Private The Worthy Apprentice

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Elrood
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia ​

Zachariah smirked.

Whilst once a recongisable face within the Sith Empire, he had spent two years removed from the galaxy at large. Darth Malum of House Marr had kept him hidden, spending day after day focusing on nothing but training. They did nothing but repeat drill after drill, lesson after lesson. There was variations of course, some lessons more physical whilst others focused on the theory. They covered everything from lightsaber use to the force to the code of the Sith and the Tsis'Kaar alike.

The youth Sith found that he grew more and more powerful each day he spent on Alvaria. Every lesson focused on developing the boy, Malum passing on the knowledge that he had. He'd passed on everything he'd learned and everything he'd been taught by Darth Ophidia , who in turn had passed onto Malum what she'd learned from Darth Ferus who in turn had passed on what had been taught by Darth Vulcanus. Zachariah had been granted the knowledge of multiple Sith who themselves were extremely powerful.

As the galaxy had passed by, Zachariah had done nothing but study until his mentor had deemed him worthy. The invitation to the quarantined planet had landed on his desk only days prior and the young boy hsd let out a smile. Whilst he wasn't exactly certain, he had a very good idea of why he had been invited to the planet. Darth Malum of House Marr had once explained the Tsis'Kaar knighting ceremony to him and it made sense why Malum would opt to use Elrood to conduct it.

He arrived on the planet prior to the designated arrival time and had made his way to the coordinates that had been left by his mentor, hopeful that he'd done enough to prove himself to the Sith Lord.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It had been a long time since he had been back here, to imagine that it had been all the way back when he had been but an apprentice was... disconcerting to say the least. Elrood was as much ruined as it had always been, the remnants of the star destroyer that had struck the planet was still visible, alongside the bones of all who had been left behind, the madness that had overtaken the world as it had burned.

Technically, he was not meant to be here. The Emperor's Quarantine decree had placed worlds such as Elrood, that might have otherwise been useful to the ever hungry Imperial economy under an interdict, no one in, no one out, of course, as much as it was a waste, it was a waste that made sense. The world may not have been under the wildfire madness that it had once been under, but one only needed to feel... truly feel... to sense how thin the veil between the materium and the immaterial was.

It made sense then, for this world, and others like Pergitor to placed under interdict, with a fleet upon its border, to guard it from the presence of treasure hunters or those curious, for it only took the most subtle of motions, to once again reawaken the godly beings that existed beyond their thin shield.

Even as such quarantine would not much apply to him, member of the Dark Council that he was, it did not much mean he wished to alert either the Emperor or the one who lay claim to its study, one Darth Arcanix, any moment to question. Such, why he had departed from Alvaria secretly, such why he had instructed his apprentice to come here secretly.

Zachariah Conway, step-grandchild of the Emperor, whose presence was known rather well to the Empire at large, even if his true identity was not. He had the opportunity to be a truly revolutionary player within the orbit of Imperial politics, or perhaps more likely, a figure to be assassinated when the opportunity presented itself.

It was perhaps that knowledge that had brought the young Conway to him, the heir of the greatest assassin that had ever lived. He had made it clear back then that his duties were vast, and his time limited, Zachariah had not cared, indeed, his desire for strength had been so overwhelming that he had been willing to simply... disappear from sight, and knowledge.

No doubt most forgot the boy who had appeared on Jutrand, who had a strange knack for being at the Imperial Palace, whom had followed one Dark Council from Alvaria, to Felucia, to Ordo.

For Zachariah Conway had not accepted Malum's lack of time, fully throwing himself under this apprenticeship, fully throwing himself into the mental and physical anguish that was being trained by the Lord of Deceit. Of course, even with such will, Malum could not always be present, needed in fifty different places, at fifty different and simultaneous times, but he had accepted that willingness, and rewarded it with training from every corner.

All which he had thought he would require, history, art, etiquette, politics, governing, language, yet, far beyond which was taught in a library.

Malum had taught him how to fight. Malum had taught him how to survive.

The Force was honed through his body, as blood flowed through his veins, as he fought with a lightsabre with as much swiftness as strength.

While of course, he knew how to wield a Shikkar with a will only to kill.

All this he had granted him, and all this Zachariah had taken.

So it was time, as was the way of the Sith, of masters and apprentices for thousands of years, as was the same ceremony which Malum had undergone so many years ago, the same which he had undertaken his two other apprentices, his love, and... the one who held such complexity in her heart.

It was finally time for Zachariah, the boy who he had raised to become a man.

The Masked Sith Lord awaited his arrival, even as he felt his presence, the old decrypt administrative building where he had so long ago fallen to the effects of the Nether's intrusion.

He enjoyed the irony of this being where his charge would advance to the next step, more than he should have.

Zachariah Conway
Mentioned: Ansisa Lady Falentra

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Elrood
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia ​

Elrood was, if nothing else, a reminder of the destructive nature of the darkside.

What was once a useful planet to those who controlled it lay ruined and broken after being touched by darkness. A former trade and manufactoring hub now desolote and crumbling beyond repair, decreed by young Zachariah's grandfather himself to never be visited by the Sith again. No single person was allowed in and no single person was allowed out.

Unless they were Darth Malum of House Marr and young Zachariah, of course. The legacy of one of the greatest assassins in galactic history, stealth was nothing to them. Malum had, of course, shared stories of his time tutoured by Darth Ophidia and had passed on knowledge from the assassin as to allow Zachariah to become more powerful and unlock the potential which tore through him like fire.

Whilst he hadn't been present upon the planet of Elrood when it had been turned from manufactoring powerhouse to ruin of the galaxy, he had heard the stories and the rumours. Wildfire had torn across the planet, leaving nothing but destruction in it's wake. What were once factories and residences were now nothing but rubble and waste. What was once a civilisation was now nothing but a pile of ash and bones.

Yet he could sense himself just how thin the veil between life and death had become.

Zachariah was no stranger to the netherworld, with the realm of the force being the domain of his step-father. The force told him just how thin the veil was between reality and the nether and it reminded him just for that brief moment of being back on Zaathru with the Dinn's.

It was so long ago, faded memories. The day he had become free from one master and had sworn himself into service of another. He had been a god to the people of Zaathru much like the rest of his adopted family. He had been a god and yet had given that up in the search for knowledge. Arcturus had taken the boy to Jutrand, he had visited his grandfather Darth Empyrean and had felt true fear for the first time.

Back then he was a different person, the force didn't come easily to him then. It had taken Revna Marr and their adventures to unlock the abilities that the boy possessed. He had become a recognisable face within The Sith Order however power remained just out of his grasp. Hence he had opted to lock himself away, devote himself to study. Books had taught him so much and had taken him so far, Darth Malum of House Marr and those he trusted to share on the boys training had taken him the rest of the way.

Traversing Elrood continued to show the destructive tendancy of darkness. The boy stepped over bones and charred corpses. Once, he would have been scared and disgusted by the levels of death but now it hardly phased him. Death had become common place to him, an occupational hazard of accessing one's hatred and fear on a regular basis to fuel their powers.

Travelling light, the young boy had worn a simple black tunic with simple black pants. He was covered in a black robe, hood up to conceal his face. His only weapon was that which he had taken, the lightsaber which had once belonged to the man who owned him. Whilst a reminder of where he had come from, even Zachariah himself admitted he was overdue a replacement.

Darth Malum of House Marr had opted to stand in front of the derelect administration centre, his mask recognisable from a distance. It was just another reminder of the Sith and the destruction that they could cause if given the opportunity.

The young boy took to a knee in front of his mentor, bowing his head in respect. It had all been for this moment and Zachariah would show the Sith Lord the proper respects. They had shared a journey, both before and after his vanish from the galaxy at large and whilst that journey was coming to an end a new journey was just beginning for both Sith.

"What is your bidding, my Master"

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum's heart stilled for a moment at the words which had come out of his apprentice's mouth. Malum had long since claimed him as his apprentice, even despite the efforts of Srina, to call him as such came as easily as calling him Conway, calling him Zachariah, calling him Zach. It was not the relationship that most masters and apprentices held, but after all, he was not most masters, he had never been.

Yet, in another way that it had most manifested itself was in the address which the one upon his knees in front of him, had for the masked Sith Lord.

Mentor. That was the title his apprentice had always for him, he had never questioned it, never to his face anyway, but curiosity had brimmed its barest sense whenever the word was uttered. Mentor was instructor, mentor was educator, mentor was distance.

Master... master was the title which was traditionally held by the apprentice for their superior, it was all which mentor was, with very key difference.

Loyalty.

The air whipped through the broken buildings near them, a ghostly echo of all whom had walked these streets so long ago. It had not just been age that had made them so torrid and destroyed, neither the Nether forcibly breaking through the veil, as the blood had flowed so liberally through the streets, after all...

...This world had been undergoing invasion, when all further calamity had befallen it.

Malum turned his masked head away from his kneeling apprentice, the toil in his heart firming away to nonchalance, as the words which he had always been curious of, even when he had never questioned, coiled through his form.

"...The new age dawns, Dorvalla, nay the entire Empire has now born witness to the Tsis'Kaar's public facing intentions, and though our enemies seek to take advantage, all is proceeding to plan, but, the core remains ever elusive." Malum noble's voice swayed across the air, as his head shifted back towards Zachariah.

"They wonder how an Imperial Party could be formed of ones steeped in the colours of our trade, ones who had so willingly committed treason not so long ago. You are our answer." Malum took a step forward, he towered over the boy turned man, as he reached down with both arms, settling themselves upon broad shoulders.

"The only grandson of the Emperor that sees keenly what is necessary. The Emperor claims he is immortal, but all Emperors require a Crown Prince," He pulled his apprentice upon his feet, tilting his head ever gently, as through the mask rubies bore into emeralds, "You will be our claim to legitimacy, through you, all which we do shall be considered right, shall be considered his will."

He paused.

"But only once you learn who you are, who you truly are." The voice hissed a whisper, a serpentine whisper, cold air grasping his face, as with one hand withdrawn from his shoulder, drew out from his robes, a Shikkar, painted with a verminous ichor.

"Take the blade, take it to your heart, and return to me, not the son of Arcturus Dinn, not the grandson of Rhys Talon." His other hand was brought to his masked face, another hiss erupting as the mask was pried off his face, revealing the noble face, framed by raven locks, an aquiline nose, and lips met in the ghost of a smile.

And red eyes gazing forward, with the barest hint of affection.

"But the apprentice of Darth Malum. Worthy of the legacy, or else fall, and be simply another forgotten corpse that litters these grounds."

Zachariah Conway
From: Darth Empyrean

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Elrood
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia ​

Master.

The young Sith wondered if Darth Malum of House Marr had ever questioned why he had opted to refer to him as a mentor, rather than master. It had never openly been questioned to his face, but Zachariah wasn't stupid. A mentor was but a teacher. A master, that implied a totally different relationship. It was a relationship that had to be earned.

Master.

It was a word that suggested loyalty and trust. It was a word that suggested that no matter what, the student would follow the Master. It was a suggestion of a level of trust and loyalty that had to be earned. It was a suggestion of unwavering loyalty.

Darth Malum of House Marr had earned that level of trust and loyalty.

Having listened to Malum speak, Zachariah's thoughts were confirmed. He had been invited to Elrood to be reborn, become the Sith that he had the potential to be. It had always been suggested that the process of Knighthood under Malum would be a unique experience, and Zachariah now understood why that suggestion had been made.

Long, slender fingers closed around the blade.

Zachariah Conway had been the adopted son of Arcturus Dinn, the adopted Grandson of the Sith Emperor. Zachariah Conway would be no more, slain on the planet of Elrood and cast aside for the betterment of the Sith. What would be reborn would be someone much better, with the potential that Zachariah had shown truly unlocked and able to be utilised.

It was almost poetic that the final task of being a Sith Apprentice was to defeat oneself.

There was no doubt. If he survived, he would be a true Sith. If he died, then it was clear he would have never made a worthy Sith and that he was never a worthy apprentice of Malum. Years ago, there may have been some hesitation and a pause. That was a different time though, a different Zachariah Conway. He'd grown so much from the small boy on Zaathru.

He plunged the knife deep, and he let out a gasp.

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Zachariah Conway 's Mind
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia | Darth Strosius ​

He was dead.

It was the explaination for the pain that was tearing through his body. He hadn't been worthy or strong enough and the blade had been his end. He had worked so hard for years and had been slain by a single blade. A ritual survived by Darth Malum of House Marr and his master before him had taken out the young boy and his potential had been wasted.

Death was supposed to be painless. Every story described death as painless. Those whom had danced with death described it as painless. Every single description of death described death as nothingness. They were wrong. Death hurt. Death was agonising and suffering and felt like burning. It felt like Zachariah was having his insides melted, dissolved in acid.

Then he woke up.

A strange sensation. He had been dead, then he was awake. However he wasn't on Elrood anymore. He recognised the room instantly, it's open walls and large bed. He recognised the view, the planet that he spent hours as a child staring out over whilst it's people viewed him as a god. He remembered the sleepless nights he had spent in the large bed, tossing and turning whilst his mind worked overtime.

He was in the bedroom of Hyperion, the God of Fire to the people of the planet of Zaathru. It was a room in which he had spent months of his time, recovering from the experiences which he had lived through under the ownership of Brunas Drace. He still remembered the day he exacted his revenge and slaughtered Drace with his own weapon, a weapon he still carried.

Hyperion had been a child version of Zachariah Conway, fourteen years of age and newly freed from slavery. He had been adopted by Arcturus Dinn and Arcturus had begun the boy's training in the force. He'd struggled back then, self doubt had crippled the boy. He'd struggled to even get the basics of utilising the force right, never mind truly unlock his potential.

Noting that the pain had subsided, Zachariah got to his feet carefully. He was mindful of any residual pain. He was still wearing the same garmants which he had donned on Elrood, still had his weapon at his side. It was almost as if he had just been picked up on Elrood and deposited on Zaathru, which definitely didn't happen because that didn't obey the laws of physics.

Taking his usual place near the open wall, Zachariah looked out over Zaathru. He had always admired the view over the beautiful planet. It was the first time he had ever felt accepted, by the Dinn family and the people of Zaathru both. For a moment, he was fourteen again and he was free. For a moment, everything that had happened since he left Zaathru was just a figment of his imagination.

The young boy shook his head. There was a purpose to him being on Zaathru, he had to remember that. The last thing he remembered on Elrood was that he had plunged Malum's blade into himself because he had to slay the old Zachariah and then he had awoken on Zaathru after what felt like an agonising few hours. There was a connection somewhere, he just had to actually make it.

Perhaps he was actually dead, and his mind was just treating him to some happy memories? It was possible, of course. He let out a chuckle to himself. He was stronger than that, he'd taken cuts before and had survived them. Yes, he'd plunged the blade into himself this time but it was no different to anything else he'd survived. So if he wasn't dead, then what was going on?

Before he had time to question much further, he heard an extremely familar voice before the door swung open. Zachariah barely had time to think, he just jumped. The perks of his room on Zaathru is that the walls were open. It led to an amazing view and offered the young Sith somewhere to hide. He was dangling from the side of his room, fingers clutching the ledge.

He'd heard himself. He had heard Hyperion. His voice was higher pitched and he sounded much more innocent but it was most definitely him. Zachariah took a moment to realise just how much he'd grown up in the few years between Zaathru and Elrood. His voice was much deeper. He looked older. He acted more mature. It was weird being able to compare yourself to a younger form.

"I'll never be good enough"

Zachariah heard his younger self speak. It was words that he remembered saying, words he'd said a thousand times before. "Everyone wants me to be perfect and I'm just not. Maybe I ought to just give up trying" the voice above him continued. Zachariah remembered the self doubt well, he remembered being so unsure of himself. He was past that now though, right?

There was a pause as he just hung there. Was he truly past that self doubt though? Yes he'd put in the work and he definitely felt more confident but was he truly good enough? He'd just spent a good five minutes doubting himself, assuming that he had died when he'd plunged the blade into himself. He'd doubted if he was good enough then, doubted if he was worthy enough.

Shaking his head, Zachariah took a breath. He was better than that. He was no longer an innocent fourteen year old boy. He was good enough. He was strong enough. He was powerful. Everything was beginning to make sense in his head. Everything that Malum had described about the trials. He wasn't just killing Zachariah Conway, he was fighting himself. He was fighting his own self doubt, his own weaknesses.

Clever.

With a little effort, he pulled himself up back into the room and stood face to face with his younger self. There was a scream from younger Zachariah, and within seconds both boys had weapons drawn. It took Zachariah a few seconds to remember that the two blades were identical, the same blade taken from Brunas Drace with their purple plasma powered by the same crystal.

"YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH" the younger Zachariah spoke, however it's voice was distorted. No longer was it the voice of a fourteen year old boy. It was deeper, full of hate and anger. It wanted Zachariah to doubt himself. "YOU SHOULD DIE AND STOP PRETENDING" the voice continued. "YOU WILL FAIL. MALUM WILL BE DISAPPOINTED BUT HE WILL MOVE ON. YOU ARE REPLACEABLE"

Two purple blades clashed in the middle of the bedroom on Zaathru. Purple struck purple as around them, the room dissolved and darkness overtook. Zachariah wasn't fighting a child, he was fighting the embodiment of his own self doubt. For years, he had thought himself replacable and weak. For years, he had thought himself not worthy, not good enough.

No more.

With one quick move, the older Conway overpowered the younger Conway. "I am more than enough" the older Zachariah spoke. "If this is the best you have, then bring it on. I have more power than you could ever imagine" he continued, striking his younger self repeatedly. At first, the younger Zachariah attempted to defend the blows but his defence quickly dropped.

"If you could see what I become" he spoke directly to his younger self. "I think you'd be proud" he finished. With one final move, the purple blade connected with flesh and the head of the child Zachariah rolled to the feet of the older boy as his vision faded to black.

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Zachariah Conway 's Mind
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia | Darth Strosius ​

All things considered, he was okay.

When he'd plunged the knife into himself, he wasn't sure what he'd expected. He wasn't expecting to have to strike down a younger version of himself, but it was something that he'd done. As far as he was aware, the trial was over. He was almost certain he'd wake back up on Elrood with Darth Malum of House Marr looking over him and being proud of him.

However he didn't awaken back on Elrood. In fact, he didn't awaken. Darkness had consumed him the moment he'd struck down his younger self and the darkness wasn't fading. Once again, the thought of death consumed the young boy. He'd been so sure that he hadn't died when he'd plunged the knife in and now he wasn't so sure. The darkness just wasn't shifting.

There it was again, the pain he'd felt just after plunging the knife into his chest. It was agony, like someone was tearing him apart from the inside out. It almost left him wanting to just die just so the pain would go away. He'd been wounded before, in training with Malum. He'd suffered cuts and bruises and a stab wound to the ribs. None of that had hurt quite as much as the pain he was currently experiencing.

For a moment, he considered just giving in and allowing the darkness to consume him. He considered just giving up. He was close to doing so before it dawned on him that survival was key. To prove his worth and his abilities, he had to keep fighting through the pain. The pain was just another trial that he had to beat, another thing to deal with.

And then there was light.

Zachariah felt solid floor under his feet and he took a second to catch his breath. Almost instantly, the pain was subsiding. He cast his eyes around and instantly recognised the skyline of Jutrand around him. It was a planet he'd spent a lot of time on, the heart of the Sith Order and the home of his grandfather, the Emperor of the Sith.

Slowly, it dawned on Zachariah exactly where on Jutrand he was. He was outside of the palace. The young Sith thought back to his first visit to palace of his grandfather. It was a feeling he would never be able to explain. Sickly to the skin, like the room itself wished to tear the blood from all who entered. It radiated Sith energies. The high vaulted celings left the room appearing like it was under the night sky, celings that always impressed the young boy.

Fear.

The first time he'd attended the home of the Sith Emperor, the only feeling he felt was fear. Fear had stuck with him from the moment he'd recieved the summons until the moment he left. The reputation of his grandfather was enough to envoke fear. He was aware that Darth Empyrean could have struck him down without so much as even moving.

It was all making sense. Zachariah was starting to understand the trial more and more. It wasn't just a younger version of himself that he needed to defeat. It was himself that he needed to defeat, all of his weaknesses and insecurities. He needed to shed himself of them in order to truly unlock his potential in the force and become as powerful as he needed to be.

Almost timed to perfection, a younger version of Zachariah walked from the palace. He was dressed simply, in the same attire that Zachariah himself had worn the day he first visited his grandfather on Jutrand. Zachariah paused for a moment, trying to figure out how old he would have been at the time before deciding that it didn't actually matter.

No matter how he was, he was weak. Controlled by fear.

The young Sith approached the younger version of himself, weapon already in hand. Without warning, the younger version of Zachariah vanished and the entire scene shifted. No longer was Zachariah on Jutrand. He was now alone, in a small box. He couldn't move. He was that tighly packed in he couldn't even reach his arms up. He felt cold metal pressing against his shoulders, his feet and his head.

Claustrophobia. Zachariah had never told anyone that his biggest fear was enclosed spaces. He hated being trapped. He couldn't stand it. He took a shaky breath as he tried to calm himself but his mind was running overtime. What if he couldn't get out? He couldn't even reach his weapon to cut his way out. He was well and truly stuck.

"NOW WHAT CONWAY? WHAT YOU GONNA DO?" came the same twisted voice from earlier. "STUCK! TRAPPED! NO AIR! NO OXYGEN!" the voice continued. Zachariah shook his head, taking another shaky breath. The voice was taunting him, wanting him to mess up. He knew full well he needed to get it under control and get himself out of this situation.

Zachariah took another breath, forcing himself to think rationally. The force was his tool to use, to bend to his will to free him. With all of the energy he had, he imagined the force as a bubble around him. He imagined everything in that bubble being pushed away and he forced that bubble to expand. He listened as metal creaked and bent, welded joints snapping. Metal was being pushed away from him to free him from his cage.

Within the blink of an eye, Zachariah was back on Jutrand. He was back outside of his grandfathers palace. Young Zachariah was still stood in front of him and was clearly terrifed of him. Older Zachariah didn't even flinch, he drew his weapon and struck down his younger form without even drawing a breath.

Once more, everything turned to darkness.

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Zachariah Conway 's Mind
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia | Darth Strosius | Revna Marr ​

The pain was back.

Every time there was a fade to black, the young boy was overtaken with the crippling pain once again. His entire body was suffering, being tortured. It was like he was being burnt alive from the inside out. He was fighting just to keep himself functional and focused.

There was no assumption that he'd wake up on Elrood this time. Instead, he was focused on preparing for whatever version of Zachariah Conway he came across next. He'd come across self doubt and he had come across fear. He wasn't entirely sure what else there was for him to encounter but he was expecting something nontheless. It would have been too easy to just wake up.

A bright light startled the boy back into conciousness. Taking a sharp breath, the young boy sat up. He blinked, attempting to adjust to the brightness. It took just a few moments for Zachariah to ascertain exactly where he was. It was a memory that he held close to him throughout all of his time that he had spent training with Darth Malum of House Marr .

Once again, the young Sith was on Jutrand.

Zachariah was hidden towards the back of a travelling speeder, hidden from view of those occupying the speeder. He recognised the younger version of himself instantly. The female whom the younger Zachariah was travelling with was also extremely recognisable. Revna Marr and he had travelled Jutrand together years ago. He had shown her around the planet, taken her into the palace of his grandfather.

He couldn't place where in their journey he had interrupted, despite remembering the day so vividly. The young Sith had already managed to figure out that he was reliving different chapters of his life and he had already figured out that each one had a twist of some description. What he didn't want to admit is that he was dreading what the twist for this memory would be.

It had become clear to Zachariah that he would have to slay his younger self. He'd escaped the last two memories by slaying his younger self. What the young boy was mindful of is that the version of Zachariah Conway in front of him was already powerful, had already been training under Darth Malum of House Marr for months and had already learned to access his anger and his hate.

The Sith pushed himself to his feet, hopeful that he could slay his younger self and move on without too much issue. The moment he took a step forward however, the younger version of himself span in an unnatural way and offered a sick and twisted grin to him. Reaching out with one hand, the younger Zachariah used the force to lift the female figure next to him into the air and over the edge of the speeder.

However, the female wasn't Revna Marr anymore. It was a female he hadn't seen for years. It was a female whom he hadn't seen since pre Brunas Drace. It was his mother. The younger Zachariah continued to offer the sick grin as the older Zachariah took a pause.

"Help me, please" the woman pleaded towards Zachariah. He cast his eyes towards her and for a moment forgot he was in a memory. He lunged towards her, however couldn't get close before the younger version of himself let go of her. She began to fall from the edge of the speeder, gaining excessive speed as she went. Zachariah lost sight of her, but put his trust in the force and reached out.

He looked over the edge and saw a figure hovering there, however it was no longer his mother. It was a male figure, his father. The man continued to plead for help and Zachariah began to pull the figure back up to the speeder using the force.

Something sharp hit him in the ribs, and Zachariah let out a grunt. He lost focus on holding his father as he realised that his younger self had just struck him with a swift kick in the midsection. Zachariah rolled onto his back, just dodging another kick from his younger self. He grabbed at the ankle of his younger self, pulling the boy to the floor.

Both Zachariah's lay on the floor for a few moments before they both rushed to their feet. Both drew their weapons, igniting purple blades. The two weapons clashed instantly, purple clashing with purple as both of the boys attempted to get the upper hand on the other. The older Zachariah had the strength advantage over the younger Zachariah which he attempted to utilise.

"WHAT, ARE YOU AFRAID TO LOSE THEM?" the younger Zachariah spoke. It was the exact same twisted voice that he had heard previously, laced with anger and hatred. "YOUR PARENTS ARE ALREADY GONE. WHY ARE YOU AFRAID TO LOSE THEM? THEY'RE GONE!" he continued. "REVNA IS GONE. SHE DOESN'T CARE. SHE'S GONE!" the young boy continued prior to catching a rogue elbow to the face from his older counterpart.

Zachariah continued to clash with his younger counterpart. The two purple blades continued to strike against each other, neither boy gaining an advantage. When one was pressing the attack, the other was on the defence. When one got a counter attack, the other diverted to a defensive stance. They were equally matched, unlikely to best each other on skill alone.

The older Zachariah wasn't attempting to win on skill alone however, he'd forced his younger counterpart to the edge of the speeder. The older Zachariah dodged a lightsaber swing towards his head with a duck and then delivered a swift kick directly to the chest of his younger self. With a stumble, the younger Zachariah fell from the speeder towards the floor below.

The young boy dropped to his knees, letting out a sigh as everything faded to black.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Zachariah Conway​

Darkness entombed the apprentice like a shroud of velvet. What had felt like a loose void tightened to crushing constriction as a pair of embers lit the darkness ahead of Zachariah. Whether they were embers floating right before his eyes or lanterns floating far off in the distance was impossible to tell. A frigid cold crept through the crushing dark, like a thousand gnashing teeth gnawing at his flesh, craving his warmth.

Something moved in the darkness, like the shifting of oil, barely perceptible yet omniprecent.

The Embers shot forward, closer, expanding into two rings of molten iron set in a face of ash. The woman stared at him, tilted her head to the side and inspected his features - No, she was not looking at his flesh. Her eyes peered through skin, through flesh, through pretence and deception. Her scale shrunk from abstract enormity to a tall and slender pillar of a humanoid form, draped in black silk so dark it made the darkness of before seem like ambient light.

Her ashen face was adorned with tattoos, her eyes unblinking, smoldering, questioning, radiant with power.

"What is a Sith?"

Her voice was like a blade of glass, slashing through his mind as knife-like hands cupped the sides of Zachariah's face. the fingers did not seem to harm him, yet their proximity to his throat was alarming. One could easily imagine the iron grip of the porcelain hands move to throttle him. For now, they stayed, careful like a mother yet sharp as broken glass, at the edges of his face.

She demanded an answer.

1/2

Darth Malum of House Marr​

"Noble blood does not a Sith make"

The familiar voice cut through the air in a now unfamiliar sensation. He was so used to hearing her in his head that feeling the vibration of her voice, the touch of her accent upon his ear, could only be imagined a strange recall. There was a bit of condemnation in her voice, but he would know it was the voice she spoke in warning, not in scolding.

"Only actions matter, only the reality you are able to manifest matters, only power matters."

The snap of her silken robes fluttering in the wind brought visual to the sound, as behind Malum stood a vision of his Master. She appeared younger than when they had first met. The lightning scars that marred her neck almost seemed to glow with vibrancy, and her eyes lacked the touch of weariness that he never noticed toward her end, now only apparent in contrast to his memory.

"Have you found it yet?"

Her hands moved out of her robes, one black, one ashen and dripping with blood. Between them, they held a familiar coin of gold. She let it turn over her knuckles, tumbling from one finger to the next before returning to the top.

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Zachariah Conway 's Mind
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia | Darth Strosius ​

Ice cold.

The darkness hadn't faded into a memory this time, instead it had been joined by a frosty chill that stung the boy to his core. It added to the pain he was already suffering, leaving him in agony. He could not show it however, he was stronger than the pain that was tearing him apart.

Zachariah felt hands touch his face, saw the eyes of ember locked against his. She wasn't looking at him though, she was looking through him like she was looking into his soul. It was as if she would force any information out of him, like he had no secrets around her and like he could hide nothing from her.

"Darth Ophidia" he acknowledged quietly. He'd heard stories from Darth Malum of House Marr that related to his master. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the figure who had haunted his final moments was the founder of the Tsis'Kaar.

"There is no simple answer to your question" he started, trying to keep a brave face through the pain. "For it is a question that can be answered differently by each person. Simply put however, to be a Sith is to be confident, determined. To be a Sith is to understand that the force is a tool used to shape destiny" he continued. "To be a Sith is to take charge of your own future" he finished softly.

He wondered if he was going to be killed, or if he'd been satisfactory in his answer.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

His heart missed a beat as her voice echoed in his mind, the rare moment, the exceedingly rare moment which the voice was heard, rather than felt, as masked face turned around, to face a figure that he had never known, but who was ever familiar to him. There was much to unpack in what she spoke, much that their dialogue within his mind had discussed, but...

...For her to be here, now, in this form.

It was a promise of something far beyond the conversations that one drew such painful headaches from his brow, something far beyond the shared existence of two souls inhabiting a single body.

He nodded his head in respect, even as he positioned himself in front of the collapsed form of his apprentice, "Mistress," He had bowed to her once, perhaps that was still the honour which was afforded her.

But he had only bowed to four in his life, and one of them was dead by his hand, there would be no more bowing.

"Noble blood does not a Sith make," Malum granted easily enough, he knew firsthand of the many who held their strength only by their name, only their title, rather than through action, "But noble blood provides its advantages in our continued struggle to be Tsis," His masked gaze, drifted back to the brown locks, which covered his apprentice's face, "He holds no noble blood, but what he is, what they believe him to be, shall be a strength and advantage all unto its own."

His gaze rested upon the lightning scars upon her neck... the same neck which he had split in half, so long ago now, this was not the woman he had faced on Fiviune, at the beginning, nor the end, but the memories of this woman, filled the blanks of who he faced, or perhaps more particular, when, he faced.

"...Have I found it?" He questioned as much genuine as it was rhetorical, "I brought you out from Alisteri, did I not?" He laid first words, watching, as the golden coin strummed between her fingers, his pockets feeling that ever slightest lighter. She held power here, that was not within doubt, even beyond death, she was here, he should have hated that, part of him did.

But despite everything, content within the confines of his mind, she was not the immortal tyrant like all others.

She had risen far above them.

So why still did he resist the call of the coin, she had gifted him so long ago? Fear of what she would do?

"I battled Kaine, and I have raised three apprentices," Their strength had never been in doubt... but their will? Perhaps so, while Kaine, still he had not taken the phylactery that was so close, while the other, he was no more closer to discovering its location, "Yet still, doubt remains from quarters if I am powerful enough, if I am strong enough, so tell me, Mistress, what should I do?" His gaze rested upon the coin, facing upwards, skullburst on the bed of bones stared back at him, as beneath, the twin snakes circled.

Darth Ophidia
Mentioned: Zachariah Conway Ansisa Lady Falentra Srina Talon Darth Carnifex Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Zachariah Conway​

Soft, yes indeed that was the correct description.

"A bantha can be confident. A fool and a charlatan can use the Force as its tool."

Her voice was sharp, and the touch of her fingers became rapidly sharper. It was as if the fingers slowly transitioned into blades, pressing into the skin, threatening to shred through his face. While the skin did not seem to break, something wet spread from around her fingertips.

"Yet destiny - To seize control of reality itself and impose your will upon it - That is to be Sith."

Her fingers withdrew as the figure was drawn back from him. Where she had touched him, ichor remained, running down his cheeks and neck, spreading to his hands should he dare touch it. It was thick, slippery, scented like metal, a scent reminiscent of a savage beating.

"In life, I shaped the future of the galaxy with a stroke of my shikkar. I authored the breaking of the Republic when I slayed the King of Onderon. I shattered the Dark Council of the One Sith to expose its rotten core. I carved betrayal and pretense from the ranks of the Sith Empire and scattered our enemies before me, and in death saw the folly of the Immortal Tyrants."

Shadows danced around them, everywhere Zachariah could turn his head the darkness was writhing into itself in muted images of war, murder, glory and betrayal time upon time again. Figures in the darkness became familiar, he may recognise hooded and masked figures with lightsabres and glass blades.

"To be Sith is to ascend to perfection."

Her hands folded together, then spread slightly to produce a disk of gold, a coin, between her fingers. On one side: Two serpents devouring one another. On the other: A laughing skull on a sunburst of bones. It turned between her fingers, seemingly glowing in the dark like a sun in the void.

"Before my death, I saw the future of our Order. I saw a path, and I offer you a chance to walk it" "Destroy all that would pull the Sith away from the path to perfection - All that would corrupt our creed." "Seek power in shadow."

With a flick of her thumb, she sent the coin tumbling at Zachariah by way of a tall arc

"Peace is a lie."

In the tossing of the coin, she had concealed the draw of her shikkar. Her plunge forward was fast, faster than the shift of the eye. The shikkar thrust put a viper's bite to shame. Where Zachariah had thrust his shikkar, she now thrust hers, just as the coin fell within his reach.

Darth Malum of House Marr​

"Know the essence of our creed, our code, and the ways of Power"

Her head cocked lightly to the side, as if she was weighing his words in her mind, or seeing some strand of the future drift off from choices and resolutions made by his speech.

"You are what you think You are. Your truth requires only power to become manifest"

Her hand, the one as black as ink, reached out to touch the side of Malum's face. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, but one he had seen in her memories before. She appeared to read something on his face, as if she could tell what memories he had seen. She could see his memories too, his doubts and his fears. The burning irises held his gaze like iron traps. He could see, reflected in the depths, the ages of violent strife that she had carved through the galaxy, and the decades she would set alight still at the end of the One Sith.

"And if you have not the power, then you must bring it to bear."

With her hand outstretched, it became apparent that by what scant light there was, she did not cast a shadow. The more he looked at her, the more she seemed to fade. He could feel her touch, if he let her, but the verity of her death was not to be forgotten. He could see the light shine through her neck where he had cut her, and her chest where Alisteri had pierced her.

Her age became suddenly apparent, as though the young woman had aged a lifetime in the span of a breath.

"Peace is a lie"

Her hand withdrew as her form began to fade and the Pale Assassin was gone, leaving only the bloodied coin in Malum's hand.

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Elrood?
With: Darth Malum of House Marr
Equipment: Lightsaber
For Awareness: Darth Ophidia | Darth Strosius ​

He still wasn't entirely sure if he was dead.

Already in agony, the fingers of Darth Ophidia felt like razor blades digging into him and it was making the pain so much worse. He felt something touching his skin, something akin to blood sliding down his face, yet there was no wound for it to pour from.

The darkness around him shifted, figures forming out of the darkness. Fighting and wars were being raged all around him, betrayal and hurt pouring out of every shadow figure that circled around the Sith Apprentice and the Sith Lord that once held so much power.

Zachariah forced himself to listen to the words spoken by his master's master. He listened and she spoke about slaying the King of Onderon, as she spoke about carving betrayal from the ranks of the Sith. He listened as she spoke about being a Sith meant ascending to perfection.

Then he saw it, the coin in her grasp. It seemed to purge the darkness that surrounded the duo, a sun in the grasp of the Sith Lady. There were images upon the coin, images he couldn't quite make out. Zachariah continued to listen as she spoke about offering a chance to walk the path she had seen.

And then he was truly certain he'd died.

Before he could even react, Darth Ophidia threw the coin towards him and plunged towards him. It all happened quicker than anything he had seen before. The darkness that surrounded the two shifted once again as the pain he was feeling reached it's unpleasent climax.

There was floor under him. His eyes shot open and he instantly recognised where he was, instantly recognised the ruined administration building. Looking down, he realised he was still holding the blade. He had survived. He had proven himself worthy. He had proven himself in general. There was something weighty in his pocket, something that hadn't been there before he'd plunged the blade into himself.

"I do believe I just met your master"

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He listened at rapt attention, for even in death, there might not have been a woman that he would listen to more, beyond mothers, both blood and chosen, this figure, that did not gain such title, but had undeniably shaped him into whom exactly he was standing now... red eyes closed themselves away from the world, hidden behind the replica mask of his great and famous ancestors, his ashes brandishing themselves shielded behind the amulet's ornament, as they burned heavy to the touch, at the presence of another spectre.

At the end of the day, it did always come back to the basics, did it not?

Know the essence of their creed, their code. That ancient mantra that had built empires that had risen and fallen.

Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.
Through Passion, I gain Strength.
Through Strength, I gain Power.
Through Power, I gain Victory.
Through Victory my chains are Broken.
The Force shall free me.

The answer he had given all those days ago on Fiviune... the bones of the truth that was beheld him, had not changed. But of the ways of power?

Bogan, he had learned so much.

...It did not feel enough. An immortality that on one hand he did not understand from one figure, all apart from that was required that he...

...Something that was necessary, but that usurpation of which he had no true idea if he could control, for after all, in those earliest days, his Mistresses' presence, had been near enough to shatter him entirely, to usurp power in the material realm, while too usurping what resided in the immaterial... could it be possible.

And then another immortal, phylactery he knew, and a phylactery that likely existed within the depths of the Malsheem, he was no closer to that specific victory.

So her advice, he was what he thought he was, his truth only required the power to make it manifest. It was a wonderfully circular argument, but whether it was pride being his folly or something else, he could not find it himself to argue against it. He was the apprentice of the Queen of Shadows after all, the Scion of Darth Marr, if there was anyone who within his bones, within his soul, held the ability to manifest the power necessary to take upon the mantle that he knew was required for him to take...

He blinked.

If he did not have the power... he would simply need to bring it bear.

He clenched his fists in solemn promise, as gazing forward, the girl that he had never met, but his memories found familiar unravelled away to the woman that he had known very well... or as well as he could have, light peering through her neck, and her chest, silent reminders of what betrayals he had committed himself to.

The guilt, that still laid heavy on his heart.

"Peace is a lie." He echoed, the coin finding itself upon the nail of his thumb, departing upwards as it span, before being plucked out of the earth, and laid upon his hand.

Tails.

His Mistress was gone, as quickly as she had appeared, and the rustling from behind him, alerted him to the survival of his apprentice, his... knight.

A masked face offered a hand down, "You'll have met my Mistress every time you gazed into my eyes," Malum answered, not providing any real answer to his meaning, as for the barest moment, one of his ruby eyes, flashed the most brilliant of gold, pulling him to his feet, "Arise, who was once Zachariah Conway, a name you bear, but who is now dead," Malum took a step back, his hand grasping on the Beskar hilt of the Sith Sword on his back, pulling it up, and with a hiss, the red plasma of the lightsabre activated too.

"Arise now, as Knight of the Sith" The plasma sat on one shoulder before rising above his head, brown locks singed at the proximity, before it rested upon his other shoulder, "Arise now, as Darth Latens."

Zachariah Conway Darth Ophidia