Private Righting the Wrongs

[Darth Strosius]

It had been years since He had seen Dromund Kaas, let alone set foot upon its surface. Not since it was cleansed of its interlopers only to be replaced by the old ones that had let it slip from their grasp. Not since the Kainate had been rewarded the ancient Sith worlds for their treachery. Instead of sitting at the head of some grand fleet and army meant to reclaim Dromund Kaas, to liberate it from the vile hands that choked it now, He simply watched the familiar world become all the more unfamiliar as His shuttle drew nearer and nearer to the surface of the world. Thus far the ride had been surprisingly pleasant all things considered.

What Darth Strosius was doing had been rightfully and entirely correctly labeled as exceptionally foolish. By what few allies He had which had demanded to share in the burden to come, by His followers who had begged to throw themselves ahead of Him in order to save Him some trouble or pain, by Himself even as He had emerged into the system and issued His challenge. It had been a simple message really, but one that was meant to carry Him all the way to the belly of the beast and one that was bold enough to warrant immediate reprisal that had yet to manifest.

:"Darth Prazutis and all Kainite forces occupying the sacred world of Dromund Kaas, I Darth Strosius have come to reclaim what you have stolen. Return my apprentice, or suffer my wrath.":

The sole shuttle and its lone occupant pierced through the atmosphere of the dark world, His golden gaze sweeping over the approaching terrain for a moment as nostalgia crept into the back of His mind. He sat back in His seat, closing His eyes and letting the world's familiar presence wash over Him in a chilling yet welcoming embrace. Dromund Kaas had been His first real home and it seemed as though in spite of the years of distance between them it still had some place for Him. A somewhat comforting notion that soothed His mind for the task to come. A lull that was never meant to last.

His eyes snapped open as a grimace stretched across His features, gloved hands just barely clasping hold of the controls right before an explosion rocked the shuttle. One of the engines had been blasted off, falling from the shuttle in burning and melted shrapnel as the vessel itself entered into a wild spin angled towards the ground below. Pulling on the controls and slamming open the emergency flaps did little to stop the chaotic spinning, the efforts only succeeding in adding more jerking movements to the crash course. A curse slipped from His mouth as He reached out with His mind rather than His hands, the shuttle slowly righting itself even as it veered toward the ground still.

The impact was dampened and controlled somewhat but hardly and less intense. His head made contact with the overhead controls as the shuttle hit the ground, earning a hiss and another curse as the shuttle embedded itself into the planet's surface and left a rut of earth and torn metal in its wake. Darth Strosius unstrapped Himself, idly reaching up and rolling His eyes at the small cut now adorning His forehead, before sliding out of His seat. It wouldn't be long before someone came poking around the crash and He had no intentions of being caught unawares when they appeared.

By the time He reached the door the small cut had already healed, leaving His pale visage unblemished once more as He tapped on the control panel to open the door. It failed to comply however, one of the bottom hinges having been bent during the crash and making an awful groan whenever the door attempted to move. The problem was solved easily enough as a kick sent the door off its hinges and soaring through the air away from the shuttle, allowing passage to Dromund Kaas without delay. Turning back was no longer an option, if indeed it had ever been. The only path now was forward.

An unmasked man set foot on the ancient world of the Sith, His features cloaked in the shade of His hood so that only His burning golden eyes could be seen in their ominous glow. His hands easily plucked His lightsaber from His robes and ignited it, the crimson blade hissing to life from the hilt as He surveyed His surroundings with a narrow gaze. That He was not already being set upon by the sycophants of the tyrants was a small blessing but one that He did appreciate. He'd have to save all the strength He had for what was to come. An old lesson echoed in His mind as He marched away from the shuttle, each step thundering in His own mind as one closer to fate itself. Success or Death, and He had already triumphed over death once. He had no issue doing so again.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Darth Prazutis]

DROMUND KAAS
The Beating Heart of the Umbral Maw

There were no stars above Dromund Kaas. Only storm. The skies screamed with crimson lightning as if the heavens themselves had been shackled in torment. Clouds spiraled in unnatural formations high above the jungles, thick with ozone and dark side residue, like an atmosphere forever choking on the breath of a dying god. Rain lashed in slanted sheets across the iron skin of the jungle world restored by Sith dominance. The light shriveled and died here. The light cast by its sun was cruel, cast down from high above. Beneath it all sprawled the endless nightmare of New Kaas City, a monolithic bastion of power forged from blacksteel, tyranny, and sith supremacy. It was not built for the mere simplicity of life. It was built to be more, built for obedience, it was the single greatest city ever created by the hands of Sith. A sprawling empire, a bastion of war. Endless rows of habitation blocks, towering structures, numbered, humming with surveillance grids, stacked like tombs for the living. The cities twilight beauty shed the skin of imperialistic utilitarianism and donned the cloak of Sith dominance. High above towering statues looked down upon the populace, while banners of bright crimson bore the sigil of the Kainate across the length and breath of the city. Sirens wailed in distant cycles. Gunships traced the veins of the packed, but ordered skyline. And deep below, machinery groaned like beasts in their cage, churning food, weapons, soldiers, doctrine, endlessly. The teeming crowds moved to and fro many addicted to the intoxicating nature of life here on one of the holiest Sith Worlds.

This was Midwan, the continent of power. The beating heart and capital of the planet and Kainite supremacy here, and right at its center, rising above all, cutting through storm and cloud like the blade of inevitability, stood the throne of judgment. The Sith Citadel. It was not merely tall. It was impossible. A spire of dark stone and blighted iron, carved with Sith runes older than language. Obsidian ridges jutted out like blades from its flanks. Statues of ancient tyrants, Vitiate, Ragnos, Sadow, Bane, Sidious, Krayt lined its outer bastions, chained in ritual binding as if forced to bear witness to the truth of their successors. Lightning licked the tower, drawn to it like flies to meat. The building moaned in the storm, it's very bones alive with ritual and memory. The fortress itself glowed. The stone bled red. Every corridor whispered. Every step was a sacrament. Those who walked its halls did so knowing that the walls themselves were watching and remembering. Its towering walls separated it from the rest of the city proper, like it wasn't a different sector, but a different dimension entirely.

Right at the heart of the Citadel, within a chamber older than the current age, sat the throne. The Throne Amphitheater. The space defied architecture. Circular, cavernous, and deathly silent, it was vast enough to hold thousands yet never crowded. The floor was polished blackstone, perfectly reflective. One could not walk upon it without seeing themselves as prey. Braziers hovered at fixed intervals, casting flickering red runes across the walls, painting pictures through the haunting blue fires each carried: oaths of loyalty, conquest, and annihilation, burned into the stone in Sith script. Massive statues loomed on either side of the throne, Vitiate to the right, Sidious to the left, both gazing forever downward, where lesser beings knelt, begged, or died. Above them all, upon a throne forged from darkness itself, like the bones of a colossus, seated atop a dais that pulsed with the heartbeat of the Dark Side, sat the Sovereign of Dromund Kaas.

The Elysian Grandeval Mortarch, the Lord of Lies, the Shadow Hand of the Kainate, the Dark Lord of the Sith, Sovereign of Dromund Kaas, Darth Prazutis. The giant was still. Armor blacker than death itself, enshrouded his form, Qâzjiin'vraal, the Warcage of the Abyss, a plate of death forged in sorcery and fire. His monstrous pauldrons bore runes of judgment that pulsed with slow, deliberate hunger. A faint hiss whispered from the back of his helm. His gauntleted fingers rested on the arms of his throne like a beast leashed in thought. The helmet, Xûl-Karzaan, watched the chamber with inhuman patience, its sockets burning faint crimson, devoid of sympathy, devoid of reaction. But beneath the helm, the Shadow Hand of the Kainate was already aware. He had felt it before any sensor grid had screamed. Before any holocom had crackled to life. Before the Koshûtaral had raised their weapons, before even the Blackblades and the Crownguard marched. Before even the Sith Wraiths stirred. The Umbral Maw itself had whispered. The nexus writhed. The Force recoiled in suspicion, in contempt, in anticipation.

"A wound returns to the wounder." And then the transmission had come. "Darth Prazutis and all Kainite forces occupying the sacred world of Dromund Kaas, I Darth Strosius have come to reclaim what you have stolen. Return my apprentice, or suffer my wrath." A single shuttle had pierced the storm, arrogant in its clarity. It was met by the rage of the world. From the Obsidian Walls, the Advanced Defense Array responded with sheer fury. Anti-air batteries and arcane disruptors, guided not by simple targeting computers but shaped by Sith battle chant and predictive ritual, tore through the storm and clipped the shuttle's wing like an executioner carving meat. A piece of the vast, indescribable defensive grid that wrapped Dromund Kaas above and below like a shroud, prepared to take on vast armadas, ready for the harshest bite of war.

The shuttle spun. Burned. Fell. But did not die. As commanded. "Cripple it." Prazutis had spoken, his voice like a faultline that had split under pressure. "Let him fall. Let him see. Let him feel what it is to descend into my dominion."

Now? Now the Dark Lord of the Sith watched. The hololithic projection flickered before him, broadcast from one of the Watchers in the Dark, a hidden relay capturing the wreckage. Darth Strosius emerged, hooded, bleeding, unbroken. His blade ignited. He stood defiant. Deluded. Prazutis did not move. He emanated. Around him, the throne crackled. The amphitheater grew darker. Even the storm beyond the Citadel grew quieter, as if the planet itself were drawing breath. Then, his voice. Not shouted. Not projected. But imposed. "He believes this world remembers him." Prazutis said, the words grinding like chains pulled across stone. "But Dromund Kaas is not what it was. Not a relic of fading Empire. Not a throne to be reclaimed. It is mine, as are all things upon it. Let him find his way here, let him stand before me."

He gestured once, one massive gauntlet rising. A thousand systems activated. An alert arced like lightning through the city, through world itself as if it stirred from its slumber. Across the city, from the Red Bastion to the Syndicate Underbelly, the Global Surveillance Grid watched him. The Immortal Legions readied. The Shadow Spire began predictive simulations. The Sithspawn in the Beast Pits howled in unison. The Obedience Grid pulsed a warning through the city's foundations: An intruder walks beneath the storm.

And yet..."Let him walk." the Dark Lord growled. Let him see the War District, where colossi rose from industry, let him feel the Arcane Quarter, where the walls whispered in tongues. Let him crawl through the machine of Kainite truth. Let him taste what supremacy is. But if he reached the Citadel's doors, if he endured the storm, the darkened crucible of memory and fear. Then he would stand before this throne. Then all would be revealed. One fate or another. And Darth Prazutis would answer not with mercy, but with eternity. The might of the Sith Dyarchy would stand before him. But for now? The Dark Lord vanished from his throne, delving deeper into the folds of this colossal structure to a ritual chamber that hung heavy with flame, smoke, vibrant with dark side runes as something was about to begin, that was waiting for him.

Darth Strosius | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"That's it, follow through with your feelings. Reach out and seize the flow of battle."

The words rang out, harsh and authoritative, punctuated by the whoosh and crackle of lightsaber blades. Both were crimson, the vibrant red of spilled blood, but only one was significantly longer and seemed to pulsate with a malign hunger. Each was drawn to one another, meeting again and again in a violent clash of color and energy. The floor around them was marked by deep canyons of melted metal, lacerations made in the wake of their blade's cutting deep.

Towering and imperious was Darth Carnifex, Dark Lord of the Sith and Eternal Father of the Kainate. His lithe but powerfully built form was swaddled in a simple tunic and requisite hakama that fell down to just above His ankles. His feet were bare, plodding along the floor with the grace of a dancer's gait. In His hands He carried His weapon, a lightsaber born of cruelty and death. The red blade jutted out from between a forked basalt stone, part of a funerary shrine recovered from the depths of Exegol's catacombs.

The other was Revna Marr, once a prisoner and now student of the Dark Lord's teachings. Though an absence had passed between them for several months, she'd returned to the dreaded Citadel of Dromund Kaas to continue her training. She wore vestments similar to the Dark Lord's, her own bare feet maneuvering her across the battlefield of their duel. Her eyes blazed with the determination of experience and skill.

"Control my center line, disrupt my focus. Break an enemy's concentration, and they will be no match for you." He watched with cold, calculating eyes as she adjusted to His instruction. She had always been quick to adapt to new circumstances, both in the training dojo and in the lavish court. She'd already become a Queen. But none of that mattered here, only the words master and apprentice carried any weight.

He reached out with the Force to pull her left leg out from under her, to throw her off-balance and send her sprawling to the floor. Never once did He relent, always pushing and making her work for every achievement; no matter how minor. They continued this back and forth for some time, with the Dark Lord always carrying the advantage, but Revna Marr constantly adapting and improving the weaknesses He exploited. In time, not even the same move would work on her twice.

When it was all over, the Dark Lord took time to analyze the spinal implant embedded into Revna's back. He often did this following a sparring match, always double-checking and reinforcing Prazutis' work; as they both had done for one another for over a century now. He could sense Revna's emotions as He did, their existence a constant source of power from which she drew her strength from. Today was going to be a special day for Revna, but perhaps not in the manner she'd expect.

"Hate him, fear him, it matters not," intoned Darth Carnifex, His voice shattering the silence that had grown between them. His voice was startling by it's mere utterance, glacial as it weighed down upon those who heeded it. "He is necessary, as fundamental as the air you breath. He is death, inevitable and all-consuming. Today, you will be made to stand before him again." He'd finished up, allowing Revna to replace her tunic. When she was done, the Dark Lord was waiting for her. "We go now to the depths of the Citadel, to the convergence of destiny. One final trial."

"It is then that we shall see if you are ready."

Darth Strosius | Darth Prazutis | Revna Marr ​

 

[Revna Marr]

Darth Strosius // Darth Carnifex // Darth Prazutis​

Fire flowed through Revna’s veins, a torrent of volatile emotions and feelings amplified by the Dark side that she skillfully controlled as she effortlessly and gracefully moved through the ritualized form of combat, clashing and locking her crimson blade with that of the Dark Lord, Darth Carnifex, over and over again. She was silent as she absorbed his sharp instructions, ever attentive and responsive to the lessons she received - even when learned from one of her mortal enemies. But though she uttered not a single word, her emotions and Force presence practically screamed with that which thrummed through her - dark joy and excitement, even. It lent her a ferocity and energy that seemed almost impossible for one of her size and stature - especially when fighting a behemoth like the Eternal Father of the Kainate.

The flow of energy that came with combat drove her ever forward, and her connection to the Dark side amplified her senses and reflexes. The young Sith woman had come a long way since her early days as a hopeful, an acolyte with no training and no understanding of the Force. What her departed Master, Darth Strosius, had started was now being completed by both Darth Carnifex and Darth Prazutis.

Revna met a harsh swipe made against her with her blade and, empowered by the emotions flowing through her, deflected and forced Carnifex’s longer blade away - both lightsabers carving glowing slashes into the floor around them. She used the saber he had given her months prior in their last sparring match together - a saber she had kept and trained with extensively so as to become so familiar with it that it became an extension of herself. That familiarity was now on display as she met the Dark Lord blow for blow, revelling in the thrill of combat as she adjusted where necessary, shifting between Forms to stay unpredictable in her movements and intentions - and even utilized various Force techniques that she had learned over time in an effort to do exactly what Carnifex instructed her to do: break his concentration. A tall order as he was a Master in all things she knew, and even more that she had yet to learn.

But the half-Vahla woman was tenacious and relentless, even when her weaknesses were found and exploited by the Sith Lord. She used to feel anger at her weaknesses being used against her, but she had gained wisdom and learned that unless he found them and brought them to the surface, then she could never improve upon them and eliminate them.

Though he was her enemy, Revna found value in Carnifex as a worthy Master.

She felt the Force shift around the two of them, striking out at her like a viper as the Dark Lord pulled on her left leg and forced her off her feet, intent to put her down on the ground where she would be at a distinct disadvantage. Revna moved with the tactic employed against her instead of resisting it, and she utilized her unique racial skeletal structure to shift and roll back to her feet - and just in time to parry a stab that would have skewered her had she not been so intent and focused on the fight.

Back and forth the two of them went, trading and evading blows that would have certainly maimed or killed most others. Carnifex would try his tactics again from time to time with her, but Revna was a fast learner and she met Force with Force - unveiling her own growing might in the Dark side as she did so. The scion of House Marr was nowhere near the levels of power as a Dark Lord, but she had become a force to be reckoned with in her own ways.

Eventually Carnifex called an end to their spar, seemingly pleased with her performance, and Revna ceased upon his command obediently, offering a bow of respect as she disengaged her lightsaber. She removed her tunic and remained still as he inspected the hated device that was embedded into her spine, and she clenched her jaw as her darker emotions flashed through her. The Sith Lord’s voice split the silence that had fallen between them as he sensed her writhing hatred for the device and for the one who had forced such a contraption upon her and her only response was to cast a spiteful look at him, though she wisely remained silent.

She had learned long ago to tame her tongue in the presence of the Dark Lords, these new Masters of hers. And as much as she hated it, compliance and obedience to them both earned her their favor, earned her lessons that grew her as a Sith, and further empowered her.

Defiance and rebellion only hindered her ambitions.

But there would come a time where she would break away from them, when she no longer needed them to further her goals and aspirations.

When she had re-dressed herself, Revna joined Carnifex as he informed her that they were headed into the heart of the Citadel where one final test awaited her, saying cryptically that they would see if she was ready - though what he meant by that she wasn’t entirely sure, and a prickle of dread and curious anticipation raced across her skin. Ready for what, exactly? -echoed the thought within her mind.

“As you command, my Lord.” Revna responded aloud instead, before she fell in step with the Eternal Father and let him guide her deeper into the great structure that stood as a monument to Sith supremacy, to the power of the Kainate.

As she went, she felt something vaguely familiar echo through the fabric of the Force, enough to cause her steps to falter ever so briefly as a frown creased her brow. With the echo came pain, and flashes of the arena that housed the Kaggath entered her mind briefly. In response, Revna banished the memories and locked them away; she needed to focus on getting through whatever it was the Dark Lords had planned for her and she couldn’t afford to live in the past.

 

[Darth Strosius]

The dense, towering trees of Dromund Kaas choked what little light filtered through the raging storm above as Darth Strosius marched away from the ruined shuttle. He didn't need any illumination to guide His way even without His sight in the darkness, He could sense where He should be moving just fine. Darkness was in no short supply on a world such as this, more cloaked in it than in life or water or even air itself, but it did coalesce in certain places. Gathered either by circumstance or intent into pools where the Dark Side could almost be glimpsed from the corner of one's eye.

And as He pushed His way through a low hanging branch that dared block His path, His gaze set upon the dark beacon that He had been tracing. Glances trailed the towering architecture that seemed to mirror the trees around Him now, the urban sprawl that stretched beyond where His eyes could see and sat as clustered as the grass, the banners that adorned many walls and towers like the foliage that connected the bastions to the buildings below them.

The sight made Him grimace. "My beloved Kaas City, and here I thought their abandonment had been enough of a crime. Their return was even worse." He clicked His tongue and turned His gaze away from bemoaning the long lost splendor of the city that He remembered from years past and instead focused on the fortress that dominated it now. It was an oppressive structure in every sense of the word, looming over not just the city but seemingly the world itself in its height and design.

A fixture as permanent and stalwart as any mountain but one crafted from material and dread rather than stone and time. It was purposefully set apart from the rest of the urbanized landscape around it, meant to be gawked at or bowed to by all who were cursed to live in the city that it had been erected in. It would take half a sector's army just to assail the imposing walls themselves, and He could only guess at what lay within the citadel once the outermost shell had been bypassed.

Darth Strosius brought no army to siege it nor an armada to level it, but His grip tightened on His weapon all the same.

He'd make His way through the city and to the wretched bastion that kept it chained simply by standing, with blade and fang and claw He'd tear through whatever or whoever dared to stand between Him and the horrid architect of this blasphemous fortress. No mere minion or guard could keep Him from whatever pitiful throne the tyrant had built for himself. Darth Strosius had been the last Sith to leave Dromund Kaas a lifetime ago and now it seemed as if He was the only one that stood upon it still.

He had no need for an army nor armada, not for this. The Kainate had built this city so that their foes would crash against it and shatter like waves against a shore. But He was no simple foe, no soldier destined for slaughter nor a general seeking glory, He was a Sith. And Sith had nothing to fear. Certainly not from the same cowardly lot that had left the planet to rot once before. Perhaps they'd flee again when He had Prazutis strung up by His entrails on that awful fortress of his.

There was one way to find out, and thus the march continued.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Darth Prazutis]

He knew.

The very moment the shuttle breached orbit, the very moment it touched down, the nexus howled. Not in alarm, Dromund Kaas did not scream. It remembered, and the Dark Lord listened. Deep within a ritual chamber removed from the throne room, within the black heart of the Sith Citadel, Darth Prazutis opened his eyes. The chamber around him was vast, yet suffocating. Built in impossible scale, arches climbed into shadow, spires jutted like blades through vaulted ceilings that pulsed with ritual circuitry and entropic veins. An altar, a blackstone monolithic slab crowned in razored antlers, drank in the ambient light and pulsed faintly with the rhythm of the Umbral Maw, the dark side nexus that bled into all things.

He stood motionless. Not statuesque. Not frozen. No. The Shadow Hand was anchored. As if moving would unmake the room. As if shifting would crack the foundations of the very world. The giant's armor, the dreadful Qâzjiin'vraal, murmured with interred voices, and the Sith rune-etched warblade Xûl Qarnak strapped to his side, wept slow trails of whispy dark energy into the steps below.

Above the slab hung a suspended shrine, a massive crucible of bone, obsidian, and bleeding runes, a dark side focal point bound to the Shadow Hand's will. The chamber pulsed like a heart. The city below it, all around them burned. Not in flame. In awareness. The intruder's ship had been seen before it left hyperspace. Attacked. Not to destroy no, but to punctuate. The wounded shuttle had not fallen by mistake. It was permitted to land, a taste of the restrained violence that allowed him to set foot upon the throneworld. This world was his. Its clouds wept black rain now. Its spires loomed with bladed shoulders and Sith mouths that screamed in chorus across the lower districts. The Immortal Legions waited in silence. Everything breathed in alignment with the will of the Kainate's undisputed masters. Now? Now an old ghost, Darth Strosius dared return to its soil.

Fitting.

"He marches through the maw." The Dark Lord finally said aloud to no one in particular, his voice rang out like tectonic pressure filtured through graves. It would echo in the minds of every soul bound to the Citadel. Even without speech, Carnifex would hear him. Revna would feel it, a cold spike through her spine, as the rune-core in her implant throbbed once, like it recognized its master.

"The carrion pretender returns, drawn not by purpose, but by pain. Let him come." The Dark Lord's eyes ignited beneath the visor of Xûl-Karzaan. Twin comets of abyssal flame, peering across the dimensions. Already, the Dark Chorus began to sing across the vast chamber, their voices rocking through the halls Sith cultists hidden in the margins, their throats blackened with sacrificial ink, whispering the Litany of the Black Hand's Judgment. Blood hissed down etched gutters at the base of the altar:

"O Shadow Hand, Mortarch Eternal, we call to thee.
He Who Walks Between Light and Death, Lord of Silence and Flame.
Breaker of Suns, Reaper of Empires,
Let thy gaze fall upon the cursed and the weak.

By the Black Flame that devours without light,
By the Voice that drowns hope in silence,
By the Blade that severs soul from flesh.
We beg thee, rise in wrath.

Let the skies burn with thy contempt.
Let the air grow thick with fear and ash.
Let their blood boil and their gods wail.
Let their cities become altars to despair.

Mortarch of the Abyss, Shadow Hand of the Dyarchy
Unleash the Dread March.
Unchain the dark.
Anoint the soil with ruin.
And erase their name from memory."

He didn't order troops to intercept. He didn't dispatch a champion to stall him. He allowed the Sith to walk. Through the darkest sector of Kaas City. Past dominatng statues and wailing towers, drowned by the splender of the Shadowed Dominion, the great capital of a world returned to dominance. This would not be a duel. It would be a reckoning. "Let him see what Sith mastery looks like, without apology. Let him choke on legacy. Let him remember why the dark side never needed his name, and craved ours." The walls creaked once, not from movement, but from the sheer pressure that built within the Citadel. The atmosphere folded around the weight of the moment. Even the Force seemed to bend, slightly, awaiting the inevitable.

Darth Prazutis didn't move. He didn't need to, for he was the eye of annihilation itself. In his wake light had been scoured from the world, darkness had come home, and from his hands the Empire of the Kainate would grow and expand, far beyond the dreams and imaginations of any perceived rival, ally, or foe. The Dark Lord watched in silence as the Eternal Father came with thei apprentice Revna Marr. In time since her arrival the dynamic had changed, she had more than proven herself worthy of teachings. While his nephew worked on her physical combat he taught her the nuances of the force, unveiling the mysteries of the dark side and sharpening her control and power with new abilities, working all the while to break down the walls of morality to enforce the Sith's place in the world, and everyone elses role beneath them. The hunger within her had been unleashed, and he'd taughter her how to handle it, giving her the tools to succeed. "Welcome, Revna. Through your time here you've proven yourself time and again. You now stand upon the precipice of something greater." The Mortarch gestured to the large slab in the center of the room, hazy crimson vapors rose from its base around it. "Lay down atop the altar, and your future will begin."

Darth Carnifex | Darth Strosius | Revna Marr ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The grand splendor of the Citadel slowly bled away, replaced by ancient ruin and the stench of stagnant rot as they descended deeper into the inner sanctum. The old foundations, laced with the power of ages, had never been truly uprooted, only built over. But go down far enough, and one would encounter the same stone and metal that had witnessed the reign of the Dark Lord Vitiate.

But, among worn and weathered inscriptions that danced along every wall were new carvings. A litany of geometric symbols interconnected, carved right over ancient inscriptions that had nearly faded entirely. Though the old magic had faded, it hadn't entirely dissipated. These new inscriptions seized that which remained locked within stone, and melded it with the new power that flowed throughout the Citadel. Through it, the very power of Dromund Kaas was harnessed, channeled, and collected deep below the earth.

Blood and fear was rank within the ancient catacombs, stained by the collective horror imposed upon it for countless generations. The torment of those who had passed here echoed throughout the decrepit chambers and corridors, a keening wail that bit down to the bone as it swept through like a fierce gale. A cold chill permeated the air just as well, for as they neared the darkest pit beneath the Citadel, the Dark Side grew with greater intensity than had been felt above the crypts.

Finally, they reached the ritual hall. Darth Carnifex strode in first, His presence matched only by the Dark Titan awaiting them both. Equal in stature, the twin Dark Lords of the Kainate cut a frightening picture. The Eternal Father and the Mortarch, two sides of the same coin. The visionary and the architect, the Butcher King and the Shadow Hand, inseparable and invincible. The legacy of Solomon the Black, rendered down into two.

He placed a hand upon Revna's shoulder, in a gesture that almost could be conceived as reassuring but for the darkness that radiated out from the Twice-Crowned. "It has all been leading to this. Remember, there is no fear, only power." Thus He let her move forward on her own, standing back and watching.

Watching, and keeping an eye on their guest above as well.

For though the wayward lord Strosius found his path unobstructed, he was not unwatched. The darker things that permeated the Citadel watched silently as he passed them with eyes of stone, eyes of flesh, and eyes wrenched from corporeal form. He could feel them, more and more eyes joining those that already watched. They made little effort to truly conceal themselves, they wanted their master's guest to know they were there.

To know that he was expected.

Darth Prazutis | Darth Strosius | Revna Marr ​

 

[Revna Marr]

Tags: Darth Strosius // Darth Carnifex // Darth Prazutis​

​

Revna carried herself with an air of quiet resolution as she walked with Darth Carnifex; her pale face was set with grim determination to face whatever the Dark Lords had laid out before her, and though there was a tremor of uncertainty in the back of her mind, she refused the pricklings of fear that tried to worm their way in. Instead, she opened herself to truly feel and sense the environment around her as they descended lower. Dromund Kaas was steeped in history, the old blood shed in constant wars and struggles, victories and defeats. She could also see ghostly images of the past flicker in her mind’s eye as she went forward towards her destiny, could almost hear the whispers that were trapped within the very walls and even the ground itself.

Though Dromund Kaas belonged to her enemies, this place was still holy ground to young Revna. She could feel the magnitude of the Dark side here, the power of it thrumming through the very planet itself, like a wicked beating heart. This place was a nightmare for any Jedi or Light sider…but for someone like Revna, it was like being in the presence of her dark god.

And yet, something else nagged at the back of the young half-Vahla’s mind; something that disturbed her somewhat as Carnifex continued to guide her onward. Fiery, coal-like eyes flickered over to the Sith Lord who walked just ahead over, wondering if he too felt the strange thrumming through the Force. She almost asked him about it, but then decided against it.

The long descent and march ended when they finally entered a great ritual chamber, and here Revna slowed her gait for a moment, ensuring that Darth Carnifex entered before she did. She stepped in behind him, gazing around herself to take in all the sights before her gaze settled upon the one who inflamed her hatred and fury more than any Jedi ever could, the one who had enslaved her to his very will, forced her to feed the Hunger within, forced her to slay her own brothers and sisters, and who ensured she felt pain at every turn:

Darth Prazutis.

Both Dark Lords were well aware of the fierce animosity she held towards the great titan - but she did something her late Master could never seem to do when in their presence, she restrained herself. And that restraint had allowed her to rise to heights in power she never thought possible, because she had been willing to sacrifice her own morals in order to achieve it.

She supposed she had the Dark Lords to thank for that, but she would never verbally say such a thing. She would show her thanks by becoming all that they knew she could become as a Sith.

The titanic voice of the Shadow Hand boomed forth then, drawing her eyes to meet his directly, as bold and fiery as she ever was when around him: "Welcome, Revna. Through your time here you've proven yourself time and again. You now stand upon the precipice of something greater."

Oddly enough, she felt a swell of pride in her soul upon hearing him utter such words. To hear that she had proven herself in the eyes of the Dark Lords meant something to her. How many could say that? Felt that same stirring of dark pride within their very heart? Not many, if she could hazard a guess. Darth Carnifex and Darth Prazutis were not the kind to reward half-measures; no, they killed those who failed without regret or mercy.

A lesson she had learned and even held onto as she embarked upon her own journey of training her apprentices left back on Korriban. I will return to them. I must.

Darth Prazutis gestured to a great slab in the center of the ritual chamber, and bid her to lay upon it. Darth Carnifex then laid a giant hand upon her shoulder, and one might have mistaken it as an act of comfort, but she knew it was anything but. The Butcher’s words fell over her then, reminding her that everything she had been enduring had led her to this moment, and that there was no fear…only power.

The young Sith woman eyed the slab, not with fear or wariness, but with the weight that came with an understanding that this was a gateway for her to pass into something greater. If she was worthy of it, that was.

Revna turned towards the slab and began to walk towards it, slowly and methodically. As she approached, her mind swirled with the unknowns on what might occur here, what ritual would take place…what she would have to give, or take. Was doing this going to cement her place amongst the Kainate? Would they demand that she swear her loyalty to them, bind her in blood and ritual?

There was only one way to find out.

When she came to the edge, she turned and used her hands to hoist herself up on its surface - taking a deep breath to steady her suddenly racing heart - before she shifted and positioned herself within the altar’s center, lying down upon her back. Revna took in another deep breath and felt the Darkness shift within and without, its chill touch familiar and welcome.

With it came the sense that she was standing on yet another precipice, staring out into the Void of the unknown. And all she had to do was take that leap.

“I am ready, my Lords.” she said, her voice cold and steady as it echoed through the chamber, and she prepared herself to face this one last trial they had for her.

She just prayed to Bogan that it would all be worth it in the end.

 

[Darth Strosius]

The crimson blade had been extinguished in favor of subtlety and expediency once He had managed to enter the city. While there was certainly some manner of organization and planning in the city's construction, from where Darth Strosius stood all that He could see were the streets and buildings that separated them in a dark labyrinthine pattern that seemed intent on swallowing any trespassers that dared to navigate it. Were it not for the towering citadel and His own climbing ability then losing His way amidst the alleys and streets would have been all too easily done.

There was life evident in every corner of this city but by chance and skill He was able to slip around the notice of the citizenry for the most part, and for those that did notice His presence He was too swift to leave anything but a glance of robes or the sound of heavy yet quick steps. Somewhat surprisingly He didn't notice much panic or general alarm within the city, no marching soldiers or security forces and no rapid deployment or pursuit of His movements by any aerial elements.

Were it any other city or mission He'd simply think the residents were not at all observant or on guard, but He knew better in a place such as this. Even when He moved as unseen as possible, climbing through buttresses and underneath arches where no eye could spot Him, He could still sense a watchful presence. Multiple even. It wasn't merely the city's own surveillance that was to blame either as He had been intent on avoiding as many cameras and sensors as possible with His rather unorthodox route through the city. There was something more that had leveled its gaze upon Him.

Let them watch, let them withhold their reprisal, let them think His infiltration and efforts are controlled or allowed. Let them sit so smug and secure until He was carving into their throats. All it did was set His nerves off and allow Him a much easier advance towards the citadel. It was their mistake to not attempt to halt His path already, to not have had His shuttle destroyed outright and Him along with it. Prazutis must have been very sure of himself indeed.

It would be so very cathartic to break that confidence bone by bone.

Darth Strosius stalked His way through what He eventually realized were separate districts, the divisions between them subtle along their borders but outstanding when looking from one to the next. From bustling hubs of commerce to roaring factories and then intricate but dreadful spires He traversed what seemed to be an ever shifting sea of architecture and activity. There was no familiarity or fond memories to be found here despite the years He had spent living in the city that came before this twisted current iteration. This one had began with a blank slate and had become something monstrous and foreign compared to the one that He had founded His cult within so long ago. Another grievance added to a seemingly endless list.

Finally the unmasked man halted His advance as He finally reached the outer edges of the citadel, clinging onto a spire of some building that sat across from it as His golden gaze ran up the towering walls. Even from here He could see the weapon emplacements bristling along the wall and He didn't doubt that they had the forces to crew them. The city itself could swallow an entire sector's army but this fortress seemed intent on warding off the whole galaxy if it needed to do so.

His eyes scanned for weaknesses in the wall, gaps in the structure or design that He could slip through unnoticed and unimpeded but from this angle at least there were none to be found that could be of use. Perhaps trying to slip into one of the towers' hangars would be His best course of action but His train of thought slid to a slow halt as His eyes narrowed. He had been being observed since His arrival on this once sacred world, allowed to run His way through this accursed city without pause or provocation. Why did He need to bother with infiltration now when such an effort had been null and void from the outset?

He pressed Himself against the spire and ground His fangs together in a brief moment of hesitation as His gaze trailed back up to the top of the wall. It was quite a long ascent but He could manage it so long as this unspoken allowance was continued. He hated having to rely on the folly of His foes rather than His own skills but in circumstances such as these it was a necessity. He took a breath as His repulsorboots clicked online, leaping away from His perch and letting His boots propel Him upwards.

As He drew nearer to the walls He could feel the Dark Side grow all the more potent and present, its power had been seeped into the city itself and had been more prominent here or there but here it felt much more intentional and direct. A clever implementation no doubt meant to strengthen the citadel's Sith forces. They must not have considered that it would do the same for Sith attackers as well, the fools. The tendrils that exuded from His robes twitched and lengthened in response to the Dark Side as He flew, weaving His way around one of the towers in order to avoid any potential reprisal.

Darth Strosius reached the top of one of the towers as His "wings" reached their full extent, flaring out in their pale glow with a snap that mirrored the lightning of the storms high above the city. The walls were but one obstacle, His eyes sweeping over the citadel with grim determination as He sought some sort of entrance or window that He could exploit. He couldn't risk being tied down in a place such as this, He needed to find Prazutis and end that threat quickly before any of the forces here grew enough sense to question why He hadn't been shot at yet.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The blackstone altar hissed beneath her weight, exhaling curls of crimson vapor that clung to Revna's skin like silk spun from blood. The ancient slab was not cold, it pulsed. As though it breathed. As though it hungered. Beneath her, she could feel it drink from the Force that poured through the sanctum. Darth Prazutis stood before her, unmoved. There was no theatrics, no gestures. The chamber bent around his will as naturally as stone fell to the inevitability of gravity. Through a slow, seismic motion, he lifted one gauntleted hand. Out fromthe ritual brazier beside the altar, a strand of burning ink slithered up like a serpent, black as void, laced with ghostly veins. The air tightened as he spoke, not aloud, but through the Force itself, his voice booming in the marrow of all present. "The flesh is memory. The pain is the pen. The will is the hand that writes legacy."

Out from his open palm, the ink curled down in slow rivulets, threading through the air, etching the first of the sacred marks across Revna's collarbone. It did not burn, it invaded. The vile ink slithered beneath the skin, merging with muscle, nerve, essence. Where it touched, the Force warped, darkness grew. Each stroke was a vow made in purest agony and permanence. Runes of Sith dominion, supremacy, and devastation. Glyphs denoting lineage, strength, loss, rise, and hunger and so much more. They wrapped across her arms, her sternum, her spine, never arbitrary. They followed the lines of power carved into her soul since the day she first knelt in chains before the Mortarch. He did not look away once. When he reached her throat, the ink coiled and hesitated. For the faintest moment, he allowed the silence to reign. Then...

"Speak your name, Revna Marr. The name they will remember. Speak it, that it may be written in blood." The crucible above them flared, casting downward light like molten shadow. The cultists cried out in rapture. The Dark Chorus screamed until their throats split open, and still the Citadel itself watched. The Shadow Hand could feel him now. Right within the walls of the Sith Citadel. The Sith Lord's scent, his intent, his pain all carried on the Force like ash before a storm. The Sith Citadel made no move, not yet. No forces moved to react to this intrusion, they remained paused. The Mortarch had no need for alarms to inform him of the mans presence. For all bent in accordance to his will within his dominion, his presence alone sang to him through the walls. "Let him see." Prazutis growled, eyes like twin void-stars behind the visor of Xûl-Karzaan. "Let the ghost watch her become real." The last of the tattoos started to flare now. The ritual's power surged, not a transformation, but a revelation. It waited for the touch of the Eternal Father to fully complete the transformation, to complete the final test of the youth and solidify her rise.

Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Darth Strosius​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"So it begins, the apotheosis of new beginning."

The Eternal Father glided down to where the ritual had begun, dark whispers of His power dancing in His wake. Sparkling bio-electricity danced between His fingers as He set them upon the young Revna, the tips of each finger pressing into the flesh of her form. The lightning danced from Dark Lord to Acolyte, saturating the marks newly minted by the Shadow Hand, suffusing them with new power; completing the circle, closing the loop.

"All that you are is yours to seize, the power of destiny yearns to be wielded by those with the strength to hold it. We have delivered onto you the tools necessary to command fate, but there are those who seek to forever enslave the Sith to the dogma of predestination." The Dark Lord's eyes were shut, but even so the brightness of His intense gaze shone out through the barest sliver. Darkness moved through Him, like water over a fall. It flowed from Him, from Prazutis, and into the young Revna.

When He removed His hands, the ritual would have been completed. But this was only the prelude to the true test, one that had been allowed to foment by the two Dark Lords around her. If their adversary thought they had been moving in silence and secrecy, they were sorely mistaken. Even before Korriban, they had known. The Oracles spoke of it, feeling the web which bound individuals to one another through the Force. That which bound Revna and their guest was strong, it had not been frayed for either in the absence of the other.

He would be here soon.

"There is one that comes now, young Revna. He wears the skin of your master, and speaks with his voice. An acolyte of the rotting cult. Do you dare allow another to profane his name? His memory? What will you do in light of this monstrous sacrilege, Revna?"

Revna Marr | Darth Prazutis | Darth Strosius ​

 

[Revna Marr]

Darth Strosius // Darth Carnifex // Darth Prazutis​

The moment she laid upon the altar, Revna knew there would be no going back. There would be no stopping what was to transpire, and the only thing she could do was endure. Evolve. Transform. Others might have felt fear coiling through their insides upon hearing the altar hiss and feeling the palpable hunger that radiated from the slab - but the sensation of it was the whisper of something greater to her. A challenge to overcome and rise from.

Revna’s eyes slid mostly closed as she slowed her breathing until it was barely perceivable, content to simply feel the way the Force moved in and around the ritual chamber, allowing it to slip through her in such a way that it would almost seem like both were one and the same. She didn’t open her eyes when Prazutis’s voice thundered forth, but she did feel a shift in the energy that echoed and radiated throughout the area, and a moment later she felt something she was almost intimately familiar with:

Pain.

It started along her collarbone, slipped beneath the skin and seemed to infuse itself with bone, muscle, nerve…all the way to her very molecules that made her who she was. The sensation of it was shocking, but it was merely a taste of what was to come as the ritual began in earnest. Revna could feel, acutely, the pulse of pain and dark power as it flowed from collarbone to wrap around her arms, slide down her sternum, slither along her spine, infusing with her as runes were forever branded into her very being.

The affliction that came did not enrage her. It did not inspire fear, nor did it fill her with burning hatred like it used to. It brought exaltation, a raw surge of dark joy and a sense of victory. It was the culmination of everything she had suffered, had endured. The sacrifice of her morals, the betrayals she had committed, the loss she had embraced, and the power she had claimed for herself…from the moment she had accepted the offer given to her by Darth Carnifex, and her submission to the authority the Shadow Hand had wielded over her and the embrace of his teachings.

Once upon a time, the young woman would have rejected such an experience, would have utterly crumbled into ruin from the onslaught of agony and the sheer raw power that flowed into her and infused into her very soul. When she came to the Kainate in chains, she was nothing but a whelp bound by limitations imposed by herself and by others. But the Revna that lay upon the altar now, was a different creature - and she was transforming still.

Never did she imagine when she first broke her chains of enslavement and set out to find the Sith, that she would find herself here - being infused with the Dark Side itself, and becoming more than what she had ever been before. It was almost like she was becoming…a vessel, or perhaps the embodiment of that which had made her.

Darth Strosius, had he still been alive, might have been enraged and appalled at what was transpiring…but Revna no longer cared for how He might have felt about it. She wasn’t doing this for Him.

She was doing it for herself.

As the ritual continued, Revna became aware of a sensation around her throat - and there was the briefest moment of tension that slipped through her as a chill raced across her pale skin. There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Darth Prazutis addressed her - bidding her to speak her name. For a moment, there was confusion within her mind, as she tried to understand what he meant by that. But then it clicked:

He was telling her to announce her Sith name. A name that would be remembered, one written in blood.

Silence reigned for what felt like an eternity, as her mind went almost quiet despite the onslaught her body was enduring. There was an image that formed in her mind, of a red valley overshadowed by clouds of darkness, and the crackle of an incoming storm could be felt, the scent of ozone and impending wrath echoing and pervading the image within her mind…as well as the area upon which she lay.

“Etizira.” she growled in the Sith tongue, putting a word to the image that flashed into her mind.

As the ritual continued and more marks were etched and woven into her essence, Revna felt the approach of the Eternal Father as his voice cascaded over the chamber. She felt the sensation of touch against her skin, and the crackle of electrical power as darkness flowed from him, from Prazutis, and into her. Raw power far beyond what she had ever known filled her being and she embraced every bit of it.

What felt like only moments later, the ritual came to its conclusion. The very air around them all was ice cold and brimming with dark power, and it practically vibrated through Revna’s body. She continued to rest upon the cold stone slab, breathing in and out in a slow fashion that almost made her appear serene, or perhaps even asleep - until the voice of Darth Carnifex stirred her from the slumber-like repose she was in, delivering to her news of an intruder.

"There is one that comes now, young Revna. He wears the skin of your master, and speaks with his voice. An acolyte of the rotting cult. Do you dare allow another to profane his name? His memory? What will you do in light of this monstrous sacrilege, Revna?"

Eyes of molten fire snapped open and locked onto the Butcher’s face as she absorbed his words, dissecting them bit by bit. Someone from the Order of Wonosa…had come here, to Dromund Kaas of all places? And they had made it this far without being utterly annihilated?

Why?

Something…didn’t seem right about what she had been told. This had to be a test. A challenge for her to face and overcome.

But now the question was: what was she to do with this information? How would she react to it? How should she react to it?

Truthfully, it was not unheard of for the devotees of Wonosa to try and mimic the High Priest. Many wore robes like he did, and even fashioned masks to wear, and Revna knew that this would increase tenfold with His passing. Anything to make His faithful feel closer to Him, even in death.

However, there was a line between trying to honor the High Priest - and trying to be Him. The thought of someone trying to emulate or take His place, threatened to overwhelm her with a certain kind of righteous fury. The young Sith woman almost caved to that anger - but her sharp mind spied a unique opportunity that may have suddenly presented itself to her.

This could be perhaps the only chance at freedom from the wills of the Dark Lords that she would get, that didn’t involve possible open war between them and the Dark Council, or the Empress, or anyone else she could call upon at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t allow this chance to slip by - but she would need to get close to whoever had dared to come.

And if it turned out that this was all just some elaborate set up by the Dark Lords to test her for one reason or another…then she had her network to turn to in order to take back her freedom once and for all.

Revna exhaled sharply, before she shifted as if to rise up from the stone slab.

“I am surprised you let whoever it is get this far in.” she said in a cold voice as her gaze flickered to the masked face of Prazutis, leaving it unspoken that she figured this to be a test of some sort.

“...What will I do in light of this?” she then questioned as she returned her gaze back to the Butcher King. “I will do whatever it is you direct me to, my Lords. Though I do hope that involves confronting whoever this fool is. I feel the need to kill something...and this seems like a perfect opportunity for me to put into practice that which you both have taught me. Wouldn't you agree?”

 

[Darth Strosius]

The distance between the walls and the citadel itself was vast, the grounds stretching out into an expansive landscape that connected the walls to the towering fortress in the center of it all. Were it not for His flight then the trek to the citadel's gates could very well take hours. Darth Strosius soared towards the grand gate, His gaze warily shifting between the defensive emplacements adorning the walls as well as those within the grounds. Still nothing nor anyone even bothered to level something His way.

He had a bad feeling about this.

His boots carried Him over the landscape, pale wings clearly marking His position in the sky and almost seeming to invite interruption in His journey. But none came. Not even the hordes of misshapen beasts seemed all that bothered by His unwanted presence. It was as though He wasn't being seen at all but He knew that simply wasn't true, He'd long forgone any attempt to hide His signature within the Force and He was easily seen amidst the storm clouds.

The lack of alarm made Him scowl and grind His fangs together despite how close He was getting to His goal. He knew that Prazutis had to be here, even through the interference of millions of souls and the planet's own aura He could still detect the undeniable presence of a Zambrano. It felt even more potent than usual for one reason or another, perhaps due to be surrounded by all these sycophants. An ego swollen beyond already strained borders, that would certainly explain why He was allowed to get so far. He wasn't considered a threat at all it seemed. How naive.

Darth Strosius dove for the great gate that barred access to the citadel itself and landed with a considerable racket of metal scraping against abyssal black stone. His golden gaze trailed up the ornate door as He cracked His knuckles, moving to the threshold in but a few long steps. The gates were heavy and under any other circumstance should have been immovable even by His strength, but that wasn't true. Instead they gave way after the first mighty press, opening to reveal a grand hall that would almost seem welcoming in any other circumstance.

The grand hall allowed Him to enter without so much as a trip in His stride, His already heavy footfalls echoing and only dulled by the great banners or drowned out by the occasional crack of lightning from above. It was deceptively open, large but intended to instill a sense of diminutiveness upon those that stepped inside rather than invoking a majestic sight of its size alone. Statues of what must have been Jedi and other such nuisances lined the walls as He began walking deeper into the nightmare, faces twisted in bitter defeat or agony as the killing blow was struck.

Expressions that were forever captured in stone even if the bodies had long since decayed and been forgotten. The lack of His mask seemed all the more apparent and prevalent now at the sight but that notion was stuffed far back into the corner of His mind as He marched onwards. By the time He stood before a grand staircase His patience had worn thin and His sense of scale and time itself all but dissolved. He wasn't sure how long it had taken to cross from the entrance to the base of the stairs but a quick glance up them seemed to imply many more minutes of walking at the very least.

Clawed fingers dug into His palms as Darth Strosius seethed in annoyance and frustration, wings flared and trembling with rage that mirror the tension of His fists. It would take Him weeks just to scour this accursed place for His target, let alone find His way back out afterwards. Time that He did not possess. Time in which any number of terrible fates could befall Revna, if they hadn't already whilst He was making His way through the damned city outside.

"Coward." Darth Strosius hissed under His breath, still finding no challenge to His invasion even when standing at the base of the grand staircase. Even though it was all but whispered the word still carried in the hall, making His eye twitch as His own venom was repeated in a resounding tone around Him. However, it did give Him an idea. "COWARD!" He bellowed it like some great curse, wincing slightly as the echo threatened to deafen Him were it not for the adrenaline surging in His ears as His unbridled emotions escaped His mouth.

"I AM DARTH STROSIUS, LORD OF WONOSA AND BRINGER OF JUSTICE! FACE ME YOU TAINTED SLIME! PRAZUTIS!" He soared up the stairs, carried this time not by the repulsorboots adorning His feet but rather surfing on His own wrath up the staircase and into the inner sanctum that lay beyond the threshold. His wings lit the dark stone and metal not to illuminate His path but seemingly to irate the building itself. As though His entire being was an affront to this place and its masters. Which, at this moment, He most certainly was.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The Throne Amphitheater

The vast iron doors boomed shut behind Darth Strosius, sealing him in darkness. For a heartbeat, nothing stirred amongst the shadow. No challenge. No reply. All the remained was the cold hush of a world holding its breath in the aftermath of his bold declaration. Then? Then, the braziers flared one by one, in a slow but deliberate chain reaction. They flooded the chamber in a deep cerulean glow, casting haunting shapes over the blackened walls. Runes scrawled themselves over every single surface, almost as if the Citadel itself was awakening from some slumber. Shadows deepened, thickened until they seemed to come alive and jump from the walls themselves, dancing shapes into the air.

High upon the colossal throne of dark iron, and blackstone, the Shadow Hand sat unmoved. The titan's armor was blacker than the very void between the stars above. Every single rune etched into the plates glowed a deep pulsing red, carved amidst a thousand agonized screams. Where He rested His hands upon the arms of the throne, the very stone itself wept rivulets of darkness that pooled at the Dark Lords feet. Down below at the foot of the dais, knelt the raven-haired Revna Marr. The markings etched into her flesh blazed like living brands, the force wreathed her in the mantle of cold supremacy.

The Dark Lord didn't speak at first. He only watched, molten eyes searing through the visor of Xûl-Karzaan, as if He were studying an insect pinned to glass. Finally after a pregnant pause, He finally rose. It was like watching a continent unmoor itself. Every step He took down the blackstone steps boomed like thunder. The very shadows recoiled briefly, before flowing to embrace His dark presence. The Dark Lord's voice didn't echo, it simply filled the hall, flattening every sound beneath it and crushing the tranquility of silence. "I see the mask has finally slipped." He came to a halt at the base of the stairs, towering over the kneeling Sith, and the Lord of Wonosa. A single gauntlet lifted, fingers curled in a gesture that wasn't threat but claim. "You cross my threshold clad in your grief, your self-importance, your decaying faith, and you dare to name me coward?"

All around the room the braziers blazed brighter casting the statues in grotesque silhouettes across the walls. "No, you are not here for justice. You are here because you cannot abide your irrelevance." The giant gestured to Revna without looking at her. "Behold child, feast your eyes upon what remains. A deceiver clad in the flesh of another." The runes in the walls ignited in a chorus of malevolent light, and the air itself seemed to thicken and congeal, as if the presence of the Mortarch's will pressed down like the hand of a living god. "You think yourself the bringer of reckoning. But it is you who stand in judgement." The shadows behind him deepened, splitting apart into a yawning chasm of utter darkness. Shapes moved within, some too vast to name. "You were permitted to trespass, permitted to howl, permitted to breathe for this very moment. Not to reclaim your legacy." The Dark Lord's voice dropped to a low, ruinous whisper that carried through the very marrow, a level deep enough to rattle the very soul. "But to bury it." The Dark Lord took a step.

A single step.

The darkness poured forth like a tide. "You wanted the Shadow Hand. Now you have him." The ground began to shake beneath the Dark Lord's feet, as He drew in the power of the nexus, an ocean gathering in preparation to drown a single man. "Darth Etizira. Destroy this worm. Wipe his sacrilegious stain from this place forever." All the while, he would remain woefully unaware of the gravity of the situation, the predator lurking within the shadows unseen, unfelt amidst the oceanic pressure yet here all the same, for the Dark Dyad stood united.

Darth Strosius | Revna Marr | Darth Carnifex ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Eternal Father watched from above, sequestered in a shadowed alcove overlooking the throne room. Wreathed in darkness, the Dark Lord watched as the recusant Strosius burst past the large doors, golden eyes peering out from the shadows to track the younger lord's every movement. This moment was Prazutis' to command, Carnifex had no need nor desire to interfere. He would watch and He would wait for the opportune time, like a nexu stalking amongst the underbrush; ready to pounce.

~That he asserts himself so readily, one would think he were the Emperor and not the Corpse-God.~

Billowing, ethereal hands found the contours of Carnifex's face, molding perfectly to the slopes of His cheek and jaw. Fingertips traced the rise of His cheekbones, dipping beneath them and sitting flush against the warmth of His skin, cradling His features in a hungry, possessive gesture. Her face crested over His shoulder, amber eyes set against an ever-shifting curtain of black and gray.

~So very brazen, he reminds me of someone I once knew.~

Black lips kissed at His skin, leaving the aching sensation of pain in their wake. He did not shrink away from her touch, instead He pushed into it, letting the shadowy form cover Him like a shroud; baking agony into every square inch. She saddled against His lap, dark fingers playing at the runes emblazoned on His armor, tracing each sharp depression in the alchemically wrought metal. Her lips brushed His, before she pulled back to glance down the scene unfolding on the throne room floor with a predatory smirk.

"Let him bluster about as he wishes, it is what he excels at." Pain radiated out from wherever the shadow caressed, but it was something the Dark Lord enjoyed; letting the pain seek deep down into His bones. "He will either bend or be broken. Neither of them shall leave this world unchanged." The other He was referring to was Revna herself, the Dark Lord keeping an eye on her reaction in particular. This was to be her final test. Whether or not she passed was entirely dependent on how she would handle the terrible truth.

Darth Strosius lived.

And she'd been commanded to kill him.

Darth Prazutis | Darth Strosius | Revna Marr ​

 

[Revna Marr]

Darth Strosius // Darth Prazutis // Darth Carnifex​

Revna stared at the stone step in front of her as her mind swirled with all the events that had transpired in such a short period of time, and her thoughts lingered on the ritual she had just completed. When she had come to Dromund Kaas, she hadn't known what to expect. To continue her training, her service...or even be killed. But no...both Dark Lords had tested her, tried her - and deemed her seemingly fit to take on the mantle of Darth. She was still reeling from that announcement, and though it should have been a moment of pride for her...she found that it felt hollow. It should have been her Master who had Knighted her, bestowed the title of Darth upon her...her new name.

Instead, it had been granted to her by her enemies.

Bitterness and wrath simmered just beneath the surface, barely veiled, but skillfully kept in control. Even as a Darth, she was still forced to kneel. Still expected to show subservience, a constant reminder that she was little more than a slave here. She swore after breaking her chains the first time, that she’d never allow herself to be wrapped back in them.

And yet…here she was.

Prazutis would, no doubt, feel the dark prickling of hatred that bubbled through her veins for him. But she’d learned long ago that there was next to nothing she could do about it. Not as she was right now.

She sensed the arrival of the intruder, and now that they were closer…the familiar echo of their presence in the Force made her frown, deep lines that creased her brow, brought an all too familiar stab of pain through her chest. She had heard the echo of the intruder’s voice too - again, so familiar and yet foreign at the same time.

Something wasn’t…adding up here.

Yet she refused to entertain any thought on the matter, any possibility that He could somehow…still be alive. Whoever had come to the heart of Darth Prazutis’s domain, had come to challenge, was an imposter. Nothing more and nothing less.

The heavy doors boomed shut behind the arrival of the imposter, and then fiery braziers began to ignite one by one, bathing the throne chamber with flickering blue light that reminded her of the flames that consumed her flesh and brought her to the very edge of death. It felt like that had happened an eternity ago, when really it was perhaps only a standard year - maybe less. Or more. Revna, Etizira?, couldn’t really tell anymore and neither did she really care.

Darth Prazutis rose from his throne, the weight of his presence surging through the currents of the Force like a tidal wave. He took measured, heavy steps, down from his seat of power - stopping to stand above her, as he often liked to do to those beneath him.

Then, he addressed the newcomer, his voice filling the space around them - undeniable. Revna listened, and yet his words made her question still…who was this invader? This challenger? Truly…only her Master had been so bold as to openly call rival Dark Lords cowards.

But she didn’t put it past His zealous worshippers and followers to do the same in His absence. Especially if this was someone who wanted to become the next Darth Strosius. In her mind, in her soul…there could only ever be one.

All other pretenders were an offense to the Order of Wonosa, to her. And she would kill them.

But first…she needed whoever this fool was to help her get rid of her chains.

Then she could kill him.

Well, that was if Darth Prazutis didn’t kill him first. She could sense the darkness roiling as the power of the nexus was summoned forth, ready to consume and sunder all in its wake - but only if the Dark Lord willed it to be. She almost felt bad for whoever had dared to step foot in this place, dared to challenge and call for the Mountain directly…for now his attention was upon the intruder.

Revna waited with bated breath, still on her knees, to see what Prazutis would do next.

"Darth Etizira. Destroy this worm. Wipe his sacrilegious stain from this place forever."

His command was a compulsion, as they always were. Resistance…could be done, but she had long learned that it was futile. All the more reason for her to be rid of this damn device. Revna rose to her feet, graceful and predatorial like she always had been. “Yes, my Lord.” she responded, before she turned around to finally see their intruder face to face.

Ember-hued eyes locked with burning gold, and for a moment - everything around Revna froze. Then, her head tilted to one side, as it did when she was confronted with something that confused her, roused her curiosity, or enflamed her ire. As if on their own accord, her feet moved her forward…brushing past Darth Prazutis, step by step closer to the being in front of her. She blinked, then let her gaze travel from head to toe of the one opposite to her…her heart and her mind warring with one another.

So familiar…and yet so foreign.

Her burning eyes narrowed as she took another step closer, her heart thundering in her chest. He called himself Darth Strosius…and yet his voice didn’t quite sound the same, he didn’t wear the mask…though the robes were eerily similar. His very presence in the Force was different. This man had strange…things…coming out of his back - they looked like wings. Her eyes narrowed further, turning into a glare.

Revna was convinced that this was not her Master. Whoever this was, was indeed parading around thinking they were Him and it was enough to tip her over the edge.

The only warning the intruder would get was the sudden pulse of malevolent light from her newly etched runes as immense, dark power rushed and flowed through her - and then she was moving in on him in the blink of an eye, ignited saber in her hand. She struck like a serpent that had been waiting in ambush, precise and lethal in its intent.

She needed to sell her attack to those that watched, and though fury burned through her veins and made her eyes glow almost red with its intensity, her opponent would feel when their blades inevitably flashed, that she was holding back. This was simply a dance for her…one she hoped would allow her to get in close.

 

[Darth Strosius]

The slamming of the doors was almost a welcome, if jarring, sound all things considered. It was the first real sign that He wasn't just some specter wandering the world after all, and hopefully it meant He'd finally get to kill something. The braziers flaring to life made His stride pause, His hands hovering at His sides where His blades sat sheathed in His robes as His gaze flickered from flame to flame until finally coming to a vengeful narrow on the throne that had been revealed by them.

Darth Strosius scowled across the grand throne room, His golden gaze lit with a simmering rage that was only rivaled in their intensity by the braziers and the shadows they cast. When no words came however He glanced down and froze as He laid eyes upon Revna, His whole form tensing as His eyes widened in surprise and then concern. Without His usual mask there was little to hide the relief and worry that warred across His pale features until Prazutis rose from His seat, all warmth vanishing in an instant into a cold and feral snarl as He fixed the Shadow Hand with a newly ignited glare.

"I'd name you far worse than coward!" Darth Strosius's voice was riddled with reverb and echo, one not from the room but from within Himself. His words were joined by hissed, venomous repetitions in their aftermath. A chorus of fury that only compared to the dominating voice of Prazutis in sheer vitriol alone. "Surrounded by walls and warriors that would be better spent facing the enemies of the Sith, all instead directed to keep you elevated away from harm. Coward, betrayer, failure."

As Revna was addressed He wasted no time in drawing His blades from His robes, His sword glinting in the cerulean glow while His lightsaber hissed to life and bathed Him in crimson. "Get the feth away from my apprentice you miserable wretch." The writhing shadows and even Prazutis's dire words all fell into a buzz in His ears as His gaze shifted between the Zambrano and Revna, His grip on the handles of His blades tightening enough that one listening closely could hear the metal groaning in protest beneath His fingers.

As power gathered and prepared to surge forth to swat Him away, Darth Strosius rose in kind. His "wings" flared, their pale color and glow easily drowned out between the braziers and His lightsaber as He reading Himself to launch forwards and meet whatever was sent His way head on. Even when He had been whole and not this fractured being He wouldn't have been able to stand toe to toe against Prazutis easily, the gaps in years and experience was too vast. But at the moment those concerns seemed irrelevant with His apprentice sitting right in front of Him, the only obvious obstacle being the Zambrano himself.

It didn't matter how much He had been reduced, He was going to tear Prazutis apart with His bare hands if He had to. Revna's turn to face Him halted whatever charge He had been planning however. The slightest bit of tension in His shoulders faded as their eyes locked, His scowl slipping into a pitying grimace. One might say He looked ashamed even. Faced with His apprentice after all that she must have endured, all that He couldn't protect her from, for once He found Himself speechless.

Fortunately, or unfortunately either one, it didn't appear as though she was in any mood to be consoled at the moment anyway. Instead in an instant she was rushing towards Him with her own weapon ignited and at the ready. Despite the unexpected and rapid movement Darth Strosius's reflexes pushed His blades to block the incoming strike before He had even consciously thought to do so, intercepting the lightsaber with His own. It was a wild maneuver when their blades met, and yet it was also strangely lacking in tactic.

He had trained Revna far better than this, it was the most choreographed strike that He had seen from her and it was rather lackluster in the strength put behind it as well. He shot her a look of frustration and confusion as He pushed her blade back with a forceful shove, moving forward in the same movement with His sword to stab at her side. The tip of His blade wasn't pointed nearly central enough to actually hit her at all though, the only way it would even land a glancing blow would be if she purposefully stepped into the strike.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Revna Marr]

Darth Strosius // Darth Prazutis // Darth Carnifex
​

Apprentice.

He called me his ‘apprentice’.

It was a thought that seemed to further enforce in her mind that this was, indeed, an imposter. If this had been her Master returned from the grave, He would have called her His Disciple. That thought echoed through Revna’s mind as she engaged the intruder, his blades effortlessly blocking her strike, sabers crackling angrily as they locked briefly. Now that they both were within striking distance, the newly annotated Darth Etizira seemed to register that this Sith was using a lightsaber and a Sith sword.

…Just like her Master used to whenever He surged into battle, or tested her fighting skills when He had been training her.

She allowed him to forcefully push her away, and saw the stab incoming for her side. Of course, it would only have been an issue if she was foolish and stepped into it, but instead she shifted her body enough so that his strike missed her by a good bit. Revna scowled angrily at her opponent, becoming even more incensed that not only would he dare to try and take her Master’s identity, but use His sacred weapon too?

A deep growl rumbled from her chest and throat as she made use of her current position and made a thrusting strike towards his midsection, the action powered by the anger and aggression that was beginning to truly bubble up from within, and she noticed the very edges of her vision began to tinge red.

Keep your focus, Revna. Remember why you’re doing this… - whispered the voice in the back of her mind as she pressed in upon the imposter. Don’t get cocky…he’s clearly a skilled fighter…no need to get yourself killed before you have the chance to take back your freedom.

The faint voice of reason within the back of her mind was enough to snap her back into a moment of clarity, senses sharpening so she could counteract any return attacks that were sure to come. The haze of fury seemed to dissipate, at least for the moment, and instead she studied her adversary as a predatory would its prey. Her actions were still aggressive, but they seemed to suggest a chaotic method to fighting - one that was different to any style that her Master would have taught her.

 

[Darth Strosius]

It seemed as though His initial assumption of this being some disguised sparring routine wasn't quite right, a thought that was inspired by the sudden strike that she returned in kind to His half-hearted stab. Revna made a thrust of her own towards His core, one that was initially unimpeded until His wrist twisted just enough to barely batter her blade downwards with His lightsaber whilst He stepped to the side. Darth Strosius wore a very odd expression indeed, one torn between a reflexive and wary focus while at the same time seeming disturbed and confused by the duel at hand.

Clearly this reunion wasn't going the way that He had anticipated but no matter. He had trained Revna personally and oversaw almost all of her sessions with other instructors, it wasn't like she could surprise Him with anything. Having to disarm, or Force forbid incapacitate her, wasn't at all ideal as He'd need all the help He could get against Prazutis but she didn't seem to be in her right mind at the moment. He'd deal with her swiftly enough and move on.

Such was the plan anyway.

Darth Strosius finally began to respond in kind with her aggression, yet still His return strikes weren't meant to land in any meaningful sense. Normally He'd be diving in for killing blows and maiming strikes but restraint was evident in each movement He made. Even the defensive ones when her own aggressive stance allowed her to gain momentum against Him. It became rather obvious after a few trades, or attempted trades, of blows that Revna wasn't using techniques that were so painfully familiar to Him that He could perform them with His eyes closed however.

He'd almost describe her aggression as erratic yet intentional, not lacking in control or focus at all yet without a clear pattern like those that He had stressed were so essential in overcoming foes. Soon enough He found Himself forced more on the defensive than He would have liked. Far more than was necessary. As He met her lightsaber with His own once more, wincing slightly as He stared through the crimson pillars to her face beyond, He gritted His fangs together in frustration as He let out a huff. "You can't keep this pace up forever Revna, you know which one of us will tire first."

Perhaps the most consistent and annoying facet of Darth Strosius's sparring lessons was that simple fact, He didn't exhaust Himself. He almost couldn't. He always won the battle of attrition. As if to prove His point He suddenly lashed out with His sword, aiming towards her leg. But not with the blade's edge. Instead He had flipped the hilt in His grip so that the flat of the blade would be the one meant to land a blow. Were it anyone else He'd have moved to sever the limb rather than simply tap it.

Darth Prazutis / Darth Carnifex / Revna Marr

 

[Revna Marr]

Darth Strosius // Darth Carnifex // Darth Prazutis​

Several exchanges of blows transpired, before her opponent began to respond with aggression in kind - though she noticed almost immediately that his strikes and slashes and stabs were restrained, as if he was doing everything in the moment to avoid killing or maiming her. Revna seemed to almost…blow past or ignore such restraints; she had been forced to fight for her life so many times since her capture that it was natural for her now to treat every attack as if it would be a killing blow. It was no different here, and each counter and return strike was quick and snappy - actions and reactions trained and honed through grueling hours of dueling sessions with Sith Lords that would punish her for the slightest mistake.

The Vahla woman’s aggression seemed to put the other man on the defensive, and she continued to press in on him, her attacks fast and hard, though maintaining their somewhat chaotic nature. She’d flow into the various movements of one form and just when her opponent seemed to catch wind of what she was doing, she’d switch to another without breaking stride or a sweat. She maintained her focus, her blazing eyes hard and her face set into a determined scowl.

If her opponent was paying attention, he just might have noticed that throughout the fight, she had been slowly pushing him back towards the great doors - farther away from the throne and from the hovering presence of Darth Prazutis, who’s eyes she could feel piercing through to her soul. It would only be a matter of time, she knew, before he sensed something was up and forced her completely under his dominating will. She might have thought herself clever, but she knew that the Lord of Lies was adept at seeing through charades. A sense of urgency surged through Revna; another reminder of what she needed to do.

What her opponent would need to do. If she managed to convince him enough to help her, that was.

Crimson blades locked together - an upper body slash that was skillfully blocked - and it put both of them close enough to look each other in the face, in the eyes.

"You can't keep this pace up forever Revna, you know which one of us will tire first."

Her opponent’s words, spoken with such familiarity, momentarily stunned the Sith woman. A look of confusion flickered over her pale face, still bathed partially in the crimson light. Perhaps at the worst time possible, came a flash of familiar memories, dancing in front of her mind’s eye. Reality flickered for just a moment, and in that brief lapse of time, she was back on Formos sparring her Master.

And losing…as she always did. She always tired first, always ended up disarmed or on her back and at the mercy of a blade’s edge.

Revna sucked in a breath as reality snapped back to her, and she noticed her opponent’s sword swinging towards her outside leg. She reacted on pure instinct, moving to block the sword with her saber. Only after blocking did she recognize that he’d struck at her with the flat of his blade, instead of its razored edge.

…Just like her Master used to do.

No…it can’t be. I refuse to believe, to hope…

Confusion intertwined with stubborn disbelief and indignant anger, rose up within her as she locked her blade with his and stared him directly in the face, seemingly unaware or perhaps uncaring that she had left her one side completely exposed and open for attack. “How dare you speak as if you were Him…you are nothing but an imposter.” She snarled in a low tone, her voice trembling with her seething fury...but laced within was a thread of soul pain, of grief that had been buried deep. “If I didn’t have a dire need for your help, then I would be relieving your head from your shoulders for the sacrilege.”