."

Hand lowering and falling limply to my side before looking at her deeply. Head moving side to side as if trying to look past the mask. Trying to see past the visage she held up for so long. Trying to show her strong side for everyone to see. Yet here I am breaking it with words.

"No. I do not mock you. You are resilient, but you have yet to become sharper against the whetstone. Anyone who looks deep enough can see that of you."

Breathing in deeply. Standing still and head turning to face away from her. The dimness of the location forced my eyes to adjust to the lighting as I looked out to the light of the forest once more. Opening up to absorb more light into them.

"I am here to see you. Not what you build. Legacies, Histories, Buildings and Apprentices mean nothing when the person at the head of it falters. There is strength that very few carry. A strength that I see you have. Projecting it as a shield, and a sword. What you do with it, is what I am here for."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Feel the power of the Force."

Tags - Delsin Shaw



Virelia stood silent in the long shadow of his words.

Just the soft, measured inhale through her mask—the kind that didn't signal tension, but reflection. His voice had gritted against her poise like stone on silk, and yet it had not torn it. Not quite. The wind through the broken temple's hollow bones did not whistle so loudly now. Even Malachor itself seemed to quiet—listening.

The six violet eyes of her helm narrowed slightly as he reached for her mask, as if to trace the edge of a truth he suspected she hadn't yet allowed herself to say aloud. She didn't move away. She didn't flinch. But there was weight in the stillness. A pause that meant something.

Serina.

He'd said her name.

She let it pass without correction.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. Not wounded, but real.

"You've always had that way of seeing. Of looking past what others fear to stare at too long."

She turned, slowly, to face him more directly. The motion was elegant, the liquid movement of armor perfectly molded to a body that no longer needed to posture. Her hands clasped behind her back now—mirroring his own stance, but inverted in its control.

"You're right. I haven't built anything yet. I've laid stone. I've made declarations. But there is no tower. No doctrine. No banner in the sky."

Her head tilted, mask gleaming faintly in the low light.

"I've been sharpening the blade. But you're right again—I've not tested the edge. Not fully."

In her tone was only acknowledgment. That in his clarity, he offered her a mirror she rarely allowed others to hold.

"I wore the mask to inspire fear. Then to hide uncertainty. Then to define myself by something more than flesh."

Her gaze dropped for the first time—not in shame, but contemplation. When she looked up again, the six eyes on her helm glowed a touch brighter, and her voice thickened, richer.

"But now… I think I wear it because it's mine. Not to deceive, but to distill. You say I am resilient. That I project strength."

She took a step closer—not invasive, but purposeful. Standing in his shadow now as much as her own.

"Perhaps that's all we ever do, Delsin. Project what we must… until the day we believe it. And then? We are it."

A pause.

Then, with a breath that almost sounded like laughter:

"Do you want to know a secret?"

Her head angled just slightly, as if daring him to try and read beneath the synthetic voice and the impossible gaze.

"I never wanted to lead the Sith. Not really. I told Darth Strosius as much, I wanted to reshape them. To take what we are and turn it into something the galaxy has no answer for. An inevitability."

She turned her head back toward the broken window. The wind had picked up again—stray ash brushing past her cape like whispers that dared not linger too long.

"The Eternalist Regime, they would rather laze on their chairs than break the chains they so decry."

A pause.

"My followers march across the galaxy, the stage sets in my corruption."

Then, her voice dropped into a whisper meant only for him:

"The Sith demand blood."

She looked at him again, and this time—this time—the mask didn't feel like a wall.

It felt like an iron will.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

"Not much of a secret."

A hearty chuckle escaped my lips as she confessed of not actually wanting to lead the Sith. She wanted to reform them. To make them stronger. That much was apparent. However, we both knew if that meant leading them, then she would have. More so, she was asking the questions that others dared not to pose or speak aloud. Even as she was forming this dark coronation of her becoming something greater, there was always a reason to keep the whetstone near by. After using a blade, it will dull. Losing its edge unless one sharpens it. I was here to be that for her.

"No."

A very curt and ending tone at her last words. A shake of the head. Eyes fierce and filled with a fire now. An emerald witch-flame burned as I looked to her. Deeply ending what thoughts she had. An accusatory finger pointed at her chest. Directly pressing against her armor. A soft thud as the fleshy finger felt the warmth underneath the armor.

"You called for blood. You called the Kaggath knowing they outlawed it. They seek order instead of ruling over ashes."

A slow removal of the finger before my eyes softened. Releasing a breath in the very short raise in emotional burst. I was absolutely breaking her down. However, there was a reason for it. She needed to face herself. To understand that I was not here to break her. But to help her reforge what she already had. A soft sigh escaped my lips. Shaking of the head slowly.

"The other Sith who follow you do so because they see you as someone they can use to gain power. You are a stepping stone for them. The Sith Order knows this. That is why the prevented your declaration. They would become the stepping stone for you. They would be a footnote into what you are building. Some Sith who fell to your blade. Sith do not call for blood. And that is why they falter. Consumed by their ego and their tapestry of laurels. This they hold dear to their hearts and wear like a shield."

I turned away. Looking out to the forest once more. My voice carrying a deep thrum now. As this was a moment I became very clearly open to her.

"For years, I have refused to label myself as among them. Sith. A name stolen from others to hold power over them. Morphed and modified to how they desire. You are learning that the term is useless now. Its why you called them on their bullchit. You are becoming different from it. You need to carve your own path."

Reaching up to my mouth, two fingers entered my mouth and whistled loudly. A moment left in silence before my words broke it.

"You are following the road. Believing it to be a new path. You are not making any changes by turning with it. You only turn to match it. You see this. You KNOW it. And this knowledge is changing you. So let me help you."

Loud electrified wingbeats erupted from outside. A low growling that mixed with a technology that was long lost. Rising from where my ship had been, was a beast. Red energized wings bringing it through the opening of the room. Lancing down to be behind me. Its body rippling with muscle and technology. Shuddering a moment to shake off anything from it before its helmet like head lowered to look at her. A red light swiping across its lined visor before low growling at her.

My hand raised to press against it. Gently calming it for the moment. Wings dropping and shutting off. Leaving us once more in the dark and shadows of the room.

"This is what I am doing. Speak a name to it, and claim it as yours."

A soft smile escaped before finishing.

"Sometimes, you need to leave that road completely behind. Find a new path completely different. Maybe this will facilitate that."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Feel the power of the Force."

Tags - Delsin Shaw



Virelia stood still as the beast descended.

She did not flinch. She did not shift. She watched.

The wingbeats echoed through the half-formed sanctum like drums from a higher plane. The creature's frame was a magnificent monstrosity—flesh and machine coiled into one brutal silhouette. Its eyes swept her with crimson judgment, and when it growled, the vibrations reached the marrow of her bones. There was no mistaking the power of it. Nor the intent.

It was a gift. An offering. And a test.

Her six glowing eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't reach for a weapon. She didn't retreat. She stepped forward—one pace, slow and measured—and met the creature's gaze with the same calm she offered every sovereign truth she intended to conquer.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet.

But not small.

"Velgrath."

The name left her lips like a vow.

She looked not at the beast, but at Delsin. And for once, her voice softened not just in tone—but in depth. It wasn't condescension, or performance, or manipulation.

It was acknowledgment.

"You know what that means to me."

The words hung between them like coiled lightning. The Velgrath had been the contest to determine control of the Fourth Legion. A proving ground of supremacy—raw, strategic, political. She had crushed it. Broken the others. Bent the playing field with such command that the only move left to the Order had been to discard the game.

She would've won.
She had won.

And yet.

"They denied me what I'd earned," she said, voice low but steady. "They feared what it would mean if I took it. Not because I was unworthy—because I was inevitable."

Her gaze drifted down again to the creature, now still beneath Delsin's hand.

"And now a beast of war I should have claimed comes to me by another hand."

She chuckled—not bitter, but bemused. As if fate itself had a flair for irony.

"How poetic."

She stepped toward it now, extending a single armored hand—not to dominate, not to leash, but to touch. The air between them crackled. The beast's visor swept her again, its processors whirring faintly.

It did not growl.

Virelia let her hand hover just above its armored brow, fingers outstretched.

"I will break you," she murmured to the beast. "I will ride you into war like a trophy to my sovereign will. I will corrupt you."

Then she looked back at Delsin, and the smile returned. Sharp, elegant. Real.

"You are right, of course."

She turned her full body to face him now. No mask of grandeur. Just presence—clear and whole.

"I've followed roads and thought myself a trailblazer. I've used the tools of the Sith and believed it made me different simply because I sharpened them better."

Her hands lowered, open at her sides now. No defense. No posturing.

"You are not my enemy. And you're not a subordinate. You are a reflection. Not always flattering—but necessary."

She took one more step toward him, close now. The air between them charged.

"I've clung to the Sith because I thought I could reshape it from within. But you're right. That road doesn't bend for me. It only loops."

A pause.

"I'm tired of walking in circles."