Private The Emperor and the King

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It would not be the first time he was alone in this room, it would certainly not be the last. Yet, what could be called surprising about this moment was the one he had invited here, was that as the time slowly ticked by, it seemed unless something catastrophic had occurred that he was soon to hear of...

...

...No, well then, what could be called surprising about this invitation, was that it was in the Dark Council chambers, and of the viper, wolf, and raven, only a third of them had gathered, and the invitee was not of that number. It was enough to cause his stomach to tie itself up in knots, it was hardly the first time that he would be alone with... that... it would hardly be the last time that he would be alone with... that...

Suffice it to say, the Emperor was not one whom Malum enjoyed speaking to, especially in private. Yet, taking a position by the head of the table, his caustic breath continued to blow against the metallic shield that the replica mask represented upon his face. He could not help but remember, truly remember, what occurred to the one who wore such a mask when they faced an immortal emperor. Malum might have enjoyed a great showing that such would never occur again.

Yet, even with his Sith Sword upon his back, even with the coldness of the Soulsabre in the depths of his robes, and standing armoured with all the tools and utility that had been found and made for him in his seasoned, but not yet long career. He had very little confidence in anything that would occur here tonight, he had even less confidence in winning whatever bout would inevitably flare up between these council seats.

Yet, what other option had he? He could not allow fear, a very real cold fear stop him from doing what was necessary. The last thing he needed was for the Corpse King to come to investigate what lived under his nose upon Malum's worlds. Suffice it to say, especially at this moment, for all which he was distrusted by much of the Empire, for all that he knew he was under watch in some way, he did not need the all-seeing eyes of the Emperor on him any further.

So the dutiful lord had invited his liegelord here, yet as the uninjured foot made a constant rhythm against the hard floor, as he gazed down upon the red sphere which signified his appointment to this vaunted and... in his opinion, dysfunctional Council, as the seconds ticked by, turning into minutes.

His hairs rose on the back of his neck, as masked red eyes drifted to the door.

He was here.

Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Dark Council chambers were where the Emperor put his 'trusted' Sith to guide his Empire. From his own spy network, and artificial vision, he could yet to see they had accomplished much of anything. So caught up in their petty squabbles and personal ambitions - at best, they raided neighboring states for resources, and at worst, they spent their time whoring. Empyrean could not fault youth in that regard, but he could fault them for misusing the influence he vested in them.​

​

So when Darth Malum of House Marr had summed the all-too-elusive Emperor, Empyrean obliged. The Dark Council could not tell him what to do - even with their strength combined, he doubted they could lay him low. He knew that, they knew that - that was all that needed to be said between them. Even still, he obliged out of duty - to an Order he was fostering, and an Empire he meant to outlive himself.​

​

He did not take guards with him, there were no Sepulchral or Praetorians following lock step behind him. No, the Emperor strode to the Dark Council chamber in as regal raiments as one might see him. There was intricate windings that covered part of his waist, but little of it came close to the yet gaping maw that marked his death so many years ago. When Empyrean entered, he did not have a weapon or technology, or anything besides himself.​

​

The Emperor did not live of fear of man.​

​

The door opened with a hiss and the Emperor entered without a word, only what might be considered a glare to the Viper in his nest. There was a seat for the Emperor here, but it had laid empty for most of its constructed life. Now, however, the Emperor moved to the head of the table and took his seat - saying nothing, as he waited for Malum to speak.​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He was unnaturally still as the bare form of his Emperor seemed to almost glide through the doors that represented the inevitability of this meeting, that once he forded the river, there would be no delay, no retreat, only this confrontation between liege and lord. Even still, in facing that inevitability, a shiver ran down his spine, the very same reaction that seemed unavoidable when in the presence of that man... if he could be called a man at all. His hair stood up on the back of his neck, the cool breeze filtering into the room barely registering as an adequate excuse for either reaction, as without fanfare, as without word, the Emperor took his seat opposite him.

Never once did those golden artificial eyes end their glare to his own real red ones. The mutual feelings of negativity, were they of disdain or angst, seemed to crackle through the air, yet, they were married to the silence of duty, to the roles that they yet still had to play. For after all, for the fear that he might feel, here the Emperor was, having accepted his invitation with nought more than a word, sure, but still here.

If the man wanted to kill him, there would be easier ways, and as far as he felt, the Force swaying in the air, he still had his opportunity to escape should it need to come.

He sorely hoped it did not.

He rose from his seat, offering a bow of his head, and a tilt of his back, his arms fixed upon his sides, long had the difference of station precluded him from the humiliation of a true bow, "Your Imperial Majesty, you honour me with your presence, I thank you for accepting my invitation here." He spoke without emotion, bare the crescent hint of disquiet, as subtle as the moonlit shadows which passed through the curtains.

He fell back into the seat, the tenseness felt in every measure of muscle, skin, and bone, his heart beating in his drums, as he prepared himself for all that was to come.

"...As for the reason for the invitation, you are likely aware of events that took place on Dorvalla, the announcements of the new direction the Tsis'Kaaar shall take, one of loyalty, discipline, and resolve, in the service of our Empire, and our people. Yet, this Imperial Party must have an Emperor, and while I do not expect your support, it would be wrong of me to not make you aware of my plans." He had been shocked enough times by those who were well aware in advance of his grand designs, his grand plans, so in this moment, why not preempt such things? "In upcoming days, I plan to move Tsis'Kaar assets upon Jutrand, to begin an anti-crime wave, such is my remit as Lord Inquisitor, and I have spent far too much focused away on matters outside of the Empire, as Lord of the Tsis'Kaar, it comes time for me to return and root out the filth in the deepest trenches that may exist within the Empire, and the Order." Beneath the mask, red eyes glowed a golden twinge, as confidence swelled his voice, "The capital shall be the root that shall sprout to the rest of the systems, crime, separatism, rebellion, all must be crushed underfoot before they become crisis."

He allowed himself a breath, reorientating himself, as he considered what else he would reveal, "I shall be introducing a wave of reforms in the Sith Imperial Assembly as well, while Tsis'Kaar worlds shall contribute themselves ever forthrightly towards the construction of the Third Legion." It was little, but, no doubt he knew enough to go on.

And then finally... "...I never had an opportunity to thank you for allowing me to take your grandson under my wing, rest assured, he has been an able and capable student, and you should know, he has of latter days, been risen as a Knight of the Sith Order, Darth Latens, I seek to introduce him to the rest of the Order soon, nurture his ambition, such that he will take a world for himself, learn how to rule."

Be your heir, the words went unsaid. Much went unsaid he supposed.

Darth Empyrean
Mentioned: Zachariah Conway

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"He could do better.", Empyrean said coldly.​

​

The Emperor still had not moved in his seat - only offered the cold calculation of his demeanor contrast the anger of his presence. Dark, steel orbs adjusted in their sockets before Empyrean leaned forward;​

​

"Your head belongs on a spike, Malum. Do not mistake your relationship with my grandson as any leverage or assurance. I would lay you low and eat your corpse if you tested my patience. Do not ever try and tell me what you're going to do on Jutrand again."​

​

There was no direct malice in his words, but that only made them worse. He spoke like it was as rationale a comment as anyone could make. It was spoken with the assurance that it was as inevitable as gravity, inescapable by pure merit of truth. In this Galaxy, only Empyrean's will seemed to mean anything. In this Empire - it was the very earth they walked upon.​

​

He leaned back, breathlessly, and settled back into the throne.​

​

"Why should I allow you to do anything on Jutrand? Your position has no authority, because it borrows mine. So what reason would I let you tear apart my world for your own ends?"​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum narrowed his eyes at the insult, bristling like a porcupine ready to make war. It was an insult not only towards his apprentice but also towards himself, the master who had taught him everything he had known while this Corpse had remained hidden away in his Blackstone fortress.

He stilled, at the utter matter-of-fact way, in which the Emperor's words flowed out through dead lips. It was a better reaction than the creeping terror, he was growing more used to facing the shade by himself. He had words, terrifying words, but they were words nonetheless, how many times had he hidden away that which the Emperor did not know?

The man was worshipped as a God, he might have even thought himself one, but he was the farthest thing from infallible, from omnipotent.

He allowed himself a breath, as the instinct to hide his intentions behind the veil was ever so familiar, but... the Emperor so rarely responded well to such measure.

The only problem was that the next course, felt even more unlikely to work. He could imagine it, the fire and the vitriol that would spout out of his lips, deference had not worked, so why not defiance? If the Emperor would not respect his subject, then why not force him to respect his Dark Councillor? To set himself aflame, the power of youth contrasting that of the ancient one, to burn so hot, that he could never be extinguished.

But instead, he stilled himself. Allowed the silence to drag on, the only hint that he had taken in the words pronounced to him, the glint atop his visor, that promised that life remained within the Scion of House Marr. Deference had not worked, he had taken deference as weakness, and like the shark smelling blood could not resist.

While defiance... defiance would be terror married with satisfaction, to state of all which he so wished to say, those words born out of emotion, to match hate with hate. But, in the end, that would be all it was, a temporary release of all which had been pent up, would it provide him the results he sought? Would it aid him to succeed in his objective?

He thought back to Srina, the cool dew which she exuded... he had not realised how much he had changed from those days of courtly lessons that had taught him the etiquette needed to survive, that taught him to maintain his composure, that taught him to remain even and well-spirited. Power, power had given him a crutch to belch flame and smoke, to intimidate, to... burn. To be like those Sith that came before him, to be as those Sith who burned bridges, as easily as they built them.

But... he had never wished to be like them, had he?

To expose himself, would not gain him victory, would it?

He allowed another breath, the silence stretching on, awkward, and tense. What could he say, when he had been at this minefield before? How could he navigate what he could barely see, let alone understand?

"...I believe that you could," He offered a tilt of his head, as a recognition of the fact, "But for the good of the Empire, I hope you will not," He thought back to that day on Alvaria, that day on Jutrand even before it, those meetings that he had taken under his own free will... or at least one of them under his own free will. When he had blackened his soul, drank the poisoned chalice, all in a bid for power, all in a bid for ambition. He remembered what he had told him, that the heirs of Ophidia were necessary, or the Tsis'Kaar would never bow, would forever remain a thorn entrenching themselves at the heart of the Empire.

Had it been that which had convinced him? Malum could not honestly say. For all that he thought the Tsis'Kaar were necessary to this Empire, it only took singular conversations with Darth Empyrean to make him doubt.

"...My relationship with your grandson is no shield, he is my apprentice, and perhaps one day he will succeed me as Lord of the Tsis'Kaar. I only had a few opportunities to speak to Lord Arcturus Dinn, but, he always proved himself a well-mannered and kind soul, when he disappeared, and his wife was imprisoned... their daughter might be lost to the Jedi, but their sons turned to me. They are not my shields, but without their parents, I have been their shields, readying them to be the Sith they need to be, Darth Latens has been most promising and will prove himself to be what I know him to be." It flowed as easily as honey, and the strangest part of it was that it was wholly true, he had not known either Arcturus or Rhiannon particularly well, but the sense of obligation that had blossomed when they had bowed out from the Galactic stage had been impossible to ignore.

Had there been selfishness involved? Of course, there had been, the opportunity to have custody of the Emperor's grandsons was an impossible idea to ignore but...

...They were not held in gilded cages, he had given them the wings to fly free.

"As for the rest..." He swallowed, only now realising how dry his mouth was, "I would never presume to claim authority beyond that which you allow. Jutrand is your world, as the Empire is yours. But... It is also my home, as is the Empire. I wish to act only in the interest of strengthening it, ensuring that its foundations do not rot beneath us." He leaned forward, and with every word spoken, the fear gave way to the confidence of the truth he spoke, that he felt, "It is not a matter only for Jutrand, though it is at our heart, that we find the most dangerous cancer, crimelords, dissidents, rebels, and traitors operate across our worlds, Sluis Van rebelled after the Alliance struck, Susevfi was bold enough to take under bondage Lady Varanin, and then to not even speak of the minor acts of rebellion that are seen every day... none of them fear our laws, they do not fear our enforcers, they do not even fear the Sith. They believe we do not concern ourselves with such matters, but we should. It is my opinion, that they need to be reminded." He closed his eyes, rubies hidden away from the world, as he took in caustic breath.

Opening them again, the slightest hope that this was not a nightmare, that a living corpse did not glare at him from across the room, with the most threatening visage declared was not there... was very easily dispelled, yet, he was not done.

"There is, however, more, I believe fear must be brought to our enemies, but too that love be garnered from our people, those who suffer, those who struggle, those who have been abandoned. The Tenth Empire fell not only for the enemies outside of our borders, but for the enemies within, for those who lost and broke faith, and for those leaders who ignored the fundamental and foundational problems because they thought themselves above them. Inaction is a choice, inaction is the choice that brought untold suffering upon our people, that which had us lose our homes, and for so many, their lives," He found himself standing, the dark shadow covering the table's length, as if he was to sprout wings from his back, and cover the room with his presence, "I am but young, so I submit to the wisdom of my betters, but I believe inaction is not the choice we should make, inaction is not the choice I wish to make, so I wish to undertake this cause, not for my own ends," A glow of red and gold flickered through the visor for the barest moment, "But for the Sith, united. For the Empire, united."

Darth Empyrean
Mentioned: Zachariah Conway Quinn Varanin Srina Talon

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"Stop talking about my family.", he offered bluntly, almost interrupting Malum.​

​

"I am not ingratiated to you for helping them, and if you believe them to be your ally, somehow a replacement for me in time, then you will learn quickly that I have plans in place to kill anyone I think would try and puppet them. I don't care if you say you mean well, I don't care if you think highly of them: You will not bring them up around me, because you are not apart of my family. Is that understood?"​

​

It went unsaid that he was not going to look kindly on Malum hurting them, but it was implied somewhere in there.​

​

"You sound selfless. I abhor it.", he went on.​

​

"I am not a pup still slick from birth. You have ambitions, you intend to gain something from this. Who and what are the true targets of these raids? The Kainites, Sepulchral, or someone else? Do not play coy, I'd respect you more if you said it with your chest."​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The urge to roll his eyes were paramountly held back within the confines of his skull, a composure maintained behind his mask, but too behind the full force of the one he faced, for all which he had been trained all his life to maintain the mask, in face of fear incarnate, and his wife, odd incarnate... he had always struggled.

Or was it that in spite of all which he had been taught, somehow they still seemed to see through him.

Still, the urge to interrupt alongside the reflex to roll his eyes were held at bay, at the end of the day, this was not the hill which he sought to die on.

"As you wish." He passed through with an ease that he did not feel, allowing himself to descend back down onto his seat, and pass a breath between his lips.

The urge to roll his eyes however did not much disappear, with the words continually spoken, it was galling to some degree, galling that he imagined he knew anything about him.

"My ambitions are simple, to clean my home of the crime that infects it, to show the Order that the Tsis'Kaar have teeth in this realm alongside the shadows, and to show the Assembly that whatever laws it makes, the Lord of the Tsis'Kaar is still the executioner of the law." His House had served dutifully, had served selflessly, their name shared by that of the Lord of Duty himself, selflessness might have been abhored, but it was exactly that which was lacked in this Order. Theres was a House that had loyally served the Zambranos.

It was now only a question of if the Talons would fail them too. He imagined the answer self-evident.

"My targets in the same manner are simple, the crimelords, the drug peddlers, the warlords, the traffickers, the rackeeters, the rebels, the traitors, the seperatists, and all other dissidents not only found on Jutrand, but all the way out to the frontier, Jutrand shall simply be the beginning."

Darth Empyrean
Mentioned: Srina Talon

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"If that is truly all, then you're short sighted. Like a dog loyal to its master, always looking for a scratch behind the ear.", Empyrean said with cold disgust.​

​

"But fine. Good boy. Do your duty like your Co-Apprentice never did. Sit. Bark. Leave."​

​

There was nothing redeemable about the Emperor.​

​

"Is there anything else?"​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was the reminder, the constant reminder, that the corpse opposite him only sought to draw out a reaction that would trap and doom him that kept his tongue lashed, even as his arm tensed, and fingers gripped around themselves beneath the table, black leather stretched to their limits, as nail bit, and begged to sink themselves into flesh, some relief against the stream of insults which bore through the Worm infected Emperor's mouth.

Instead, he allowed himself a breath, as he took in what had always promised to be minutes of decisive events.

The insults might have stung, indeed, they had veritaby burned, but in the end, he had been given what he had wanted. Operations on Jutrand could take place without fear of interdiction. He would neither have to ask for permission nor forgiveness, he had been given the mandate by the ruler of the Empire, to undertake the affairs as he wished.

Yet, it had never been Malum's way to truly sit upon his laurels.

He tilted his head, "Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty," He raised his eyes, beneath the visor of the mask, red melding with gold, as the one within his mind advised a caution that he had always lacked, "Only one more topic, I am afraid for this one that I have never been given the opportunity that others have had..."

"...Duel me."

Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

At least the child could be surprising sometimes. Empyrean would have grimaced, were he able, but instead he scowled. It was all his face ever did now - but such was death in its ability to make one nothing but angry. Metal orbs adjusted in his eye sockets before he spoke, focusing in on the Snake;​

​

"In what world have I ordained my tools to duel me?", he asked flatly. In truth, he wasn't sure at all what Malum was talking about. The only person he dueled with in a friendly spar was Srina Talon , but since his death he did not even do that much. Few Sith had attempted to face him after his body was cut in twain and he absorbed the Worm Emperor. Since he became something more, and less, than what he was.​

​

"What do you seek to gain from such a privilege? Why not just challenge me to a kaggath, so that you might gain something more than humilation?"​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He expected a lethal tongue lashing, a scowl followed by rather mild insults from what he had come to expect from the Emperor, had not been what he had expected. Still, he knew to press an advantage when he saw it, even as the advantage in this instance seemed more and more like marching directly into the lion's maw.

"I seek nought but an opportunity to test my skills against one as unparalleled as you," There were few advantages that Malum held in this prospective combat of arms, but there was one which shined ever brilliantly beneath the brow, a fear of something which was lacking in one who had feared it so much to evade it, "As for challenging you to a Kaggath..." Now was that not an interesting proposition, golden sheen expressed through the visor of his mask, memories of the last Kaggath felt ever still, "...There is nothing I have that you desire, a Kaggath would be rather useless in such a regard."

Still, within he bristled, a tool... an agent of duty could be considered a tool mayhaps, but he doubted that Darth Empyrean had ever thought him dutiful, "Tools do not often betray wielder, but daggers ever still seem to find themselves embedded in backsides." A test to see how far he had come.

A test to see how far he had to go.

Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"If you ever end up in my back, Dagger, your family will burn. Mind that.", he said flatly - coldly, matter of factly. It was simply truth.​

​

"Then so be it. Pretend like your ambition ends here, lie as you will, it doesn't matter. Strike me, and see how death has slowed me down."

Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

There was little warmth already contained within the dark room, but what little was there was quickly withered away as the chill took command. It was a subtle thing, the drop in temperature not heralded by the breeze of the winds plastering the windows outside, but rather simply the will of one who stood within the confines of brick and mortar.

"Stop talking about my family." The words emerged bluntly, an echo of words spoken before, a serenity of calm that was married with the musings of a serpentine hiss that drew just gently beneath the surface.

"I shall pretend nothing, avail me of your designs if you expect to know my own," The mask shifted, red eyes peering out the window of the chambers, the moons shined their brilliant reflected light through the epistle of windowed glimmer, the gauntlet had been thrown, and the gauntlet picked up...

...Still he had not expected that it would be here that this battle would be waged.

One moment the lightning coiled up his arm, a lightning born of majestic sapphires, that quickly suffused itself with the power that was held within, a blinding white light coiling up his fingers.

Before with the crack of thunder, a web of lightning, that rather than emerging out from the heavens thrust itself towards the Corpse King before him. A light of such magnitude, as would shower the entire Imperial Palace under its luminence for barest moment.

The first salvo fired, now just a question of how it would be answered.

Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Empyrean did not shutter as lightning struck dead flesh, nor did he react in all too exceptional of a way. The Dead God sat, then stood without movement, even as the lightning found new purchase in the scars of his core. Although Malum could not see it, the world above the Black Pyramid darkened into a pseudo eclipse artificially brought on by his omniscient sight. One heartbeat, and the Emperor's missing arm formed from black clouds into something manifested and tangible. Two, and the world started to bend away from him.​

​

First it was the lightning, bending backwards like fingers pulled to the wrist, then it was the Dark Council room itself. Furniture, tables, tore from their emplacements and screeched in metallic pain as they found their new homes far from them. Loose materials floated in the middle of the air instead of falling, and the Dead God finally took a step. Metal plates clicked against metal plates as his foot fall heralded a counter attack, but a second step made the expectation of an attack suddenly feel altogether insufficient.​

​

It had been said the Emperor was the Pale Rider, but it was hard to put that into perspective until you could feel the Death that walked in his shadow. More than a dreadful personification, it was something very literal - and the Dark Councilor Darth Malum would feel that glacier charge as the Emperor stepped to him. He'd watch as the Emperor lifted his still material hand towards Malum, then he would the feel the reality of it set in.​

​

He could picture it, feel it, an inevitability that pulled on prediction. There was only one future that came of the Emperor lifting his hand, and it was to draw Malum into the embrace of his fist by the neck. A hundred futures played out, and they all ended with the younger Sith gasping for breath in the dead iron grip of a Corpse.​

​

What he would not see in the various futures, was the distant approach of the Emperor's weapon. Kala'anda often materialized when the Emperor demanded, but it flew through floors and metal, servants unlucky enough to be in its way, and guards ill prepared for an attack through the building itself. The weapon flew like a spear thrown from a mile below them, at ever accelerating speeds, directly for the heir of Marr.​

​

"It is by strength I dictate commands.", he said with a callous, darkened tone.​

​

"Not by petty expectations, spoiled decadence, or wrongful expectation. The difference between us, Darth Malum, is that when I say not to speak of my family, it is because it comes with consequences. When you do, it is a just a dog barking. Without the position I've given you, you'd be nothing more than a common whore crying in his palace some worlds away. Pretend to command me again, and this ends one way."​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Beneath the mask of his ancient forebearer, red eyes narrowed as the lightning made purchase upon the rotting flesh of Corpse proclaimed Emperor, as hot as the lightning burned, as filled with the volts of electrical currents that the white web-like formation exuded, it was rare for the first strike to land. After all, if the first strike landed, it proved that one could be struck, and with that realisation, the battle had already ended.

However, even rarer had been those that would take his lightning, that which had been melded between the passions of youth, and the power of an elder goddess, and to allow it to strike... only to seemingly be entirely unaffected.

A chill travelled down his spine, the belief that the hurdles to victory could be leapt across slamming directly into the reality that those hurdles looked more like mountains with snowy tops. It was a familiar feeling, a feeling that had his hairs standing upright, and sweat appearing on his brow, a feeling that he had felt since he had been an apprentice, bowing his head facing a Triumvir that gnawed within him a terror that nothing else had ever achieved. A creeping sensation, as fingers traced along the lines of his back, as he felt the tip of his chest laid heavy under the weight of feeling, his breath lost in the effort of breathing. It was a familiar feeling...

...It had not been the first time that a Marr had faced his Emperor.

All this, only at the sight of an arm regrowing where once only lay a socket of what once was, all this, only at the sight of his lighting curving, through the luminosity of his blow, he saw the very room twisting. As if a vortex had emerged in the very room that they had stood, the very surfaces twisted, pulling away from them the long oaken tables, the chairs of the same make, as even the metal plates from both ceiling and floor snapped from their moorings, crashing against each other as they took flight in the air, far from their place.

As he took a step forward.

As if a giant's step, he felt the quake as if his heart was a goblet of wine strumming with the vibration of an earthquake's touch. Another, and it was as if the very room they occupied shook, threatening to swallow them whole, as the house of cards that was the tower's foundations threatened to fall.

A cold death filled his tongue.

A single hand was pointed his way.

Cold, dead, hands gripped the manifest of a pale neck, as he stared into the artifical eyes of the man that was his sovereign, stared into the eyes that promised a malevolent fate of which there would be no return. A chill drawn from his spine, to put his entire form on notice, as dilapidated fingers curled themselves around his neck.

And began to squeeze.

His vision darkened, as his throat constricted, his windpipe crushed beneath the iron vice of destruction, as blood vessels burst within rubies, and nails bit into flesh. As arms desperately flailed around, helpless, unarmed, as they pressed against a form that though of the same size as his own, now seemed to tower effortlessly above him. Yet, for all struggle, all effort, there was no recourse, blinking out perilous tears formented out from orbs that rapidly searched around for anything that would save him.

It was an odd relief when the realisation dawned, that nothing would.

Nothing ever would.

For all the promise that had been held within the soul of this scion of House Marr, for all that he had accomplished, for all that he had done, all to raise his family once more to greatness, to take the Sith upon a path away from their self-destruction, to face that enemy, that one true enemy... he would never achieve any of them.

Instead... he could simply...

...Fade into the darkness...

...Close his eyes...

The dark blade ignited with the roar of a lion's mane, the beskar hilt held tightly in one hand, as along its steel edifice extended out from the crossguard to a point that crackled as the red plasma blade was ignited, flames sprouted forth in a brilliant light, a fire of a passionate orange, twisting into a blinding white, before settling upon a ravenous pale blue. The ring upon his finger glowed an ominous glow, as he emerged, his feet marking their imposition on the floor, facing His Imperial Majesty, a becon of light against the quotidian darkness.

A vision, a vision of a potential future, a vision of potential futures, all resounded in his brain, with the same expression facing him, the same expression wore beneath the mask, the flailing form of a broken body, that had its life stolen out from him. A vision to draw him into a fate drawn by another, a destiny created within the mind of another commanding him to be extinguished.

But he was the hearthfire, the sudden flame that brought warmth to soul and mind, the comfort that would lead them to new glory, to a golden age.

They did not need gods.

And he commanded his own destiny.

His fate was his own.

The plasma point was directed upon a crowned head, as he allowed a caustic breath to pass by his nostrils, there had been an object lacking permenance within the false narratives of a false god, a ripple not felt physically, but sorely felt, something of such immense power that he was confident that even outside of Jutrand he could have felt it. A weapon of such immense destructive potential, that he had summoned it for this... summoned it but hid it, summoned it at all...

Words plastered themselves against his visor, words lost in the translation of his heart thumping in his drums, of blood pooling in his ears. Yet, their meaning was altogether impossible to not understand. He thought himself powerful, he thought him weak... he thought that their places.

So why try to hide it?

Why summon it at all?

One more hurdle to cross.

One more mountain to climb.

He was a blur, a blur of darkness as his form warped in shape, where once stood the blackened armour and shining rubies of the heir of House Marr, there was nothing but the emptiness of their makeshift arena, and the smoke of flame ready to burst. His feet raced themselves across the ground, as he seemed to veritably fly, the world about him clearing away into nothingness, the vortex mattering ever little, as the blade born of steel, plasma, and smoke, aimed to cut straight through rotting flesh, cutting, slicing, piercing, again, and again, until there was nothing left.

As a ghostly whisper echoed along the expanse.

"Stop talking about my family."

Darth Empyrean
Mentioned: Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"Then so be it.", Empyrean growled.​

​

Malum rushed forward, swiping wildly but with intentionality. It was not just wild throws and strikes, but there was a desperation in it none the less. Empyrean stepped back, down, to the side, and back again as he fell away from the Dark Councilor's strikes, but never raised a hand again to strike. Not at first.​

​

It was after a sweep perpendicular to the wound across his chest that he stepped back, then willed himself in the gap. A dead face almost pressed against Malum's youthful one, and the stench of a corpse pungent in the nose. It was the motion of it, the slowness one felt faced with the cold embrace of death akin to a glacier, that he would see the focus of those metal orbs in their intent. His other arm, that manifested from nothing but black smoke, forged itself into a spear and rammed towards his gut.​

​

It would have seemed that the Emperor intended to impale the youth, spill his innards across their floor, but his arm hesitated just as Malum would no doubt move to defend himself. The intention was never to impale the boy with the arm, it was to distract him. A feint. Beneath their feet the staff of Kala'anda tore through metal broke free from the ground between them - but its impervium hilt was pointed directly at Malum's chest.​

​

It breached through Empyrean's immaterial arm, turning what was a shot towards the gut into a shot at his shoulder. One took the intention of bringing ones self inwards to defend it, the other demand he fall back. A pincer of defined technique.​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr​