Shadow Hand
Death.
It's ghastly touch caressed everything on the empty wasteland that stretched clear to the horizon. It permeated the desert floor in a way most couldn't ever understand, carried through the howling winds and inhospitable atmosphere. The utter absence of life in this darkest realm was an affront to the balance of nature itself, darkness choking down all attempts while the sun bleached the surface with its undying rage. Through the immaterium the entire world was a gaping wound of darkness through which all life seemed doomed to die a slow, decaying death. The world stood in the permeating silence of the grave itself, a smothering grip that left it almost an absence of sound made by mortal intent. A refuge for one who wished to simply be left alone if they desired it, for who would come to the inhospitable realm of death itself? Avidich was a world that most would agree should be left to its own devices until the oppressive sun finally suffered its final end and the world itself met its penultimate demise for the good of all, left to be forgotten in the pages of history. But for one who knew a world with similarities to its oppressive nature, its brutal inhospitality it was reminiscent of home.
When the angular shuttle descended upon the platform of the lone monolith, towering like a defiant blade out of the wastes, it did so in muted silence. Even its burning engines seemed dulled, its sounds a barely audible low rumbling that intruded on the world's equilibrium. The entire tower stood a rough, rugged creation of savage beauty. Its stone surface already beaten mercilessly by the pounding sands, howling winds, and merciless rays that started bleaching the surface. A faceless bust stood out from its smooth surface detailing the only pathway through the cut stone to its interior. Out from the shuttle strode death itself wrapped in the cloaked skin of a great giant. A pair of plain black trousers tucked into a pair of boots. A dark sleeveless tunic revealed his powerful arms and most of his shoulders, detailing the beautiful tattoos snaking down his arms, part of the tapestry covering his form that told his story as Maenan and Sith, tattoos within tattoos, meaning scrawled over every inch. A faint translucent glow beneath the skin seemed to vanish as he entered the open air, a form began to shift as something hid in plain sight, within this umbral lord of darkness a presence like his own dark vergence of the force. The doors of the landing platform whether by access or simply command was forced open before him, leaving its shadowed halls barely lit by torchlight accessible.
The giant entered this new world without delay his form brimmed with a self-assured confidence of his belonging, the inevitability that all would clear from his path. Only the sound of his heavy footfalls echoed through the empty halls where lone figures moved to and fro keeping themselves scarce. Even their forms when visible before the faint light seemed to decay as easily as the world around them. Ash flowed like dust over the smooth earth caked over areas like dust, wrenched from the forms of fallen victims so utterly consumed they fell away into nothing. Merely the remains of the insane, the addle brained thralls who withstood the horrific pull until they dropped and became one with the tower itself. Sound itself seemed to carry differently depending on which hallway one was in. It was occasionally similar to a great cavern, breeze passing through while others hummed with soft, blasphemous chanting. In others it was the death echoes of hungering, breathless screams hanging in the air. All a dark perversion of reality itself by one who twisted the world around their fingertips. It would yank on the minds of lesser beings, twisting and turning them in these halls of shadows endlessly drawing them deeper into the endless labyrinth. The giant pressed deeper within the shadowy corridors moving with intent deeper into the structure as he moved to find its beating heart. To find something, someone.
"My child. My precious child." He let the words echo through the halls as he moved.
The world was a mere pale imitation to the one that she first opened her eyes on. The world he sheltered her on when the chaos of the galaxy grew too much for his daughter who was thrust into the galactic stage. The woman whose awakening was of a death scream, and the absolute hatred and rage of a sorrowful widow desiring the death of all things as vengeance for his pain. There was a closeness, a deep bond with his child that was on a different level than any other bond. No matter her course, no matter the path she took she was his child. The price for power in this galaxy was steep and Vesta, Mori had proven that she would pay it every single time. The Lord of Lies watched her ascension with pride and knew when it was or wasn't time to interfere with his daughters' journey. In the end though she was still his, his blood and it was her existence that often conflicted with his own course. His family. But regardless of whether she knew it or not, she was never alone. If she desired it he would always come for her. There was some attachment he had to his own child that always allowed him to find her, no matter the form she took. It was how he knew each form that passed didn't belong to her. She was the one who pulled him back from the edge before he embraced oblivion and unleashed death upon the galaxy. The journey through the maze of tunneling halls came to an abrupt stop deep within the structure.
"Come to me. Let me look upon you my progeny. She who stands above all others."