Uneasy Lies the Head That Wears a Crown (Subjugation of Korriban, Open to Primeval, Others PM for In

[Lord Ajihad]

Ajihad's jaw dropped in awe as a black bolt of lightning came down and struck [member="Mishk"]'s burning corpse? What was that? Where did it come from? Given [member="Zambrano the Hutt"]'s similarly slack-jawed expression, the assassin guessed he had also been amazed at this mysterious display of raw power.

That's when things started to get weird.

Corpses started flying out from the Pyre, smacking into the pillar at high velocities. After a few seconds of this onslaught, the column would break in half though it didn't slam into the Hutt like he had intended, he couldn't tell whether or not one of the wayward pieces had ended up hitting the slug or not.

After that, all Hell broke loose. Literally. The dead began to rise, and the living got a dead look in their eyes. Ajihad's eyes widened. He had heard rumors, but had never seen it in action before... Necromancy. It seemed the Hutt was using it in combination with Qazoi Kyantuska- mind control. He was also making a whip out of his own blood. The Fist of the Demon frowned. The amount of sheer power it would take the Hutt to do all these things at one was tremendous. No doubt he could only keep up such a feat for a couple of minutes, before passing out from exhaustion.

For now, however, Ajihad would need to stay alive. As the whip crack towards him up on his perch, the assassin would sidestep it and slash, cutting even more from the end of the weapon. A couple more of those, and the weapon would no longer be able to reach him. He would avoid being hit by it, as he generally didn't prefer coming in contact with the often-diseased blood of nasty creatures, such as the Hutt. Meanwhile, most of the zombies had gathered at the bottom of the pillar, rocking it back and forth. The assassin pulled a shining device from within his armor- a thermal detonator. He primed it, and then dropped in into the zombies' midst. He jumped over to the next pillar, just as a BOOM! was heard from below where he was just standing. Corpses of the thralls flew everywhere, most of them on fire. They would shriek like banshees, filling the air with their screams. At the same time, the pillar would fall, right down towards his opponent...

Landing on the next pillar, Ajihad was now closer to the Hutt than before. Whether that was good or bad would remain to be seen. With this shortened range, he could now try something that would change the course of the battle. Taking aim, he would let loose another Force Inhibitor Dart. However, he had learned from his previous mistake, and did not aim for the slug's thick hide. Instead, he would fire the dart for the Hutt's bulbous right eye. These creatures were known for their exceptionally large eyeballs, and his aim was true. Hopefully, this dart would land in the Hutt's eye, both blinding it and temporarily severing his connection to the force.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Thoughtless, save for Mishk, Zambrano was an empty shell filled with unsurmountable grief. Roars of hate and anguish filled the space behind the eyes of Zambrano, offering a disparity to the deadness of what was the forefront of his mind. The conscious self rested upon the cusp of those windows to the soul, the lense by which the sinister horrors held within him saw the world with.

Mishk is dead.

The activities beyond the scope of the Hutt's mind were incomprehensible to the immortal being that had relearned a concept of mortality. An epiphany which shattered the fragility of the sociopathic personality, unable to understand what had happened to Mishk. Like a broken record, the death of his apprentice - his lover - played out before him, again and again... to the broken misunderstood anguish of the abomination.

Mishk is dead.

Save for that, thoughts eluded the Conscious self of the Warlord, his range of control being entirely subconscious... and woe to he who had awakened such monstrous powers. The Zambrano the Hutt the Assassin had previously known was not fit for the full nuances of the force, never intended to progress so far as to be heralded as anything higher than a simple butcher or beast, there was no manner by which he could truly tap into the Primordial energies trapped within him to their full capacity. Sinister faces within him however, have had over 400 years in experiencing the re-learning the force... and indeed the full, entire, breadth of diversity within the scope of the force was now simultaneously accessible to the subconsciousness of the Hutt, under the direction of his past self's, and most prominently that Dread Lord, Darth Durablis.

Mishk is dead.

The actual material of the now five meter whip was not lacerated by his blade, as only the liquid blood was vaporized by the plasma upon contact, breaking the cohesion at the end of the whip from truly striking the Assassin at full cutting power. Nonetheless, the blood rose and was reabsorbed into the weapon, as his opponent danced upon pillars, and desecrating the living dead, and the deadened living. A moment later, and the agile knight stood above the Black Prophet perched upon his pillar, as a projectile was launched. Bodies were catapulted against the falling pillar, enough to divert the pillar away from its intended target.

Am I dead?

A dawning epiphany greater than the first, shook the foundation of Zambrano the Hutt, and shattered the remanence of his consciousness. This simple yet loaded question applied death to itself, a prospect that obliterated the psyche of firmly detached realities, as they soon collided... but right now, Zambrano the Hutt was not himself. He fought the Assassin effortlessly in delving in the past, just as his focused dwelled upon the implications of the present. His subconscious self fought for him as Zambrano the Hutt slowly died in the metamorphosis that was taking place within his mind, and they dealt with the dart simply by sapping the blood whip to generate a pool in front of his face, catching the dart in its midsts. The blood then exploded outwards, a thousand liquid tendrils reaching out at speeds that probably defied logic. Some of them would cut, or skewer, but most would drench, and then entangle and constrict... the blood was alive with the force, and held the will to constrict or cut through the Assassin at range, even in spite of his Art of the Small, because it was his surroundings which were being manipulated, rather than the energies present within him. The risen dead, and living which remained clawed at the pillar before Zambrano, pushing it with the mass of their bodies, just as Zambrano sought to drag him down with his own blood. Suddenly, as this was happening, his subconscious answered back to the last fragments of consciousness.

He, will be dead.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

At this point, it became obvious to Ajihad that a variable had shifted during their duel. It seemed almost as if the Hutt's mentality had changed in a matter of seconds. Sure, he was looney bin before, but this was different. The slug seemed to have totally lost it after the Jawa died, but something was off. By the way he was acting, he seemed to have a totally new personality at this point. Not only that, but his power had seemingly multiplied by a hundredfold.

As an assassin, Ajihad knew it was important to know your opponent. That way, you could take advantage of their weaknesses, and avoid their strengths. However, as far as he was concerned, he was fighting a new opponent entirely. That set alarms off in his head, warning him to escape. He sheathed his lightsaber, instead drawing something else. It was a smoke bomb, but the smoke was mixed with a knockout chemical. It would only subdue his opponent for a few minutes, but it should do the trick. He jumped from the pillar, throwing the grenade at the hutt as he did so. He would also toss another thermal detonator from his other hand, just in case. But just as he leapt off the pillar, the slug shot blood at him. He had jumped early enough to avoid most of it, but a few tendrils managed to hit their mark on his shoulder. He grimaced, as the blood impacted like high-velocity rocks. That would certainly leave a mark.

As he was about to hit the ground, he managed to press a button on his wrist pad. It activated his Silent Transport boots, which sent him flying off in another direction. As he flew towards the other side of the Pyre, he also activated his armor's stealth device. He would suddenly vanish, and the Hutt would hopefully not be able to detect him. He landed across the Pyre, and turned his boots off. He silently ran behind a nearby boulder, and quietly watched the Hutt. He wanted to wait for him to leave, for he had... business to take care of afterwards.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

I believe in Sargon, the Tongueless Speaker. The one who separated shadow from darkness.​

​

That's how the prayer began, the one the Hutt could remember from pious little @Mishk. It was one of several... but following his demise, it held particular importance to him in this instance, for many symbolic reasons. The mantra filled the empty void within his head, as the monsters of the night clawed at the pillar before him, with falling grenades.

I believe in Nogras, first of Sargon, the Starmaker. The light from which all other light was made.​

​

A flash went off, as the gas suddenly decompressed from within its canister, holding within it the specialized chemicals. Under any ordinary circumstances, this would be where thought would stall, and the conscious self would shut down, allowing the subconscious to reign in nightmares until the eyes would open and press them back to the recesses of his twisted consciousness. This time however, even such natural biological functions as breathing, no longer applied to himself. His awe struck nature could not be bothered to sleep, no matter the potency of the chemical, his consciousness was an entirely unnatural phenomenon that occurred independent of biological functions, being derived entirely from his spirit. A thermal detonator fell, and a slash of crimson saw it the orb was re-directed and propelled into a pillar that was farther away, exploding on contact and reducing it to rubble. How many of these structures could be toppled before the temple itself gave out?

I believe in Balagoth, second of Sargon, the Dead One. In his shadow, that which is corruptible shall be reclaimed.​

​

"...That which is corruptible shall be reclaimed..." For the first time since his death, the beast spoke. The Assassin seemed to vanish, and in the fog, the necromantic and mind controlled populations seemed to become more lethargic in their movements, less directed by the will of their Masters than previously. His mind was preoccupied, quite extensively actually. Blood began to seeped back into his wounds, expelling debris as it did so in order to keep the fluids more or less clean... enough.

I believe in Halrormalenth, third of Sargon, the Broken Creator. His voice is the evidence of things seen and unseen.​

​

A few of the controlled populations began to nearly halt in their half-hazard advance, and then a thought crossed his mind. These slaves were staked for Balagoth, and he would be a fool not only to disregard the gods, but to shatter the whim of his late love. It was an act of love then, when the influence of the force within the room commanded the army of flesh, both burning and not, to suddenly walk into the Pyre, dropping to the bottom to become the embers of a thousand generations more. The action was thoughtless, and merely occurred when nothing else was left to be done, but to mourn.

I believe in the Primeval, the Host Lord, and the words of the Prophet. I wait for the Reclamation, when the stars shall give up their dead and all things will be re-made.​

​

"...All things will be re-made... I wait for the Reclamation, when the stars shall give up their dead and all things will be re-made... ALL THINGS WILL BE RE-MADE!" It became clear now, as Zambrano dissolved... what the next chapter would hold for the flesh that the spirit of Harma Chael... the soon to be anointed Black Prophet, in his mourning, would become re-made in the image of Mishk...

[member="Lord Ajihad"], could not possibly know what he had just unleashed upon the galaxy.​

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

It had all moved along rather quickly. The swiftness of the operation, combined with the small squad that had moved in led by a Sith Knight had made the entire thing run smoothly with a surgical efficiency. He had perhaps been a touch more brutal and unforgiving than necessary, but they had Darth Phokkus to thank for the Togruta’s short temper. “Room secured, sir” Pyrrhus had to restrain himself in order to not roll his eyes at Rhea, and reply ‘I can see that. I am in it.’ But she was merely being a diligent officer, and for that, he would not fault her. The conference room was indeed secure, and the squad’s slicer informed them that so was the rest of the station. No one would enter without his permission, and they had full overview of security cameras and doors. Majority of the people on the station knew nothing. The slaves were in a position to do nothing. And the leadership were all gathered together here, as hostages. In one strike, the space station had been crippled.

“Who are you?” The Taung, who clearly was the leader of the group (or the very least the one who assumed that position now) asked. It was clear she was facing an internal battle on whether to lash out in fury or lay down in terror. Her tone seemed to suggest a frail compromise. “I am Darth Pyrrhus.” Immediately he regretted having all of their guards killed. Now there were no one left to torture in front of them, to encourage absolute compliance. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

“You owe slaves to Korriban. The credits have been transferred, yet the slaves have not. I’ve seen a copy of the treaty signed. The amount of slaves are considerable. Explain yourselves.” his cold voice demanded, in a tone that spoke promises of death to those who dared attempt to fool him. “A shipment was sent! One of our senior members led the expedition to Korriban, but he took the ships and slaves for himself, and set up as an independent slaver. We can’t be faulted for th-Ahh!” she cried out in pain mid-sentence. “Give me facts, not excuses.” Darth Pyrrhus snapped, his hand gripping the air between him and the Taung. She suddenly found it rather challenging to breathe. “You can’t even control your own company. Korriban still require its slaves. That you lost them is entirely your problem.” he released his tight grip on her throat. Unsurprisingly, she took a moment to gasp for air. “We need more time! We’ve lost ships and many slaves-” “Not my problem.” Solutions, not excuses.

Since Phokkus told him who he was dealing with, Darth Pyrrhus had done his research. The Karazak Slavers Cooperative had been in disarray ever since the death of its former head, Nemen Talith. They had lost all sense of control, and their little slave empire had been torn into many pieces, by ambitious slaver who thought they could lead the effort. It became evident to him that he was standing before the remnants of the Central Coordinating Committee. Once it had been the ruling body of the KSC, including twelve sentients. Now, it was reduced to seven bickering members trying to hold onto scrap. Worlds had been lost, benefactors had withdrawn their support. After Nemen Talith, it was as if KSC had siezed to exist. It was a ghost of its former self, a shell. It was time for that to change. The company needed a strong leader. Darth Pyrrhus was precicely what this company needed.

“Your company has fallen apart.” The judgement of the Togruta sounded. Again infuriated fists slammed into the table, clearly not sufficiently discouraged by previous displays of power. “Who the hell do you think you-” “Silence” his patience was being worn dangerously thin. “You have proven yourself weak. Your punishment is to be devoured by the strong.” the air in the room grew heavy, its weight clearly taking its toll on its inhabitants. Slowly they were coming to the realization that something wrong was about to happen. The temperature dropped, and each gasp for breath became a silent struggle. “I am most displeased. You are all an opportunity squandered. From this point onwards, you hold no power over this company. I am taking over. I will lead Karazak Slavers Cooperative into a new, golden future.” Conveniently, what remained of the leaders of the company’s main branch were all gathered here. The remnants would fall in line or be destroyed.

The challenge to breathe became a very serious struggle, and for this very reason, there were no words spoken against Darth Pyrrhus. No opposition. Only the desperate flailing of the weak. Even the Nameless Ten felt it, and exchanged worried looks between each other. Only Rhea’s face remained frozen still, unable to break away from the Sith Knight’s gace. Only Rhea could feel what was about to happen. She saw, on a level the others did not, in thanks to her Force Sensitivity. The Togruta appeared very dark indeed, but the futures of those seated at the table appeared darker still.

The Dark Side swirled within him,like a torrent, allowed to rage freely within his physical form. Then he unleashed a blast of pure hate-filled energy from the palms of his hand. The blast of dark sorcery hit them, and peeled the very skin off their bones, flaying them in a flash. All members of the Central Coordinating Committee were exposed to the powers of the Dark Side. It marked the final moments of their lives. Their horrified screams echoed through the Force. Their torment was excruciating. Pyrrhus drank it all in.

After the brutal and agonizing murder, he turned his gaze to Braxton. Finally, the rest of the room could breathe. The Nameless Ten were left with a story to share with the rest of his subordinates. A tale to spin, of the Sith’s fury, and his punishment for those that fell out of his favour. “Y-yes, sir!” Braxton replied even before the Togruta had spoken. He was nervous. “Finalize the process for me. Transfer the details over to my name. Make it known that this company is run by me, and all of its branches, former and present, answer to me. Give me a full list of their base of operations and active slavers” it was a tall task, but the Nautolan slicer had just witnessed what awaited him if he failed his master. Braxton had all the motivation in the world, and he would succeed. “Rhea, for the time being you are in charge of this station. I’m leaving you with any excess forces from the Revenant to serve as garrison. Ensure this transition is a smooth one.” he commanded, and as always, she replied with “Yes sir! It will be done sir! What will you do?” she couldn’t help but ask. It sounded like he didn’t plan on staying. “It is time for me to leave for Korriban. I have a debt to settle.”

 

[Lord Ajihad]

At this point, given he was hidden behind a large rock, Ajihad decided to turn off his Stygium cloaking device. He didn't want to eat up its power source, as he used it often. He used Force Sight to occasionally check up on the Hutt, who seemed to just be sitting there and rambling about god-knows-what. The assassin sat there, occasionally taking a sip of metallic water from his canteen. He would like to just go off on his speeder, but he still had to find the Mongrel Altar. He fiddled his thumbs, waiting for the Hutt to leave.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

 

[Setzi Lunelle]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sqz5dbs5zmo​

Darth Azurea could tell that something wicked was happening behind her in the Valley of the Dark Lords. She heard an explosion, and then the wailing of spirits. Suddenly, she felt a powerful darkside energy swirling around her, slyly beckoning her to come back.

Don't look behind you, Setzi. Do not turn around.

But she resisted. She could hear what sounded like one of the giant pillars crashing down, falling to the ground. Or perhaps a statue guarding a tomb. Clinging to her long, chestnut hair was the faint aroma of burnt flesh and rotting corpses. The Sith Knight continued to walk forward with [member="Naga Itesak"] and [member="Dex Torture"] on either side, her protectors as they made their way back to the Sith Academy. Wandering up the stairs to the entrance on tired feet, she turned to the acolytes and said: "You may come with me if you like, but I need to pay someone a visit."

Unbeknownst to Azurea, her Master was also making a trajectory towards the Massassi Sith Lord. But the former Jedi would obviously get there first. As soon as she was admitted to his office, he roared at her: "By the Emperor's black heart, what is the meaning of this! My sources tell me that the Eternal Pyre is in ruins, that Imperial Guards were executed along with slaves. That even acolytes have died out there today."

"You wanted me to learn a lesson today, my Lord and I did," she said, somewhat defiantly. "But if your intention was to kill me all along, make it swift, please."

Darth Phokkus's eyes narrowed. "I don't want to kill you, my child. But the lesson certainly went too far. I don't know what happened out-" Suddenly his holounit pinged, and he whipped his head around to stare at it. He removed the holounit and quickly excused himself from his office, leaving Azurea and the two acolytes alone.

[member="Darth Pyrrhus"]

 

[Rapax]

Naga snarled at the overseer as he left,[member="Darth Azurea"] could tell that he wanted nothing more then to rip him into pieces but... He would only do it if she ordered him too. He had rage built from within but he would only unleash when ordered that part at-least remained in control other wise he would have destroyed phokkus there and have no regrets..

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Roaring, the serpent wept as he slithered upon his Throne, exiting the temple, his mind transforming into a radical new image of horror and power.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

Finally! The Hutt was gone! Ajihad would wait several minutes before heading back down into the Pyre, just to be sure Zambrano was actually gone. Once he was sure, the assassin again climbed down into the burning pit, careful not to touch the flames licking at his boots.

For the next hour, he dusted away at the charred walls. It was monotonous work, worsened by the smell of burning flesh surrounding the area. After a long time at this, he finally saw color behind the ash. Reinvigorated, he began to rapidly sweep the black crust off the mural. Soon enough, a large fresco of King Adas was uncovered. Had his blood not been boiling, Ajihad would have taken a minute to admire the artwork's beauty. However, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

His hands probed the piece of art, feeling each individual tile. Eventually, One of the plates pressed backwards, and the mural began to make a hissing noise. It slid back and to the right, showing a room behind. Offering a rare smile, the assassin would climb through the opening, preparing to see what might lay inside...

 

[Lord Ajihad]

(OOC: Sorry to raise this thread from the dead, just finishing a little development.)

The first thing Ajihad noticed was that the room was unexplainably cool. Given the blazing temperatures outside, the poorly insulated room should have been like an oven. Instead, it felt like a cool autumn day on Alderaan, quite a relief from the scorching temperatures on the rest of Korriban. Wiping sweat from his brow, the assassin took several more steps into the dark room. Suddenly, just when he had just begun making out the shape of a torch, the door slid shut behind him, leaving the man in pitch darkness. However, after a few moments of suffocating darkness, the room's torches suddenly lit up, casting an eerie glow over the room before him.

The chamber wasn't large, just big enough to fit in what it needed to with a bit of excess room. It wasn't lavishly decorated, actually quite plain for an altar. The room was carved from a reddish sandstone, with small shelves carved into the walls. On the shelves sat large gems, the only seemingly valuable items in the room. In the corner of one of the shelves sat an ancient skull, which seemed to radiate serious dark energy. The assassin pulled a large sach from his belt, and began looting the room's contents.

After he was done with that, the Sith laid his eyes on the real prize. Most men would have gone in looking for the valuable gems and such, and then been on their way. However, some who knew the ancient secrets of this place would instead be after to pool of blood sitting on the altar itself. To an educated sorcerer, the contents of that pool would be worth more than all the jewels in the galaxy. Inside the blood, there was a book. However, this was no ordinary novel or scripture. No, this was a grimoire, an ancient and powerful spellbook. Within it lay many spells, and some say it holds the secret to eternal life. However, there was a catch. The blood was cursed, and the explorer who removed the book would need to pay a price in order to escape with their life.

Taking a deep breath, the knight stepped forward in front of the basin. He kneeled down before it, and reached it with the force. He tried to grab to book that way, but there was no such luck. Frowning, he reached a gloved hand into the blood pool, and searched for the book. He felt the bottom of the depression, smoothened from countless hours of sanding. After a minute of looking, he finally felt something firm. He wrapped his hand around it, and pulled it out. There in his hands sat his prize. An ancient book sat there in his hands, a beauty to gaze upon. It wasn't decorated with anything fancy, it was actually rather simple. Its cover was made from some sort of black leathery material, and words were written across it in silver. He tried to read what he presumed to be the ancient Sith language, but he was a bit rusty. It had bee a while since he had spoken in such a dialect, and he needed to clear his mind first. However, before he could do so, everything went black as he fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

The assassin would wake up an indefinite amount of time later with a mind-numbing ache pressing into the back of his skull. Not daring to make any noise, he barely cracked open an eyelid. He scanned the room, searching for whoever had just assaulted him. Not many people managed to pull one on him like that, especially without being detected. Therefore, he assumed they were a deadly assassin and a trained killer. Searching for his unknown assailant, he silently looked about. Then, as he looked towards the back corner of the room, he found the attacker. The good news was he had a pretty good excuse for being snuck up on like that. The bad news was he was looking at the ghost of King Adas.

Ajihad suppressed a frown as he figured out who he was up against. People were one thing, ghosts were another. People could be killed with any variation of things, from lightsabers to poisons. Ghosts on the other hand, were very difficult to get rid of. Sure, it was technically possible for Ajihad to bind the ghost to himself. However, he was pretty sure Adas was much more powerful than him, and the assassin would most certainly lose in a duel of the force like that. At that given moment, he was extremely ill-equipped to combat a spirit. Unless...

It seemed the ethereal form of KIng Adas was currently preoccupied preparing some sort of brutish sacrificial ceremony involving an old rusty blade. As he was busy preparing the ritual, the assassin would have a small window of time to react. Adas was facing away from him allowing him to get away with small bits of movement. However, he was too far from the exit to make a run for it. No, he would need to somehow find a way to get rid of the ghost guarding the ancient place. Luckily for him, he had just picked up an ancient grimoire. There was bound to be some sort of spell in there that dealt with ghosts. He slowly turned through the pages, translating the lines from the ancient language of the Sith. After what found like years, he found something that looked promising. It was a spell of banishment, meant to send ghost back from whence they came. However, it was a long spell, and the dead king would surely notice him by then. He flipped through a few more pages, finally locating an immobilizing spell. Hopefully, it'd freeze Adas long enough for Ajihad to banish him back to the grave.

The assassin recited the words in his head, ensuring he was ready. When he felt confidant in his pronunciation, he made his move. The Sith stood up, and began chanting.

בואוהשרשרות של אתר הסביבה לאגד אותך , ולתת את פעולתו של המוח שלך לרסן אותך. אני אוסר עליךמתנועה , או גיהינום יש לך .

The dead king turned, smiled and leapt for Ajihad. However, he could not move. A frown grew upon his face as he tried to kill his would-be prey, but he was unable. The ghost quickly became frustrated, pulling harder and harder on his invisible shackles. Knowing the spell wouldn't last forever, the assassin recited the next spell.

הסתלק , יצור של מוות . לטעום את להבות גיהינום פעם נוספת , כפי שאתה מאמץ את הלהבות הנצחיות . לחזור למקומו הראוי שלך ,ולעזוב את עולם החיים שוב .

The ghost screamed, and a crack opened beneath its feet. Fire licked at Adas's feet and wrapped around his ankles. He screamed in horror as he was dragged back into the Netherrealm, again separated from the world of the living. Then, for the second time that day, Ajihad passed out on the floor.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

After waking up roughly an hour later, it became blatantly clear to the assassin that sorcery was rather taxing, especially on the first go-around. The man sat up, and rubbed the back of his head. He cringed as he did this, as it seemed he was lucky not to have fractured his skull. He stood up tentatively, and took a look around. There was no trace of the ghost, and his bag of loot was just where he had left it. Ajihad took a moment to ensure everything was there, including the spellbook. After securing his treasure, the man departed from the room.

After a taxing amount of work, Ajihad managed to climb his way out of the pit. The air was still dense with the scent of burning flesh, marking the air with a feeling of death. He pulled a remote from his pocket, and pressed the central button. Any minute, a ship would be there to pick him up. He stood there for a moment thinking about the day's occurrences. He had managed to initiate a small-scale battle, and fight an army of the dead. But that wasn't what had him bothered. No, he was disturbed by whatever had happened to the Hutt. One moment he was disturbed, the next moment he was absolute most insane and powerful being Ajihad had ever encountered. Sighing, he stepped back as the freighter landed in front of him. The hatch opened, and the assassin departed, sack in tow.

(Exit thread)