Private Rebirth of a Madman

[Shade of Decay]

The Ebion stank with the Dark Side of the Force, beyond any manner in which it had done before.

Deep within his inner sanctum, hidden far in the bowels of the ship, Tsisaar's body floated in his tank, arcane sigils and machinery constantly humming and glowing as they filtered his bacta, pumped his body full of alchemical preservatives, and did everything to keep it from decaying entirely; even with that, the flesh of the body constantly sloughed off and reanimated within it, clouding the tank such that the body was nearly impossible to see. Outside of it, his spirit suffused the area, radiating the dark side through the ship, sending the lesser prepared acolytes aboard it into fits of sickness, pain, and rage; deep within the workshop, however, a more important work was occurring.

Is it nearly done?

The voice reached deep into the recesses of the mind of Xenro , working upon his newest creation, and Tsisaar's newest tool. Some time since, he had sent out some agents, and puppets that he controlled, to gain control over the remains of the last Master of Ren within the galaxy. Kyrel Ren , who had fallen in battle against Lord Kascalion, the man that Tsisaar had once reduced nearly to a puddle of sludge lying on the streets of Bastion. The galaxy was falling into further turmoil, which in turn fed Tsisaar and furthered his own plans; now, Tsisaar needed a new servant to encourage the onslaught of destruction.

So now there lied a body on the operating table, being stitched together by Xenro, with nothing remaining of the original except for the saber arm.

And, floating alongside Tsisaar's spectral form, the twisted, writhing ball of hate that he had just forcibly dragged from the Netherworld.

I cannot hold him much longer, necromancer.

 

[Xenro]

"As with all proper works, it is a labor of love," the red eyed, wretched wraith replied. His voice cracked and rasped from his husky throat. Until recently, this body suffered from severe disuse; and so, as he shook off the atrophy the Sith cracked his neck. He tore away the excess wire from where the sutures held together fresh, healthy synth-flesh and preserved, lifeless meat. "You kept this appendage quite fresh," he appraised.

His gaze flickered from the corpse to one of the thralls, then another. The creature that was this Sith was less a tangible being than it was an essence. This was a type of Sorcery not unlike the spell that sustained his own spirit.

"Fortunately, I keep my own supply of spare parts. The arm can be recycled, but the damage to the joints, the tendons, the rest of the skeletal and muscular structures... I would need months to clone tissue to even consider trying to piece it back together."

Tsk tsk...

He let out a sigh. "But," he turned and his lips twisted into a smile. "That makes this work of art even more rewarding to complete."

Xenro stepped away and gestured toward the corpse, his eyes slowly shutting. "As requested, I also preserved and installed the original vocal cords." He peeled a syringe, hammer depressed from the bicep of the creature. Turgid fluid now rested, inert within the creature that rested on the table.

"The golem is ready for the spirit to be introduced."

Shade of Decay | Kyrel Ren​

 

[Shade of Decay]

And so it shall be done.

Tsisaar's will reached out, grasping hold of the twisted, writhing, wretched spirit, long since ripped raw by the tides of energy in the Netherworld; Tsisaar had held onto the body for quite some time, but had spent months searching out this specific spirit. The lights in the laboratory grew dimmer and dimmer, eventually shutting out entirely; a deathly cold suffused the ship, and further above, acolytes, knights, and even lords of the Sith began screaming in pain as their own lives were drained away to fulfill the ritual Tsisaar was enacting.

He reached out again, and the spirit was forced into the stitched body lying on the table; the malign will that held it in thrall knitted it to the tissues, into the alchemical blood, and the line of corrupted kyber crystals implanted deep in the spine to ensure the spirit held. It writhed against him, kicking and screaming, rage and agony radiating out from it to mingle with that coming from the mindless body lying in the tank nearby.

It took some moments, before the writhing stopped. The spirit, subdued, tied into the sorcerous elements and its new home.

Breathe, Kyrel Ren , and look upon your new life.

Xenro

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Once thought to be dead, the Master of Ren was at peace of sorts with death. Peace only came once when his eyes closed, and he gave up his will. All he could remember after that was the fiery torment of eternal damnation. He didn't know how long it was. Months, years? How long was it exactly he didn't know. All he did know was that while gripped by fire, damnation for the deeds that had taken place. The Force made sure that he would pay. For all the wars and conquests, the massacres that have taken place during his time as Enforcer of the First Order, an admirer of Darth Vader. Now to think that he once was allowed some sort of rest. Now it seemed the Force had other ideas.

The fiery darkness ended, his eyes once closed to eternal darkness started to open, his ears hearing voices. One of which sounded as if a voice in his head. As if a dark lullaby to wake up the madman. Now that he started to awake, something was different. He felt his body was different. Something that he had never felt before on a deep physical level. Pain, while it was familiar on all the times that Kyrel himself had stood on the precipice of death. Nothing would compare to the immense pain he felt. What is this feeling? He thought... This desire to go on living, but this time not of his own will. Even as his eyes opened, his body feeling the likes of which things didn't seem as they all appeared to be.

His eyes opened finally, and he looked down. His face did not feel normal, looking down seeing a body naked. Is this living? He thought, he continued to look down and saw stitches all over his body, but the parts on his body were not his own. It was foreign. Alien, and now here he was looking around. Is this even seeing? His eyes saw differently, he could feel it. Now looking up. He could see two figures, a man, and a being of which he didn't know before. A species that he couldn't fathom or simply believe.

His clarity slowly coming back to the Master of Ren, but not that of the same Kyrel. All he could do was look up and see a mirror, if not more to cover the surrounding ceiling. Looking up, he saw a man. His hair gone, stitches all across what was once a handsome face. Now a disfigured monster. First, it was disbelief, then as the realization hit. He soon came upon the truth that was pure horror. With a face that seemed to be unrecognizable, he let out a bloody guttural scream of life. Screaming that echoed through the darkness itself. His arms struggled to break free of the restraints. Unknowingly one of the arms was one of the only parts that remained of Kyrel Ren. "AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"


Shade of Decay Xenro

 

[Xenro]

The fortified restraints were admittedly a good decision.

Xenro looked on as the creature that had once been a man thrashed helplessly. It was a fit of infernal rage, only stifled by a single forethought: the creature Kyrel Ren had been remade into was not something to be contained, not easily at least. Once they unleashed him here, nothing might ever hold him again.

That was by design, of course.

"Remarkable self awareness," he noted, his voice casual. "Lucid much more quickly than the average specimen. This one is especially receptive to the process. Fascinating..."

There was a mad glee to his words, somewhere between an artistic appreciation and full on paraphilia. His eyes had glazed with appreciation for their success. The experiments that bore fruit gave way to further experimentation. A Force Master remade was no insignificant feat.

"You will give all of your enemies an exquisite performance," he told the agonized, screaming brute. "Because I have not only remade you, I have improved you."

He caressed the golem cheek tenderly for a moment, but as he did, Kyrel would become acutely aware. His fingers were devoid of flesh. Where the tips stoked his face, there was only harsh, cold bone. It raked like jagged claws, an alien sensation.

Xenro leaned close, his voice no more than a whisper. "Now, you are free."

The restraints snapped. Kyrel had been freed from imprisonment, but more importantly, far more symbolic-

He was free of mortality.

Shade of Decay | Kyrel Ren​

 

[Shade of Decay]

Tsisaar's spirit retreated into one of the clone bodies he had hidden; a panel opened on the wall, and the body stepped out, looking much like Tsisaar did before his decay took such a turn. The body that Kyrel might recognize, from some transmissions in the past. From Coruscant.

"Lord Kyrel," it whispered, the voice smooth, deep, relaxed, unlike the rasping cough that had become Tsisaar's more recognized voice over the last years. "I don't recall giving you permission to die. No worries, though; my colleague and I have ways around that problem." He stretched out a hand, drawing over a full body mirror, showcasing the reborn Kyrel in all of his glory.

In all of his agony.

"And now, my friend, you find the Dark Side has been realized, truly, in you; returned from death, with an understanding of damnation. The damnation I wish for you to visit upon the galaxy."

A grin broke, curling beneath Tsisaar's tendrils, as Kyrel continued screaming, and he laughed.

Kyrel Ren Xenro

 

[Kyrel Ren]

The monstrosity that was once the Master of Ren known as Kyrel simply tried to break free of his restraints. His right arm was the only thing that felt familiar. The arm that had slaughtered so many. The arm that killed Zark, the arm that brought down the form of Kascallion. Was the only thing that could possibly felt real to him. The only one that he could say was the closest thing to a friend he had right now. In an overall stitched up body made up of cursed parts that brought him endless pain. The blood-curdling scream was that of his own voice echoing across the chamber of which he remained. Trying to make sense of it all. His head-turning frantically looking at both the insane man, and the squid-like figure that both spoke out to him.

Feeling the fingers of the man, he did not feel the skin of the man. But something else entirely. He heard them speak, his mind slowly coming to grips with everything that has happened. Reality had begun to set in, he was alive. But not as he once was. This time the Force, no these men. Most of all the one addressing him as "Lord Kyrel" Felt different to him. New, strange. The Force, his senses active as ever as he looked upon the strange form with eyes that some would call those that were not his own. His form disfigured and grotesque. While it looked as if a man, he felt something deep within him. Pain, anger, and something else. Something devoid of emotion.

It took a moment, before Kyrel finally started to speak, even though his deformed stitched up lips. He finally spoke, despite having never used his vocal cords despite screaming back to life. "You!! You brought me back from Chaos... I feel hate.... Dark Jedi?.. No...." A pause came to him, as he felt the being's aura. Slowly sensing that he was Sith.. A realization came out. It wasn't any other dark sider. It was a Sith. In that very moment, hatred emerged and all Kyrel wanted to do was kill, to destroy. To ruin the beings that brought him back, and ruined his body. Feeling immense power, but a pain that had gripped his very soul as if the being's technique had painfully imbued his spirit into this new form. "Damnation I will test this new damnation on your Sith!"

He said as he spoke as he finally as his arms started to break free from the restraints. The restraints snapping free, as he attempted to move. The attempt, his will upon his limbs causing him to crash to the floor, as the body was adjusting to Kyrel's actions.

Shade of Decay Xenro

 

[Xenro]

"That anger will serve you well," Xenro observed as he ran the final tests. The body was never meant to be resilient against damage, and so, he exposed it to the sudden heat of his lightsaber. The blade scathed close to the titan's neck. Perhaps instinct and fear left over from his time as a living, breathing, sentient creature would take over and Kyrel would flinch away- or perhaps he would give into his rage? Ah, the possibilities! "The hatred I can feel sloughing off of you is reward enough. The only thing more satisfying would be for you to fulfill your purpose. I wonder, will you?"

He held the weapon in place as Kyrel clambered across the floor, struggling against himself simply to stand. There was no anger or malice in the Sith Lord's motions. Everything was surgical, precise- he was a xenobiologist, a student of knowledge. He started to speak again, this time without the acerbic, judgmental tone in his words.

"Allow me to explain some of the basic functionality. You have motor control of all limbs as normal; but this body lacks functioning internal organs. You will attempt to breathe and find that you cannot get any air. Do not let this terrify you: this body is already dead. Instead, focus on moving the body parts independently, just as you normally would. After you become used to that, you will be able to perform more complex tasks."

Later, he might explain more at length some of the more nefarious systems of the Necrochassis; for now, the creature had to learn to stand and walk before he could fly. At this point, he held the blade level to illicit rage from the beast as he spoke, but also as a precaution in the event that Kyrel decided to become violent as his body began to cooperate with him. There was always the chance that he could move freely in the moments before Tsisaar asserted full control.

Kyrel Ren | Shade of Decay ​

 

[Shade of Decay]

"Let him learn through experience," Tsisaar commanded, through the puppeted body. "It will serve him far greater than any explanations." He stepped forwards, eyeing the freshly-unrestrained body. Though inwardly quite pleased with the work he and Xenro had completed, outwardly, his face twisted into a sneer of disgust, looking down at the creature on the floor.

"Pitiful."

The word hung in the air for a moment, as Tsisaar stepped back, waving a hand dismissively.

"Is this the Master of Ren, once a leader in the First Order, once a threat to the galaxy? You've not been gone beyond the veil so long that you should be as uncoordinated as a newborn, have you? Or is this sniveling, stumbling fool upon my floor supposed to inspire terror?" He kneeled down, reaching out a hand to lift up Kyrel's new face. Cold, clammy, and rough, where the stitches went through...but still able to feel pain, as Tsisaar's clawed fingers dug into it. "You have anger, you have hatred." He dug in harder, the poisonous fluid that now seeped through the body's veins starting to seep out, hissing as it started to eat away at the fingers it dripped upon.

"Torment, too. You have this power, now why don't you use it, Lord Kyrel?"

The hand relaxed, letting Kyrel's head slump back towards the floor as Tsisaar stood, returning to his peremptory, yet dismissive tone of voice. "Show me, then. Visit this damnation upon me, if you have the will to do it."

Kyrel Ren Xenro

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Was this living, he didn't know as it all seemed to overwhelm him. He couldn't fathom, or simply understand why he had been brought back from damnation. His mind slowly spiraled into anger. As he felt his lungs fill up with air. Yet when he stopped, he didn't the urge to take in oxygen. It seemed different. I not impossible. Then again even as the being placed a hand down onto his face. Feeling on how the stitches had corrupted. Eating at his face, the blood flowing through his veins. Everything about his body felt different. Corrupted, unholy as if these things shouldn't be tampered with. All the while he couldn't stop thinking the thoughts that flooded his mind. 'This is not breathing, this is not living.' He wasn't alive in a rather traditional sense. He was what he could only surmise as 'undead.'

As he tried to will to will his limbs to move, 'the materials' that was his own body parts seemed to fight against his own will. Even struggling as he stared in hatred towards the tentacle faced being in front of him. His ugly face contorting to anger as best as it could. Through the stitches that remained permanently etched into his face. Looking at him, as he slowly got on his hands and knees. Relying on the darkness from within, his hatred for the Sith, for how his life has always been. Now being back to being a slave. He looked to the being, feeling something, that even he had not felt in perhaps ages. True hatred, that same hatred that managed to manifest as he moved his limbs.

Slowly, the hulking monstrosity slowly lifted himself to the floor. Trying to get used to being alive in a way. This time running on dark side energy. Using it to move, and he moved his legs slowly. As if it reminded him of a time when he was more machine then man. Now he wasn't a man at all. A monster made from psychopaths, and worst of all. Sith. Beings of which he despised the most. Now he would lash out with whatever fury that mustered through his darkened bile veins. Even reaching deep down, he could feel on the inside that not even this form was living, and he knew how to take it out on.

"Consume! I will consume you!!!" He yelled towards the mysterious tentacled figure. As he moved slowly, clumsily, as he attempted to use his harms wrapping around the being's throat. Squeezing around his neck as kept feeding on his hate. Now a desire to consume came forth. Now he started to slowly, move to the limbs ripping them off. As if in a bestial nature that gripped over the conscious thought. He began to drink in the blood. "Consume life... Consume Sith!" He said in a mantra. Taking the flesh, and despite losing all psychological control. Felt as if the blood that he was drinking was fueling his power. The Sith's power gives into his own. What came next was his own mouth reaching out, grabbing his legs, taking it in his tongue. One by one each limb wrapped around a razor-like tongue-whip started to decay as it was pressed against the saliva. Slowly it went and dissolved towards his mouth. All the while as blood dripped from his mouth all that came from his lips in a guttural way. "Must destroy.. Must consume Sith!"

Shade of Decay Xenro