In the end, the family always betrays the patriarch. Over 400 hundred years of family making, and Harma Chael deep within Zambrano the Hutt knew this. It started with his grandson, twisted by a cult into a dark manifestation of his worst nightmares, forced to possess him for the rest of his days. Then, after years of struggling with identity in the Valley of the Dark Lords, it came down to Darth Durablis, who was ended by the hands of his son. After years of struggling with identity among the family of Kaine Zambrano, it was Titus Zambrano who was slain by his brother Ramese Zambrano. Now this. Losing friends to running away was one thing, though it pained Zambrano the Hutt with loneliness, losing a lover like [member="Mishk"] was tantamount to the closest sensation of death the Hutt knew. He was betrayed, whether the Acolyte attempted to do so or not, and his loss cut deeper than any knife or fire of combat could cut within him.
The dying personality of Zambrano the Hutt had began with the loss of his heart at the hands of [member="Sage Bane"], and ever since, his past personalities contested for control over his body, the leading one among them being his title of Darth Durablis, who had already made the sunken flesh of the rotting personality of the gastropod within the subconscious Throne of Thought, his new robes. This salted dagger however, with the loss of his apprentice, made every face of Zambrano become startled... the introspective souls interconnected, jumbled, and twisted within the confines of his threaded up blackened heart, experienced a harrowing sympathy for the childish and naive Hutt.
Harma Chael, who had lived longest within them, a forgotten whisper, shook his head, having seen it too many times to count. Darth Durablis stood up, gripping his Throne in rage as he wore the gastropods hide... and Titus Zambrano, a weakened echo of Durablis, and the forbearer of the Hutt, cried out in agonized pain that he had never known in life. While Zambrano the Hutt? The Hutt had died long ago, but now he was buried.
The Assassin's knife punctured with resistance cleanly into the blubber of the Dark Warlord, injecting its poisons into his bloodstream, but something was amiss. Then the Assassin in his ability with dodging the thrown body and whip, pushed a nearby pillar to knock the Warlord over the lip of the Pyre which had claimed his apprentice. That hated Pyre. The slaves still ran for it, screaming their heads off... and the Warlord sat in the middle of it, suffering with identity crisis and mourning. Even his eyes reflected the bleak nothingness that now filled him as his precognition foretold of His destruction.
"Balagoth... take me as yours. Blessed be the black prophet who took me to this dark glory!"
"No!" The abomination shrilly screeched, unable to save his most dearest of companions. Looking upon his slowly roasting form, the fires engulfing him not in the glorious fashion of Wayland, but acting as the portal to his escape from his master. An enormous explosion of the darkside resonated within the center of the sacrificial fires, and he felt the burning essence penetrate through him, purging him of doubt and hesitance, gifting him with anguish and rage, and cutting into him vengeance and conviction. Starkly blue eyes of sadness, became black orbs of unadulterated murder.
The full number of bodies within the room, the slaves, the corpses, all of them, suddenly stirred. Only that which held blood in them experienced the sudden conviction to stir, not in some manner of randomness, but with conscious decision. Flying through the air, over a dozen bodies catapulted themselves into the pillar that would have had him meet his demise, cracking it in half with the sheer velocity of it... meanwhile a green mist seemed to rise from the floor...
Corpses now rose as their own, and the living glowed green as their control was now ripped from them entirely. Green menace began to outline his black dead eyes, his face appearing slack with death, but very much alive with purpose. Suddenly, rips and tears above the biot replacements of his hands, poured out blood from their wounds, and the force flowed through it, being carried around the form of his hands and enveloping his paralytically poisoned whip, and mingling with the acids in his hands. The blood from the knife wound would push the blade out, and expel the poisons, before being flash-clotted at the wound.
The dark side had become insurmountably heavy in this place, the background energies of the planet itself, the sheer presence of this sacrificial place, the carnage and death throughout the room, and the dark side explosion of Mishk's force infused presence all adding into the hundreds of years of darkness held within the confines of Zambrano the Hutt. Now was the time, the emotional turmoil, the clarity of action, which pushed the limits of what was physically possible for the Gastropod, the tipping point for which there is no return in the life of this flesh had begun.
The blood that outpoured from the Hutt had become a deadly weapon, infused with the darkside, and controlled tightly into a flexible blade-like cutting weapon. As the sudden horde of undead and control slaves, walked to his drum of war, the Lord of Flesh sounded their hour of attack with a slash of his Blood Whip at the 'Aspect of Conquest', [member="Lord Ajihad"].
