Faction Nightsister Ritual of Communion, to fortify our god - Kainate

[Pom Stych Tivé]

C O N D U I T​

For my precious Zeptepi. For my beloved family.​

The Bone Temple of the Nightsisters Wanica 13, Worldcraft Malsheem​

The weight of the intense presence unleashed by the ritual to reinforce the Darkside connection of Darth Carnifex outweighed the eerie realization of the massive darkness which engulfs the whole of Malsheem. Around her, not a single star glimmered from afar. Instead they streak along a circular motion, and smudged together before finally dissipating as they became swallowed up to conform to sheer darkness.

"First death, then life," the words of Pomstychtivé echoed in memory. Her intention, to do away with what no longer works, and create anew.

@Ahani is prepared to let Malsheem slip into the Black Hole at the moment the Nightsisters' ritual calls for utter death.



The Bone Temple is the result of ages upon ages of black magick being cast over one singular altar. The Temple had long existed simultaneously upon Dathomir and within the Nether World, a result of its precise proximity to the Warlock's Gate. Since its inclusion upon Malsheem, the sanctity of the Bone Temple is upheld, forbidding trespass by any but Carnifex and his Wanica Nightsisters, their practices ever remain secretive and mysterious. Now those requested of the Kainate to assist in the fortification of the ritual upon Dark Lord Carnifex today are welcome to enter for the very first, and hopefully their sole exploration. To arrive uninvited would result in death, and for one's physical body to become part of the Temple structure.

To step through the threshold of the force field biodome which encapsulates the Bone Temple ever so active with an intense weight of magick, the immediate gust of wind literally draws one's steps towards the ritual chamber. The Temple building, made up of a solitary living mass, assembled of the dead who had trespassed upon Dathomir, until those on Malsheem had to begin feeding it. It exists as an abomination of necromancy, body-parts long cultivated by carnivorous plants through supportive spells cast long ago, drug across the land and deposited here, stacked meticulously one body-part upon another. On any given day, the charnel mass exists as decaying skeletal remains, but when magick is to be cast, the temple fortifies the corpses to animate as living flesh, bone and blood, one massive entity conjoined, breathing in unison with agonizing desperation to endure. Within the center chamber exists a horrific sight, a massive altar, erected out of the skulls of Jedi who had come seeking to inscribe their name upon eternal glory, for imposing subjugation upon the apostasy that is the Nightsisters. These all had been thwarted by Dathomir itself, and their many skulls remain stacked in honor of their failure, With mouths agape, their spirits wail in their torturous existence. Forced to sustain with a singular controlled heartbeat, the temple itself gracefully grants them breath to live a few moments monger.

Is this certainty of existence not preferred, compared to the Hell within which Sith and Nightsisters have corralled all other discorporated Souls?

Eyes of the once living, now again, of those heinously fabricated to make up the walls of the Bone Temple fall upon those who seeks to enter, eyes which are knowing of the secrets of the universe, but only those secrets regarding what is shared within depths as Dark as these. No light, nor joy, nor pleasant memory promised to saintly beings ever produces to rescue them even for just a moment. No faith, nor hope survives. In death, as in life, these are Souls left behind, slaves to their haughty masters. Once dastardly jedi, the Dark Forces who sacrificed them control all that is graciously bestowed upon their surviving spirits. Graces now vanquished shall never be reminisced.

To exist as one with the Bone Temple is a grace and an honor.



Weeks ago, the Mistress Malcontent had left Malsheem in search of the specifics regarding the Nightsister ritual, and to gather the necessary components to successfully pull it off. The very third stage of the same spell she has begun to cast had also been cast to reincarnate herself into existence. There are six variations or stages to the spell necessary to be cast in order to save the Zambranos' beloved god. Each intended outcome requires specific sacrifices. Carnifex's necessity warrants a life for every year the spell has existed. These sacrificial lives must have directly benefitted from the spell in some form or another. Just living where it had been cast, grants those who dwell there a darkside blessing of luck, lust, or fortune, among others.

Events which occurred between the time the High Priestess left Malsheem in solitude to acquire the ancient grimoire of her kindred predecessors, to this very moment, are all a blur in her mind. She is vaguely aware someone stood steadfast in her way and obstructed her steps during her journey. Regardless, she checked every component of the ritual off her list.



Pomstychtivé had not returned to Malsheem the same as she had left. She became summoned through Ahani's Black Hole. She was required to undergo numerous trips during the early stages of casting her ritual which unfolded like clockwork to perfection. The Coven participated every step of the way. The profound experience through the Black Hole Pomstychtivé wholly detested, as she found it difficult to focus amidst the visual mesmerization of the venture. Regardless, from the very moment she materialized out of its mouth, she would begin commanding her Nightsisters unceasing. In time no potion could further sustain the physical bodies of the coven members and all became overtaken by extreme weariness, which the spirits of the elders who comprised the spell, became determined to assist to see it succeed. From the mouth of the Black Hole the ancient spirits of the Nightsisters shouted commands to further the spell they had created.

Heads bowed low, the Wanica Coven stands facing the sacred altar, their bodies clothed in black silk and faces shrouded from sight. They are the physical manifestation of Pom's elders who have overcome death through unifying with her; in exchange they offer her knowledge. Their appearance is as statues, immoveable, strong, and bound in unison with the Temple itself.

At her altar Pomstychtivé is centered. She remains standing, with her upper torso slumped over, her face planted down into the pages of the ancient grimoire, opened to the final stage of the spell. Her form is motionless, skin blackened as veins of the Temple connect with her entire body, bound her where she stood to commune in power with her. This vile mass of living matter conjoins this magnificent creature to her spell book, to her altar, and to itself her temple.

The living carnivorous plants of the outer grounds writhe, reaching out to gather any having discorporated to add to its form. They only find the approach of those welcome. The Temple spirit is the singular life-force in control of her breath. It orchestrates for her a unified heartbeat.

She had been so beautiful.

Above, the ceiling of the Bone Temple is torn open wrought with turmoil. Particles break apart and flow towards sheer darkness. Behind the Priestess, the tendrils which crept from the Black Hole lightly graze her body, continuously engulfing a steady stream of her life-force into itself. Her energy trickling to join those who shall be sacrificed, preparing them for the final communion with the Dark Lord. The mouth of the Black Hole contained by its ultimate master, held at bay by the adept Ahani, awaiting the moment when the cultivated 10,000 plus unsuspecting souls, demons, and gods shall be offered unto him in unison.

Existing between here and thereafter, the Wanica thirteen command their ritual with the assistance of ethereal beings from their past thirteen covens, including Pom's corporeal coven from Dathomir.

"It is time to bring in the revered one," the voice of the Wanica urge.​

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[Gunnr Zambrano]

Awoken by the rhythm of the artificial sun in the private solarium in her suite, Gunnr curled onto her side to watch the softness in her Koe's face, lips barely shut as he breathed lightly. When did sleep carry him in all their marriage-years? Maybe that was the trick, the penalty of so little when it came, it fell upon him like a ship crashing into a planet's atmosphere without exit vector. She brushed the raven hair from his face, kissed smooth his brow and stretched the cover over his chest.

"Not long, my loves. Not long now." The words sounded as empty as the ache in her chest, a single untenable doubt in Pom's ritual survived the crucible of the children's sustaining act, of her desperation. Two decraniated servants entered with the appropriate cleansing implements, and as Magnus, Girak-Kaine and Raya rose clumsily from their weeks of meditations, Adara Raxis gathered them up to tend them. Gunnr picked her husband into her arms, his mass a welcome threat to her equilibrium, and walked him into the fresher with a comfortable but minuscule in comparison to the harem's facilities, bath. In silence she washed his skin, the locks of long hair. Gunnr annointed his body in oils from their homeland, braided his hair away from the tender privacy of his face. Dressed him in ceremonial robes from Dathomir, which caused an ache to her chest she couldn't allow. Dathomir… was it not always Dathomir which crept under her skin?

One day, she would ask Skorvek why she felt such visceral reactions to the Nightsisters' planet.

By the time she carried his body back, the amulet from Pom upon his chest, set him on the stretcher draped in Zambrano colours, herself draped in the clothing of an Archdeacon of Nussyn, her grandfather Girak's collar of Nereus upon her décolletage, Adara had gotten the exhausted trio situated.

For weeks Malsheem breathed in secret prayer, the many citizens imagined their Dark Lord in the arms of his beloveds. A earned sojourn after the indignity of imprisonment. Military forces gathered, many off on exercise to begin the act of retribution against all who dared condemn their God-King. The worldcraft rested in a hushed scream, fistfights broke out among friends, quelled by the force of rifle butts and growling security forces. Families snipped and snarled, a series of rash acts of violence caterwauled in the slave-dens. A precipice of panic enshrouded the artificial world.

Few knew the truth, and fewer were privy to the ritual about to strike upon the worldcraft like venom in an open, bleeding sore. Unbeknownst to Malsheem's citizens, the younger children and tangential family were shored away. Only Raya Najwa Zambrano Magnus Cadera and Girak Cadera remained by their father's ornate stretcher, hidden from all eyes by Raya's illusions. The trio plodded along the corridor, eyes as vacant as mind-wounded soldiers. They spoke nothing of the agonies endured in sustaining their father, lips sealed as hands trembled. After sharing a silent nod with Adara, Gunnr decided not to press until after the ritual.

Weakness was untenable, it would not be accepted. Gunnr ensured her husband's dignity was tantamount to his divinity in the eyes of the Citizenry. Walking through the corridors with the man in him splayed on a stretcher of gold plait and hover-cushions which relieved any possible sore was not a vulnerability Gunnr Zambrano could allow. Kaine's vulnerability belonged to her. To Braxus, who cleansed it with each lesson and infamy Braxus wrought to prove the Diyad of Uncle and Nephew was as integral to the Galaxy as nuclear fusion in a star. Braxus' daughter hovered behind the stretcher, fingers splayed on either side of Darth Carnifex 's head. Death was not allowed to touch him, while the young woman was present, for Death was a friend who enshrouded her like the chersilk of her cloak.

"Nngh… nnuh. Nuhuh. No… nnno." Raya's eyes flittered across the temple and the girl's feet stuttered to a stop. Pushing back against the tide of the Ritual's Dark energies, a rare and cognizant terror overtook the one whose powers maintained her unholy father. "No! No! I can't, no!"

"Raya!" Girak-Kaine swept from his position at the stretcher's side and pulled his sister into his arms. Gentle hands became claws, Raya struggled against him. "Raya, hush, Raya. Hold me. Hold on, keep the illusion, sister please."

"Nnngghhh… no.. no! No-oh." The Echani-Epicanthix's voice shattered into a collection of piecemeal sobs, fingers clawed at her brother's robes and Raya began to unravel. Gunnr swung round and caught her chin as salt-tears ran freely down the mind-warped girl's face and dripped past Gunnr's fingers.

"I'm.. not… ready… not ready to die." She grasped at Gunnr's arm, let out a wail as the singularity inside the Temple called louder than the thousand discorporate voices of living horror. "Pleasedon'tmake me… P-please… please…"

"Get us hidden into the Temple, and run. You've done enough, child. I'm proud of you." Gunnr kissed Raya's brow and the girl's knees buckled. Caught by Girak-Kaine, she nodded as she sobbed. A whisper for her father: she'd see him into his dark reward. Whimpers stole the silence as they walked into the macabre Temple. Gunnr's lips broke their stern resolve upon seeing Pom Stych Tivé and the others, she, Adara, Magnus & Girak-Kaine walked Kaine Zambrano to the Altar.

"You may go, Raya… Raya?" But the Echani girl's eyes became unfocused and dull at the sight of her mother and the star.

 

[Skorvek]

9,000 souls...That was how many they wished but he chose to bring more..you never know if a ritual would suddenly require more then the requirement, He brought in 18,000 souls all the dead all the beasts and demons all mixed within bound to their new fate by his magic as he arrived He released the tether to Pom Stych Tivé as he dawned his ceremonial armor as he prepared for the ritual in question, he noticed the rest of the family come forth and Raya having a attack of her own, He will let her mothers handle her he knows nothing about how to calm her...or what even sparked her panic in the first place.

For now he turned his attention to the nightsister who was in charge of this ritual before speaking

I hope 18 thousand souls is enough if more are required I can easily attain them, I make sure to over achieve incase they are needed...if not then im sure you'll find a use for the remnants


Darth Carnifex Gunnr Zambrano Ahani Najwa-Zambrano

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

It is an impossibility of the universe that one person, devoid of technological advancement, can control a star. One can take from a star, use it for fuel, or at extremes reach out with vast effort to destabilize it, but a star is ancient and beyond mortal beings. It roils and bellows, its' breath expanded to such a scale we can watch one for the span of a natural life and see barely a single contraction.

It is singularly impossible.

I hold a singularity between curled fingers, body a loosened atomic cloud of barely incorporated components. The Temple around me roils with a death I've never felt, one I cannot begin to fathom if I am to keep this black hole from consuming the entirety of Malsheem and ripping at the remaining space. Outside space fluctuates and ripples. I attach to the inhale, its event horizon beyond the curve of my fingers. Skorvek 's 18,000 souls scream and roil, few of us can hear them above the crackle of static and natural sounds Pom built into her Temple. She should have warned us about the smell. I never did get used to the smells in this corporeal realm, part of growing up an old spacer, I suppose. Can't help the guilt for meeting Carnifex too late. Too late to augment his search for immortality in a way which could keep him whole. The Force moves as it does, and perhaps in the lull of this ritual, I see the cost of channeling the Force in a way it did not immediately intend. This entire escapade is an imbalance entered into by the deaths of ten thousand, by the terrible fortune which became of Pom in its' conjuring. None will leave this Temple unchanged.

Kaine is brought in, stabilized and comforte-

"Raya…" The Black Hole jitters, tendrils consuming Pom Stych Tivé 's flesh threaten to release from the Nightsister Matron, threaten to seek my daughter out. A being of pure Light, the dichotic nature of Raya's inclinations are unwelcome anathema. Deeper still, I fear the glaze to her eyes, the way she takes to the energies of the singularity. No. Not now.

You can't meet this pain yet, little one.

'Demiurge, remove her. Run. NOW.' Darth Carnifex

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The time had come.

It would not yet be reunification, that would not happen until the conditions were exactly right, but it would be another step down that path. The most trusted of the Dark Lord's cadre were in attendance as His body was brought in, quiet and comatose. There were the wives Gunnr and Ahani, their children Girak-Kaine, Magnus, and Raya, mighty Skorvek, the Witch-Queen Pom Stych Tivé, the Eye of the Dark Lord Darth Isolda, the Dark Lord's personal physician Vain Jar'he, among others who could be trusted to stand witness.

Demiurge was there as well, standing tall and resolute where his counterpart was supine and vulnerable. It was rare to see Carnifex in such a state, an impossibility almost. For years He had stood strong as a pillar, holding up the weight of two legacies; that of the Sith and that of His family. But now, for the briefest of moments, that weight was born by those who He had placed His trust in. Chief among them was Gunnr, who had shouldered so much yet was determined to carry more. She had hardly left Carnifex's side as He rested, and in those brief moments when she was not near to Him, she longed for His presence.

The ritual was put into action, the dark powers coaxed from the deepest abyss. But there was a complication, the darkness sought to consume all light. The ritual's success was balanced on a knife's edge so long as Raya, unique among all Zambrano progeny, was within its reach. Acting quickly, Demiurge moved to stand between Raya and the ritual and scooped up the smaller woman in both hands. He carried her from the inner sanctum, beyond the black hole's grasping hunger, his swiftness granted through the power of the Dark Side. Raya could not be lost to the darkness, she was far too important; more important than she realized.

He placed her down once they had traveled far enough. "Return to your chambers, dearest Raya. You have earned this respite." Then he left her, servants arriving to cater to Raya's every need, and made way for the inner sanctum once more. He must be in attendance for the ritual's culmination, he would want to see his counterpart rise from his sleep.

Stronger than before.

Gunnr Zambrano | Ahani Najwa-Zambrano | Pom Stych Tivé
Skorvek ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

S U B J U G A T I O N​

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The Bone Temple of the Nightsisters Wanica 13, Malsheem​

As Gunnr Zambrano laid the Dark Lord upon his altar, his Nightsisters began to sing their incantation in unison, the resonance of their tone beyond sinister, unbridling their darkest nature. The altar chamber filled with an even greater sense of dread when the Covens unified among the Netherworld unveiled their presence in ghostly apparitions. Their powers, along with sentient beings confined to the force of the Black Hole, and the Magick raised on Malsheem generated an omnipotent presence in the Darkside of the Force. Each Apostasy compounded together in a singular convergence within the physical realm of this Temple. As black tears bled from Pom's eyes frozen in the pages of her sacred Grimoire increasing power pulsed in unison with the very heartbeat of the undead Temple. A physical manifestation of its forging produced electric charges which danced over the flesh of their Dark Lord and charged Pomstychtivé's Onyx amulet laced around his neck.

The Nightsisters each frozen where they stood, their bodies immoveable, enraptured in a morbid state of rigor mortis, spoke through discorporated spirits, enslaved to the Magick of the Temple. "Come, beloved," Pomstychtivé's distinctive voice coaxed, as the others melded indistinguishable, incanting in one solid melodic voice.

The undead veins to the whole of the Temple's conquered, sought out those of the infirmed, to stabilize Darth Carnifex 's physical body. Her body immoveable, conjoined tightly to the necromantic altar, his Mistress Malcontent in such her morbid state reached out to him Telepathically, forcing her connection to his cognitive mind. "Awaken." His energy always so comfortably attracted to her own, now a threat to all inhabiting this galactic grid. Malsheem had never before felt so twisted and unruly, left to the will of raw Darkside energy. "Fixate your focus on my voice," she said to him. "I am the voice of all Priestesses past and present, come into convergence for your benefit. We invite you this moment to be one with our understanding and intentions."

As the Temple intimately connected with him, Darkside Force abilities pooled with the Nightsisters' Magick. The Temple quaked; dust and blood spattered in his wake. The secrets to his understanding which came easy for him, not previously explored by most of the Nightsisters' present, ultimately struck awe with them as they focussed intently upon him. Black tears trickled from the crevice of every eye under the Temple's control. Attempting to shoulder their Dark Lord's burden, Pomstychtivé and her Nightsisters momentarily moaned in agony. "Breathe in union with us," they pleaded.

In the Nether Realm, the Nightsisters of Pom's Dathomiri Coven relinquished their control to greater powers, while they danced wildly around the cauldron fire. Their potion's purpose is to recover the High Priestess at just the right moment.



The Black Hole trapped within this powerful Hell force, more than twenty-thousand sentients. These are souls abducted by Skorvek , mingled with hordes of each their personal demons. Their Master Ahani Najwa-Zambrano holds them oblivious to their impending doom. Those soon to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord, shall be fused into a single force and offered in sudden mayhem to charge the fortifying Magick of the Nightsisters.

As planned, the very creation of this profound force earned the attention of the god of its Element. The Elemental perched just within the threshold of this Black Hole and looked out from behind Ahani, and down upon the altar. It brought with it a legion of its own personal subjects. Although this god and its minions remained most perplexed by the unfolding scene, they are curious to anticipate the intentions regarding what is about to unfold.

The Nightsisters' unified enchantment woven through the Temple and throughout the Nether, carried up to breach the mouth of the Black Hole. With Carnifex's comprehension of Dark Forces, this god shall bow to subjugation of the Nightsisters' Spell, complete her bidding and turn this force inside out, to be infused with, and fortify, the Zambrano Beloved.

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[Darth Prazutis]

In this realm of the dark arts buried deep within the crown worldcraft of the Kainate the force congealed into a hurricane permeating every wall, every fabric including space itself. The efforts of the Witch-Queen Pom Stych Tivé , Gunnr Zambrano , Ahani Najwa-Zambrano , Skorvek in a vast ritual to bind darkness and fuel it through the body of the ailing Darth Carnifex in an attempt to stave off the inevitable. It was a calculated risk to meddle in such things. In the deep recesses they enacted their black ritual with impunity, held in the room with the carefully chosen inner circle of the Dark Lords of the Sith. But unbeknownst to all something else stirred as they unleashed such a disturbance in the realms. As Carnifex lay comatose on a stretcher and his counterpart curiously peering about the room something was drawn to them like moths to a flame. The Lord of Lies notably absent during such a critical event had undergone in utter secrecy forbidden arts and rituals of the Zambrano family buried in the past, darkness pouring through him and the results of these black rites played out on his skin as he put himself through it all for one singular goal. It wouldn't be enough, it all wouldn't be enough. Something more was needed and as such risks had to be taken.

All would become aware of his presence as he neared the entrance of the inner sanctum where the ritual unfolded. Only....something was different. The presence of the Dark Lord of the Sith felt different somehow. For Demiurge whose dyad brough them closer than most he would acutely feel something different. Something wrong. An air of death hung around him that shouldn't have been there, a crippling darkness and deep wounding pain that throbbed to Demiurge like an open wound. Once the doors of the chamber pulled open however the true scope of this was revealed in his physical presence. The giants skin was grayed and his muscles had begun to atrophy. Every single vein in his body pulsed a deep, bright crimson visible through the skin and even the clothes he wore. There were ten thousand open wounds pouring darkened blood across his hardened, tattooed, scarred flesh many of them horrific, mortal wounds or should've been. The blood slicked down his body and dripped onto the floor burning with a sizzling noise as it hit the metal, his eyes were a deep red. As soon as the hunched giant stepped into the room in came a billowing crimson fog that flowed through. It seemed to permeate the walls and descend from the void of the black hole being held together by Ahani with every fiber of her being.

The Lord of Lies walked twenty paces into the room before he collapsed on both knees and all around him his body was wrapped in spectral, crimson chains that shackled him down to the floor. Out through the open void in the skies descended a storm of glowing orbs that struck the ground each like booming thunderclaps. A deep booming maniacal laughter rocked the roiling dark consumed sanctum of the nightsisters as something emerged from the elemental chaos so profound its presence swept like a tsunami through every deck of the immense worldcraft and through an entire sector of space. Many of the red orbs that descended remained formless in all but two of them. These two began to take shape. Their forms were titanic easily dwarfing everyone in the chamber by magnitudes that shouldn't have been possible as they congealed into apparent flesh and blood taking physical shape. It shouldn't have been possible. There was no way.

But here it was.

Students of ancient Epicanthix and the forbidden Zambrano history would recognize the first and greatest. Behold Nemeroth the Magnificent, Nemeroth the Undefeated, Undisputed and Unchallenged Supreme Emperor of the Great Panathan Empire, God of all Epicanthix, Arch-King of Canthar, King of the Earth, Lord of War & Death, Eternal Sovereign of the Panathan Legions, Ruler of the Endless Horizons, Emperor of the Infinite Darkness, Behemoth of the Great Mountains, Beast of the Plains, Monarch of the Fates, the Walking Apocalypse, The Reaper King.

Beside him was none other than:

Azaliah the Eternal, Azaliah the Radiant, Undisputed and Unchallenged Supreme Empress of the Great Panathan Empire, Queen of Blood, Chatelaine of the High House Zambrano, Mistress of the Endless Choir, Mother of Night, Queen of Air and Darkness, Queen of Nightmares, Chatelaine of the Faithful, Supreme Archimandrite of the Church of Nemeroth and Voivode of the Hollows, Lady of Ghosts, Spider-Queen of the Earth.

The Last of the Exalted Epicanthix.

All around them rose figures of the past, Zambrano Ancestors in their forms as they took shape all in full battle regalia. Solomon himself clad in the Abyssal Curtain, a famed billowing regal cloak formed from the congealed essences of the slain billions, the Raiment of the Conqueror a black suit of indomitable plate it was said no worldly weapon could breach, the Iron Crown rose tall above his head. A colossal crown crafted for a titanic man who rose himself as ruler of the cosmos. In his hands were the render of veils, the blade once coined as the Final Death. The immense titan swung the blade towards Demiurge and then Carnifex and back to the one standing and bellowed.

"The end comes. You meddle with the darkness, playing in the shadows of my legacy. Your descent will ferment the seeds of my resurgence worm."

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

Already those gathered bear witness to the conducting of many impossible things. A temple of bones, which breathed and moaned, its' Matron Pom Stych Tivé splayed prostrate upon the Altar's grimoire. A woman older than nine centuries discorporated on the ceiling. The reincarnated soul of a Queen stands beside her chosen beloved, showering strength upon him where Sith condemn such mercies. Ancient as days, an Anubian Master Skorvek , who found strange kinship in the Dark Lord through the rescue of his kin. As the Nightsisters sing, I feel their buzz and spirit against my energetic cloud, pitching the ceremony to heights I cannot allow to break before Carnifex is whole. The Black Hole fizzles in my hands, Raya's energy still beating within Malsheem but not close enough to tweak the flow anymore than she already did. I breathe into its' fluctuations, reign it in until the fluctuations cease in any undesired way. Darth Carnifex expunged her from damaging the whole, proof enough to fill my soul with a mother's dread I can inspect later, when this ritual is complete. Until the souls within this cosmic anomaly are transmuted and absorbed, all remain as vulnerable as various mortal coils.

What the 'good' Doctor must think of all this, I'll pay to have revealed later… if she survives.

A depressive void in the fabric of spacetime on the other side of the singularity slicks down my spine like warm acid. Something, obscene and Elemental, is drawn. Please don't be drawn to Raya, not yet. The wavelengths, if I push, are too tainted with the Dark to be drawn to my starchild. It must be the ritual itself, in all its' impending wickedness and unnatural soul collection, the wild dance of covens across this cosmos. My head cants to the side.

"Skorvek? How hungry are you to subjugate a new pet for the ritual? Mayhaps you'd… help the Nightsisters for a teensy titch?" The lilt in my voice is calm, disembodied from the threat of the Ancestral Spectres, or the thin veil of danger covering Carnifex like a sheet.

Prazutis looks like warm death. Honestly wondered where the man got to, but I learned long ago not to pry. Not worth my sanity turning to 'in'sanity a third time. Second? Second time, yeah. I went insane a lot over the eons. Looks like he's picked up the knack. I feel the ache to Adara Raxis as she twitches from her place by Carnifex's head, the girl turns as if to rush him.

If my teeth were solid matter, they'd grind. Between the lurking Darkness on the other side, the souls screaming in their containment, and now Braxus appearing with his entourage of family past, I fight the singularity's predilections to consume the entirety of Malsheem whole and spit out new stars. It's laborious work I cannot lose focus from maintaining.

'Father?' Strained, the experimental daughter's mouth goes agape as Darth Prazutis crashes bound to the floor. Her gasp is lost to the thunderclaps, but her actions are not. Whether his natural child, or only an experiment meant to stem curiosity or punish Yasha, the girl is beholden of a ferocious familial love for Braxus Zambrano. Now that Carnifex is upon the altar, I see the growing fret in the girl to reach Braxus at all costs. "Father!"

If there's one here, who is preternaturally gifted at communing with souls, it's the Infernal's Daughter. The one currently obsessed with rushing to Braxus' shackled body past the spectres of ages past.

"Skooooor? Big freaking god-monster! Focus on the big freaking god-monster in the black hole… Focus here! Here would be good!" My apprentice is many amazing things: gifted in the Black Arts, a snappy dresser, a talented armourer and weaponsmith… protective comes to mind. Over-protective of the girl he calls Niece. The black hole twitches, I seek out Pom, her once beautiful body consumed by the Temple. "Pom!? Now would be better than later! There might not be a lot left after the family reunion and potential impending guests!"

 

[Gunnr Zambrano]

Macabre and grotesque, the Temple writhed and shuddered at each step the others took inside. Gunnr nearly batted away the living altar, as it clung to Darth Carnifex 's prone body, her trust placed on the sacrifice Pom and her Nightsisters underwent for the benefit of the living god. Before she stepped from his immediate proximity, Gunnr leaned down and kissed his slack lips. Whispered secret words in Epicant which were dwarfed by the chorus and the rustling of the singularity their wife held.

"Braxus!" The urge to step toward him halted as abruptly as the quiver which she perceived in her husband's brow. No, Gunnr's place, the only place she knew, was beside him. His laughter pummelled her ears and dotted Gunnr's skin, a dangerous predicament. While she knew Darth Prazutis researched his own rituals and magicks for their beloved's welfare, the lives snuffed out from the cloning tanks were a pale reflection of the tortures the man underwent. The wince she wished to offer him became a yell as Adara launched to Braxus' side in an attempt to comfort or aide him. "Adara!"

"Adara! Wait! You don't know what's..." Girak Cadera reached for the sister he remembered as a haze, his feet held firm beside Carnifex's body upon the altar. Tendrils of deep purple energy flickered from his fingertips, the beginnings of a shield to throw around himself, Pom Stych Tivé and his father. Orbs became spectral projections, Gunnr felt to the marrow of her own bone-cage were solid as their belief in the histories. There, before them all, The House Zambrano came to judge their eternal sons.

"Your Radiance, Supreme Empress. Your Magnificence, Supreme Emperor... we are exalted by your presence." It would not be a kind judgement, but no Zambrano was confronted with such weakness as mercy, outside its' thin shreds. A proper Panathan, Gunnr bowed her body in appropriate deference, eyes not leaving the sway of their clothing, her hand not disconnecting with her beloved's. Shifting her gaze to Demiurge, Gunnr fought the urge to follow Adara's lead and rush to another of the Zambrano men. Tow him deeper within the eminent protection she knew the twins and herself could add to his own formidable power.

How better to prove to the cloud of royal witnesses the family Kaine Zambrano welcomed around him were strong to defend their own? Gunnr refused to shrink in the presence of so many lauded ghosts, her posture tall and feet staggered to maintain a warrior's mobility. Ahani yelled for the continuation of the Ritual, Pom's fevered sisters to push into their works. Gunnr trusted Ahani, Skorvek and Pom to do exactly what they could. She would buy them as much time as her body and soul was able. When the ghoul of Solomon pointed his perilous blade at Carnifex, Gunnr stood betwixt it and her husband, hands open but muscles ready should the gesture turn to attack. One arm raised, as the Force Gunnr felt best after Koe drowned her in the Dark Nexus under Dromund Kaas flowed about the stately Panathan noble like thin spidersilk in layers.

"Your resurgence will be waylaid. We will not lose my husband, in either of his forms. Your legacy is wide. But this? We forbid it." Gunnr spoke firm what words of power she possessed, Matron and Bride. No force in the universe living or dead would remove her from her husband's side, not even the weight and majesty of gods deceased and worshipped. A fragment of her former self, the same perilous courage Braxus saw in his visions remained as firm as her devotions. This woman, ripped of her past, was no longer plagued by hesitation to explore her powers or passion's right. Whether folly or a wife's refusal to become a widow, Gunnr inwardly laid the ritual's success in Pom's hands. "Magnus, go help Demiurge. Now. Gigi, you stay with me. Pom! Ahani! Continue the Ritual my loves."

"Yes, Mother." The crown of Magnus Cadera 's head stood inches higher than Demiurge's own as the lad stood beside his father's doppelgänger. A youth coming into his physique, Magnus shook off both shoulders and cracked his neck, settling beside Demiurge and between what threats he could perceive. Brash bravado scored Magnus' tongue, the same bravado which had him climb 'the mountain' of his father's shoulder as a tender five year old boy, searching his father's and uncle's eyes with adamantine tongue to proclaim his name, to demand in childish dignity he would in time be as great as any who set weapon to war. "I hold no fear."

 

[Skorvek]

While all this was going down Skorvek had a task given to him and that was to subjugate the elemental god that was being brought in he trusted Gunnr Zambrano and Ahani Najwa-Zambrano and Pom Stych Tivé to handle that obstacle whilst he looked towards the direction of the elemental god and he reached forth to send out spectral chains to bind and pull the god to the earth and force it like a caged beast needing to be contained by its master as he spoke.


I have tamed beings far more terrifying then a would be god, you will join the others as I rend you from your plane and force you to our earth and be subject to our will.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

When Demiurge had returned to the ritual, it was already continuing at a pace. He stood by and watched quietly as the Nightsister priestesses performed their rites, directed by Mistress Pom and stabilized by both the souls that had been collected in preparation and the children that lent the ritual their strength. Everything appeared to be going as planned, nothing, save for the gnawing dread that began to creep into the back of Demiurge's mind, had threatened the integrity of their collective rite.

But that gnawing dread drew concern from the Dark Lord, who could only turn and look at the door he had just entered through, despite there being nothing there. He was about to turn away, chalking it up to some unaccounted anxiety over the ritual, when the door suddenly thrust open and darkness rushed into the room. Demiurge raised a hand to shield himself, eyes squinting to watch as Darth Prazutis, his uncle Braxus, entered the chamber and then collapsed as blood-red chains entangled his body.

Instinctively, Demiurge reached for his weapon and activated the sickly green blade. Just then, two orbs of light crashed into the ground and the images of Solomon the Black and Azaliah the Radiant emerged to tower over them all. A brief moment of fear seized Demiurge's heart, but he found resolve in the knowledge that these were not the real Solomon and Azaliah. Those two had died centuries ago, their lasting legacy survived through their blood descendants. These were echos, imprints of their power, but that did not diminish the danger they posed. For even an echo can kill.

"That time had passed, you are memories awakened through the magic coursing through my blood." Demiurge stood strong in the face of them, his son Magnus rushing to his side to bolster his father's strength. "We will not bow before ghosts, you would do well to return from when you came."

But that was what was occurring in the conscious world, in the unconscious world it was a different story...

Carnifex sat cross-legged atop an ocean of empty darkness, His hands crossed over His chest as He breathed in and breathed out in a slow rhythm. While His body was inert and resting, His mind was a hive of constant activity. He had taken this time of hibernation to reflect and meditate, to strengthen His bond with the Cosmic Force, and to ruminate on the path that had led Him to this point in time. He had not been alone either, His children had stood dutifully at His side and spoken to Him in this metaphysical mindscape.

But that had recently changed, the darkness had encroached and the voices of His children had receded until there was only silence. It was in this darkness that the Dark Lord opened His eyes and beheld what could only be described as a god. He sat opposite of Him, regal armor cloaking His body like a burial shroud. His face was familiar, with blazing eyes and a stern countenance. For a moment, Carnifex could not place where He had seen the face before, but then it struck Him.

It was Solomon.

Despite being momentarily dazzled by His appearance, Carnifex did not budge or recoil in surprise. Instead, He regarded the image of His distant ancestor coolly and spoke with a firm voice. "So, you've risen from the depths. There had been a part of me that had always known we would meet this way. I had sensed your presence since I was old enough to recognize such things, lurking deep within my mind, my body, my spirit." A piece of Solomon's spirit had passed through His lineage, from father to son, residing unknown within the spirit of the next generation. It had not been purposeful, the Great Solomon had not intended for any to succeed His eternal rule; but unforeseen circumstances had resulted in a small shard of His great spirit to latch onto the spirit of His son.

And now it resided in Carnifex, as it had since His birth. The grand culmination.

"I can sense what you're doing out there, ancestor. It cannot stand."

Pom Stych Tivé | Darth Prazutis | Gunnr Zambrano
Ahani Najwa-Zambrano | Skorvek ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

"First Death, then Life..."

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The Bone Temple of the Nightsisters Wanica 13, Malsheem​

The Nightsisters had begun their ritual at the dawn of the Blood Moon, when Dathomir's spirit revitalizes once again and magick ages old becomes fortified back to life. Their Fanged God, challenged by Carnifex and lost, struggled infuriated against the hopelessness of the price of his subjugation today. "HERE!!" the Nightsisters commanded of him in unison. Dathomir is bled for their ritual. Their Fanged God raged against his commission, but he could not refuse his position. The Sorceresses' enchantment shall not pass defeated.

Pomstychtivé soon controlled the heartbeat of the conjoined undead, including Carnifex's own. Her Dark Lord's conscious focus, she did not successfully reach in order to console or guide him. She amplified her attempt to make a connection with him.

The disturbance which erupted in the Temple is only minor and the Nightsisters did not break their focus to indulge in it. Weeks ago they had begun their enchantment, and no occurrence could halt their progression, for they stood across the realms united in its formulation. Their Magick transgressed natural boundaries. The physical realm threatened to crumble in its infancy, but still the others thrive.

The Nightsisters heard the call to progress to the next stage of their ritual. "First death," she whispered to Carnifex. Pom glided across the abyss towards the singular most Darkest singularity, his presence. Raising her hands tenderly to his cheeks, she kissed him passionately. Such behavior always earned his attention before. She coaxed him to lie down upon the waves of emptiness which exists at her feet.

The Bone Temple matrix of undead wailed in absolute horror as its Magick commenced to relinquish its contained well of power upon the physical realm in a sudden intentional explosion. The Elemental demigod of the Black Hole led the sentient beings within toward the point of their purposeful convergence. All light warped into streaks, until it became swallowed up and snuffed out by the Black Hole. All mass began to disassemble as Malsheem meticulously slipped into the Black Hole.

Neither sentience nor consciousness would be undone within this co-existence. Her lover laid out at her feet, his Mistress' twelve covens immediately converged upon him while the Wanica remained active in the Bone Temple. Carnifex was levitated amidst the Nightsisters. Pomstychtivé gripped his ribcage and tore apart his ribs. She dug her hands deep into his torn flesh. Her hands dripping in his blood, she withdrew his weak heart and handed it to her awaiting accomplice.

The sacrificial sentients raised up their voices in increasing fear and helplessness as they were corralled and their energies compounded into a singular force, equal to the opposing negativity produced by the Black Hole. The Three Fates stepped forward from the coven members. They began to weave the spirits bound together, with their accompanying demons, Elementals and demi-gods, conjoined into a singular life-force. Pomstychivé bound the reinforced tether to this magnanimous formation of Souls directly to her beloved's heart. His dark energy crept from his being, up the tether, and warped all Light from his newly fashioned core. All succumbed to his Dark harmony. The needle Pom threaded through and through until his connection was made stronger than ever. The Three Fates raised up their blades in attempt to sever his new cord, and marveled at the Nightsisters' success that it would not slice. Pom replaced his blackened heart into his chest and she popped his ribs back into place. She sewed him back up with the very last inches of his threads and tied the knot strong with their Magick. Before their eyes the thread evolved into veins which suddenly slipped under a layer of rapidly healing his flesh. The needle crumbled to dust within Pom's fingers. She had accomplished what she set out to do.

The walls of the Black Hole shrunk around the coven members. The Nightsisters dove into Pomstychtivé's Onyx amulet which Gunnr had prior placed around the Dark Lord's neck. It had protected them all along from becoming consumed by the force of their own grandiose spell. Pomstychtivé is the last to turn herself into a puff of smoke and slip into its protective shield.



She whispered to him one last time, "…then Life."

Conscious awareness seemed to never have gone snuffed out upon Malsheem. The mistrusting of one's senses caused one to question their reality. Did anything actually happen here? Or was it all just a mass experienced dream state? The world craft came upon the end of the trail of the Space and Time vortex. The mass of Malsheem and its inhabitants had been dismantled, and reassembled, deposited at the galactic coordinates where physical Life is just beginning to take form.

Light produced once again in balance with the Darkness. The Dark Lord remained deposited up his altar in the Bone Temple as his Mistress remained bent over at his side, her face planted into her open grimoire as when he was first presented.

The Amulet which rested on her chain about his chest, burst more than one-thousand-seven-hundred volts into his stilled heart to cause it to begin beating once again.

All enchantment of the corpses that comprised the Bone Temple fell away, and they are left devoid of life. The Wanica transformed from their statuesque formations, into living flesh and bone once again, their faces as beautiful as any woman would desire. They each breathed in a sigh of relief as their gazes looked over Carnifex where he lay.

The Nightsisters still chanted from their place in the Nether, until one scream of horror broke their unified incantation. Their Potion intent to revive their Matriarch from her death state had failed. Pomstychtivé herself had gathered the necessary ingredients for her fortification. Little did she know, that while she had encountered Jax Thio en route, he switched out one of her necessary items needing to be located under strict circumstances, for an imposter item when he caused the contents of her bag to scatter across the ground. The Nightsister covens from all locations each stopped their incantations at once. They gathered to peer out from the Nether, into the Bone Temple upon Malsheem. They beheld the visual of their Matriarch. Silence swept over the cold Temple.

As Malsheem herself trembled one last time before she floated effortlessly, out of the tail end of the Black Hole and into open space once again, the grayed form of Pomstychtivé crumbled under the violent vibration. Her corpse fell away to the floor of now decayed human remains which fabricated the whole of the sacred Bone Temple. A plume of dust from the Mistress' remains slipped from the edge of the altar and trailed into the air where their Mistress had stood for days on end to satisfy her gift of life to Carnifex.

Heartbroken, the Nightsisters of the Nether turned away from the scene and faded from sight to begin their period of mourning. The Wanica immediately began to shed tears. They lost their Medium by which they could remain active in this realm. Wailing out of their love for her, one by one, they transformed each into a plume of smoke, and traveled directly into the black Onyx which remained over Carnifex's heart, which their Matriarch had done herself only a moment before. The twelve of the Coven Wanica fell into silent slumber along with Pomstychtivé's Soul, within the refuge of her Magickal Amulet.



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[Skorvek]

He binded the god in spectral chains before Pom Stych Tivé sacrificed herself for the ritual so the god could be used for the ritual there was another issue however with the current situation he knew Adara Raxis will try and join the battle. He instead picked her up and opened a tear within the netherworld itself and darted in taking those that cannot handle whats here with him before closing it again. He will open it and return once everything is calmed down and not a moment further

Ahani Najwa-Zambrano Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Gunnr Zambrano