Private You Know You're Your Own Assassin?

[Vesta Zambrano]

ASSASSIN

There was nothing when the eyes of the two opened - there was no light, no illumination, no clarity. There was only darkness, echoes of the void in their hearts, of the corruption in their souls. The space around them, mute, gave no semblance of sound, no drawing of breath no matter how deep and fast they could have tried. Vesta rose first, vis body shifting, contorting, as it struggled to find a shape to define them in this emptiness, and color dripped in like ink bleeding up through paper to give light to the forms of the two Sith lords. Time didn't exist here - or if it did, it was inconsequential - and a single step, no matter how great or small, sent an endless echo of footfalls that seemed to come from both the source and infinitely far into the distance that could not be measured. A world between worlds, the realm the Dark Lord of the Sith had been searching so long for had pulled them into its boundless space, if space could even be attributed to such an anomaly.

Whispers carried through the gap between them, the voices mixtures of the two, and the ground beneath them became illuminated with a dull red glow, a shade not quite so dissimilar to the red ichor that ran through their veins, to reveal they were on one path of many that led to many branching paths that connected to their own. There were no words between the two, for they knew implicitly what the nature of this space entailed, and to acknowledge it would be to confirm to the other the possibilities - possibilities that a mere struggle for control, control that was infinitely more tempting than whatever sort of petty loyalty blood carried with it, could irreversibly change the dynamic of power between both the two and the rest of their very galaxy. A shifting head, settling at last on a shape - likely the original - turned towards the Dark Lord and acknowledged their coexistence on this plane with a cocked eyebrow.

"Cousin."​

Light erupted around them at the word, as if every action carried with it a consequence beyond their understanding, and revealed the drip of red that ran down unseen walls and parted over swirling black spheres that drained the light that flowed towards their center - doors like black holes. The shapeshifter turning their gaze towards the one that was clearer than the rest - one that was closest - and in doing so exposed the monstrous half of their face to their relative. Their thoughts, then, bled from their minds and deprived them of the sanctity of privacy - laying all of their desires, their ambitions, and their secrets bare; thoughts, feelings, that left them in wisps and waves, rising like steam and echoing in their ears like whispers, voices, of their opposite's thoughts in their own voice rather than that of the thought's originator. Vesta could feel, could see and hear, the dedication to the Empire, to what had been built, but could see the trappings of obsession to ownership and vis head whipped towards the Emperor, to Kaine Zambrano, and vis expression turned to surprise as ve realized that vis thoughts, too, would be made known.

"I wish to make things better." Were the words that left the Shi'ido's lips, their tone urgent - as if to clear any uncertainty, as if to provide context to vis thoughts, actions, of sedition.

At once they were carried toward each other in a strange sensation of being stretched and then snapped in place, standing face to face in this endless expanse that betrayed them of their own thoughts, of their own desires - and the desire to usurp their cousin at the tail end of their prime, to prevent them from becoming that which they had founded their empire to avoid, was at the peak of Vesta's being, of their existence. They could see each other, eye to eye, in this guise - this guise that was, in truth, one of the Shi'ido's preferred shapes - and in this plane they stood as, at least on the face of things, as equals.

There was no dark lord in a world between worlds, there was no usurper in a realm without a ruler, and there never could be one here - Vesta understood the latter implicitly, though whether vis cousin would accept such an absolute was another story. "We will never see each other as we do now, will we?" Ve asked, not bothering to move vis lips as vis words were carried to Darth Carnifex by the space in which they stood. It was a simple question, but a deep one - the root of their desire for revolution, to be the equalizer in a galaxy full of those that saw others as greater or lesser than they, and its meaning was blunt.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Where am I?​

​

The query sprang forth into the endless abyss, rippling outwards in concentric bands of light whose luminosity faded as the eternal shadow swallowed it completely. There was nothing that could be seen for what seemed like thousands of miles around them, no expansion of his consciousness could breach the void of utter nothingness. He could not move, no power or will that he summoned had any effect on his surroundings, and the creeping claws of terror began to briefly worm their way into the meat of his mind. Color slowly seeped into his awareness, like drops of paint splattering one at a time against a dark canvas. Wherever this was, wherever he had traveled, was nothing like anything he had ever experience. He was shapeless, formless, little more than pure energy bound together by the sheer strength of his will. He flexed the limits of his powers in this realm and found his own strength wanting as he fumbled through the empty dark. ​

​

Stretching out with his will, he coalesced fingers, then a hand, then an arm. Meticulously he constructed himself piece by piece, suspended in the void of nothingness. And as he did, the void illuminated around him. Ground formed at his newly born feet, a glowing red surface that was as solid as any substance in the material world. Strands of inverse light swarmed around his nascent body, cloaking himself in dark flowing robes of onyx and scarlet silk. A mane of obsidian hair sprung forth from his smooth scalp, and his eyes burned with great molten intensity as they burned into existence inside each socket.​

​

Where am I?​

​

He asked again, though he was given no answer. Patience quickly running thin, the Dark Lord of the Sith surveyed his surroundings and discovered that he was not alone in this encompassing darkness. Recognition came easy, it was a simple matter to discern the product of his ancestral lineage. Even here, even in this dark place.​

​

"Cousin."​

​

His words too spilled out into the immaterial plane, bending around the singularities which now became apparent in the shimmering gloom. There was little secrecy to be kept in this realm, and the normally impenetrable mind of the Dark Lord found itself an open book as his thoughts, his desires, his personality seeped out into the blackness. So too did Vesta's, and their consciousnesses were aware of all that moved the other, compelled the other, drove the other. His was a mind of gears and violence, perpetually seeking dominion over others, compartmentalizing creation until it bent to his design. His will was a sickening, festering, cyst constrained by the limitations of Empire that was prime to burst forth and spread his insidious contagion across the wider galaxy. A malignant, tumorous, cancer that could not be easily excised from the galaxy's flesh.​

​

And ver mind was open to him as well, and he saw the fiery fervor of revolution burning bright in ver breast. The intense passionate desire for change, for evolution, had burned brightly in his breast during those fleeting days of youth.​

​

Before he assumed the throne.​

​

"Such a wondrous realm we find ourselves in, the slip between the fabric of reality." It had clicked with him then, the immensity of their surroundings crashing down upon him like an avalanche. His eagerness and hunger were naked before Vesta, as he could conceal nothing from ver in this realm. "The Vergence Scatter, the Netherworld of Unbeing... At long last." Though another thought crept into his mind, spreading its wings and taking flight into the empty void.​

​

"No, I imagine we will not. I am not accustomed to another knowing my thoughts, it is quite..." Discomforting was the word that was right on his lips, but his thoughts filled in the gaps where his words briefly failed him. "Tell me, dear cousin, about this betterment."​

Vesta Zambrano​

 

[Vesta Zambrano]

To speak freely was to tread treacherous waters, to risk everything by exposing the true nature of one's will to one who held all of the power where it mattered rather than to let the innermost desires sink to the depths of a sea of wills and hope their obscurity would prevent their knowing. Sith, by and large, lived by the latter in the climate of today - so few were willing to risk anything unless it came with certain victory, and even then it was at the will of another, more powerful, benefactor until their sycophancy earned them a seat of power second only to whomever had taken the risk last. Surely the Dark Lord of the Sith could have recognized this manifesting in his own court, the gradual replacement of the powerful that risked body and soul for progress with those that desired to curry favor and use connections to rise up in power, never to see conflict until it was at the hand of someone like ver.

"I look to the future, not the present, not the past, but to what should be, what could be, and I walk only forward, never back."

The statement was vague, perhaps entirely unimportant - at best tangentially relevant to his question - but it was the segue into the real meat of her piece, one which was liable to be nearly as discomforting as this sudden intimacy. "You were the future of the Sith once, and the Voss before you - but the future of yesterday is today's present, doomed to become tomorrow's past." The Shi'ido said, keeping vis tone free of hostility - at current the Emperor refrained from anger, and so ve would as well. "You still have a place in the Sith Order, but the Empire has grown beyond its fledgling origins. There are those who are not gifted by the touch of the dark side to wield its power, people who worship its strength and respect our leadership all the same - not quite so unlike the religion of our ancient Sith ancestors, cast aside by an uncountable number of Sith Orders and cults in hopes of emulating whichever Lord of the Sith they idolize most."

Vis features changed, slowly, and took on the image that ve imagined as ve spoke. "My mother tried to be the patron for the Yuuzhan Vong, Yun-Ne'Shel, she proved that religious fervor can spur any, even the most stubborn of people, into obsessive action. Even now, if I visit Metalorn under her image, they consider her a deity that has transcended death. I have no desire to be seen as such an entity, but I do see the value in such a cult worship - and there is no better way than to mold that fervor around the ancient Sith following of Typhojem, the left-handed god." Vesta explained, the form ve took on very much alien in nature that could have resembled some horrible thing from beyond.

"But our Empire are not simply cult followers and Sith Lords, it is overwhelmingly full of those without the force that take part in our day-to-day governance, Moffs, Governors, and those with jobs that don't relate to our war efforts. People who we have neither best interests for, nor that we should be spending our time thinking over - time that should be spent by those in the Empire who would do exactly that. Like the Galactic Empire after the Republic, transform our circle into specialized leadership over their fields - a general to lead the legion, an admiral to lead the armada, a scientist to lead our research endeavors, and a bureaucrat to manage the bureaucracy." Ve continued, momentarily shifting through the faces of those who were already making a name for themselves in those fields before slowly shifting to something quite a bit more intimately related to the Shi'ido. "I hope, though, that when change comes it is not on the heels of a revolution that you, cousin, make a decision on which side you stand - progress, I am afraid, is inevitable."

"As am I."

Darth Carnifex

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Past. Present. Future."​

​

The Dark Lord of the Sith's rumbling voice echoed throughout the empty void, each syllable rippling like stones bounced across a lake's placid surface. Their thoughts intermingled, a deep psychic membrane connecting them together unlike ever before. Their own thoughts could betray them at any moment, upending everything the Dark Lord had learned to control his emotions, control his body, and control how those around him perceived him. Within but a snap of the fingers, the Dark Lord's innermost thoughts could become reality in the empty dark.​

​

So he suppressed thought itself, willed his mind to emptiness, and to only regurgitate what was being iterated to him if at all possible. Like any tool, he learned that such a phenomenon could be bent to his advantage. Tactically it could be employed to strengthen his words with emphasis mere gestures could never profess. ​

​

"Such is the eternity my Empire will span." He reached up and with a flourish of his hand, he brought forth to life a small creature of light born solely from the expression of his will. "In one form," he changed the creature's translucent skin to purple, "Or another," and then to orange. "Strengthened by the rigors of struggle and desperation," he swelled the creature's mass to resemble toned musculature, "or starved by stagnation and hubris," the creature deflated down to mere skin and bones. "Perhaps doomed to die," the creature collapsed in on itself and became ash in the Dark Lord's palm, "but destined to ascend from the pyre," and then he brought it back to life with a crackle of flame.​

​

Then he crushed it between his calloused fingers, and the creature was no more. "But always subject to my will."​

​

His unblinking eyes never left Vesta's. "There is truth in what you say, the Empire has grown too complacent on its own victories, it has become shackled by arrogance. What once made us strong has made us vulnerable, and that vulnerability has been exploited by the wolves." Images sprung forth from the Dark Lord's mind, the faces of Irveric Tavlar , of Darth Voyance , of Vaulkhar . "The Force has delivered onto us the instruments of our rebirth, these harbingers of rebellion and insurrection. By their hand, we suffer, but through suffering, we are purified. The claws of self-flagellation rip open our Empire, from which tainted blood pools at our feet. Slice by slice and wound by wound, we are cleansed and made pure."​

​

He spread his arm wide, "For the Empire to endure, it must evolve. It is clear to me now that you are the catalyst, you are not shackled by misplaced zeal or false prophecy. You have a true vision, and I would see that vision realized."​

Ellie Mors ​

 

[Ellie Mors]

Endurance. Evolution. Strength. Power. Victory.

Sith that desired longevity, permanence, knew no other truths than those; knowledge as a means to power and victory, wisdom as a means to evolution and strength, and influence as a means to endure. To emphasize anything else before these was to invite temporary success and inevitable defeat, a fate inescapable for any that grew too pompous in their arrogance. Slumber, a life before "birth", was a fate that Vesta Zambrano endured as their consciousness and being was formed, and it was a direct result of the process through which Alekto and Braxus had engineered the creation of their child; a process which had spilled over bits and pieces of themselves into the unresponsible Shi'ido.

Bits and pieces that had created the mind and personality that would make up the individual standing before Darth Carnifex in this strange plane now.

Those bits and pieces had been what afforded Vesta this realization and, as with Coruscant, their manifesto had not been written in a day. Life, especially when put into perspective against the lives of the older Sith lords, had been short for the Dark Lord's cousin, but from birth to sleep the Shi'ido had been spared no pause in the chaos that was quickly seizing control of the galaxy. Through their eyes they watched the effects of this so-called endurance, the sacrifice of bits and pieces to hope for a miracle of greater reward in return for ample loss - endurance that conflicted with the supposed evolution, denying the Empire its change or otherwise slowing it so that what did change came altogether too little and too late out of fear for repetition of the past.

Vesta's own ears had confirmed this by way of probing those who had prepared even for the end and yet refused to adapt in fear of change.

Fear.

Hesitation.

Familiarity.

The five "truths", an unspoken set of tenets that all Sith inevitably fell back upon for their rationalizing of plans and actions, were but a mere charade - an illusion - to disguise the true triumvirate that reigned over the Empire. The Empire itself feared its leader, and yet feared an Empire without it as well, just as they feared real and progressive, and especially sudden, change. Fear which led to hesitation in action, a slowness to move which led to a holding to familiarity.

"No."

The word was final, testing, but it was ambiguous enough in regards to its context.

"This Empire will be your legacy, but it will not be your puppet. I did not come here to ask you to let me mend the Sith, I came to you to change you." Vesta clarified, venturing slightly into more treacherous waters. "My desires to change this Empire are open and apparent to you, and I spoke only to explain - so you would not misunderstand my intent - but you must understand the mistake in distancing yourself from the past while clinging to some foolish egomania propagated by the likes of Sidious and Vitiate."

The knowledge was learned - the names - but the zeal, the disgust at which Vesta spoke of their legacies and of their names, was very much so rooted deep in who the Shi'ido was.

"There will never be an Empire that can live on forever through one man, or through one woman, and there will never be a Sith Order that does, either. It is time to do what none of your predecessors have ever been willing to do, and accept that this Empire will outlive you." Vesta explained with some degree of passion, though the absoluteness of that final statement was more symbolic than prophetic. There was no way to know how long he'd live, or how long the Empire would last, but it was surely implied that through evolution the Empire would persist, not solely through the machinations of a single individual, the effects of which were slowly starting to show themselves.

"I am not saying this out of challenge, cousin, but as a warning. Remain focused on the future of this Empire, and not on your legacy, or I will ensure that you do not tarnish either of the two."

"I respect you too much to see you fall from grace. And I love my father too much to fight against him."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Ver was indeed treading dangerous waters.​

​

There were few in the galaxy who could so brazenly speak to the Dark Lord of the Sith in such a manner without facing immediate reprisal, from himself or from those he surrounded himself with such as his uncle. Perhaps if they had convened in the material world this conversation would not have gone the way that it had, but because of the unique properties of the Netherworld of Unbeing, they were allowed to speak on such a diametrically different medium. ​

​

"Very poignant," replied the Emperor, the darkness around them seething in the broil of the passionate thoughts which emanated from the duo. "Longevity of the Sith is the purpose by which I have amassed such power and influence across the galaxy, to see our Order ascend to our rightful place atop the Throne of Balance and reshape the universe in our image. To that end, I have sought the grandest secrets of all Sith who have come before me, to one day achieve what they could not. Immortality is but a stepping stone..."​

​

He grasped the air in front of him to accentuate his words, fingers gripping tightly. "But you are right, my blood, you are right. In my pursuit, I have lost sight of the Empire and have allowed it to drift astray from its purpose, and in that listlessness, the likes of the New Imperial Order have been given fresh soil to root. The squabbling of fools has drowned out all reason and has resulted in war. There must come change now, not through committee, but through direct action. The longer we hesitate the further the Empire slips into chaos and destruction."​

​

His eyes again looked to vers, "Where do we begin?"​

Ellie Mors ​