Where Shadows Dwell.

[Darth Eversor]

Republic Capital​

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-Revival-​

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Death isn't an option. Even the most fierce of predators and the strongest of champions at some point meet an inevitable fate. Even those that are not programmed for failure cannot outwit their own end, or foresee an escape beyond what the word fate entails. For Abraxas, he decided to break the cycle of allowing death itself to reap what was sown in his garden of triumph. His conscious jump started back to life in that hive where he was left to become some Jedi's leftovers that he didn't have the courage to dispose of properly. ​

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How unlike the Jedi to leave their foes to die a fate worse than a quick death, where was the honor in letting the enemy die horribly? Surely they felt the desire to cut true with their blades, their Republic values and endorsements. Even though this one man desired a unification of all government and senate, he failed in the end. He practically lied and got many killed, and many more with a life spiraling into nothingness and depression. ​

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What was it that mankind desired most truly? To reimburse those that already paid their way in blood and tears? To see the look upon faces that share the same ideas or opinions? There truly was a tenacity to humans that Abraxas didn't quit understand despite being humanoid himself. But perhaps that was it, perhaps he was more far off from his intended identity than he realized. ​

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Being rescued by a Republic scouting party, the monstrosity was now rebuilt and functional. A pledge was made to help bring down Sith tyranny and other Imperial threats alike. It was a new beginning for Abraxas, and a new understanding of his prime directive.​

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All men lie in some small way, so why not cut out tongues before unreasonable conflict turns into an inferno of regret? ​

[member="Krinikal"]

 

[Krinikal]

Blood. Krinikal could smell the familiar coppery scent infesting the air around the old medical facility. He lofted his pillar-like head up toward the heavens, and narrowed the thin emerald slits that served as his eyes. It was not uncommon to smell such a scent when one was around those that practiced medicine, but this was different. It was artificial: unclean, unnatural, sentient made.

His form was that of wafting air. The stealth generator he so dearly cherished reduced his visual signature to little more than a distortion in reality, the disturbance one might associate with a the space above a wild inferno. He stuck to the shadows - a difficult task for one so very large - and approached this peculiar stench. It was what he might have once called heretical in nature at one time, but now understood was the metallic tinge of cybernetic augmentation. Something organic, but at the same time not, was quite close.

The massive Vong warrior drew up to his full height as he cleared another corridor. The door slid behind him, leaving both himself, and this abomination alone in its chamber. The stealth generator he wore clicked off as planned, revealing his massive, cloaked form. Clearing eight feet in height and built of thin muscle, he was quite a sight to behold.

"You smell of death."

[member="Abraxas"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

//SYSTEM REBOOT; ENGAGE RE-SYNC PROTOCOL...//​

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//CENTRAL AND SECONDARY HEART RATE STABILIZING...//​

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//AWAKENING SUBJECT; OPTIC RECEPTION LIVE...//​

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Awake, the monstrosity was. Alive to once more analyze the life that went on around him and to have his gaze beset by a hulking creature of the likes he hadn't identified before. Raising his head upright, Abraxas scanned the the thing that addressed him with a mere comment; the smell of death. The creation's visor filled with history logs and reports that dubbed this creature standing before him as Vong - yet another species to study and undermine when the time comes to fruition.

Rising from his idle position, Abraxas said nothing in response to Krinikal. He didn't see much reason to converse after being brought back to the realm of consciousness. What the monstrosity saw during his time spent away from the material world was nothing but an inky blackness filled with distant voices and residual echoes of things he was told in the past. It confused him, made the creation question what lies beyond the border of conscious realization. Rolling his broad shoulders, Abraxas stepped closer to the Vong.

"Death is my tool; the actualization of killing is brought upon those that my directive deems an obstacle. You are of the Yuuzhan Vong, a human-like race that excels in the way of technology; organic. Your kind is spiritual in the sense that you sacrifice for gods, a primitive notion. History also tells me that your kind enjoys the philosophy of pain. Why inflict pain when death is absolute in its ability to resolve and simplify? I will continue to study this further."

Abraxas stared down the Vong, unwavering.

"What do you want, Vong?"


[member="Krinikal"]