The Master stood at the doorway to the Dark Hall. The huge, daunting black doors were shut tightly against all intruders, and the Hall itself bore down like the culmination of every nightmare ever dreamed. The Master grinned at its majestic malevolence. His eyes followed the doors down to the ground, where a being in bright white armor stood guard over the doorway.

The Master looked down to the figure of Graysith, asleep in his arms. She lay curled next to him, a dark reflection of the loving way she was held by Phalomir only moments before. The smile broadened, and the Master stepped forward.

He was stopped short by the creaking of ancient metal, and the brightly armored figure brought down an enormous pike to bear upon the Master’s head. A gravelly voice creaked out a question, the Master growled a response, and the figure raised its pike and stepped aside. The doors opened, and the Master stepped inside.

“You are very privileged, my dear,” said the Master tenderly. “It is not often we receive foreign dignitaries. I am sure you shall be well received.”

A shadow moved in the darkness, and the Master froze it with a flick of his hand.

“Fetch the former Dark Lord,” the Master quipped. “Tonight he is to dine with his true masters.”

The shadow slithered along the wall, then flew through the doors, already closing.

“Ah,” he said to the shadows. “Skarwael. Awaiting my return, or hoping upon all odds against it?”

The smirk turned into a more genuine smile.

“It matters not, for this day not even your insolence can wear thin. I have returned, and, once again, I have succeeded where Roan has failed. I bring to the Black Tower the Lady, the ‘chosen one’. He wants only vengeance, but I shall offer him something of much greater importance.”

The Master walked further into the hallway, the dark shape on the ceiling following. He could hear the sharp claws digging into the flesh of the stone, and the slither of the tail as it brushed along the surface. The Master came to a room, the door opening for him as he paused before it.

He stepped inside and lay Jharmeen down upon a soft, black bed. It resembled thick tar, but supported her and formed around her back side. The Master knelt beside her, brushed the hair from her face with his clawed hand, and bent to kiss her forehead. When he pulled back, a dark smoldering stain covered the silent glyph, evaporating into the air. He stroked his fingers over the glyph and tilted his head slightly.

“My son has an affinity with this one,” he said apparently to no-one. “She will not be harmed until I command it.” The walls and floor shook slightly, as if in acquiescence.

It paused at the bottom, hiding behind a black boulder. Demons marched by in neat rows, no small feat for such wild, salivating beasts. But these were the new demons, guided since their creation by the Dark Lord. His wane in powers was more than recompensed by his ability to train soldiers, and soldiers these were.

The small demon waited for a clear moment, then darted across the plain in a mad dash for the huge Sith-like figure at the center of the hordes. The movement caught the attention of one of the soldiers, and it instinctively lunged for the target. The messenger leaped to avoid the snapping teeth, only to be caught in mid-air by the massive hand of Roan.

He squeezed, not as a reminder that it would take but a touch to kill the demon, for indeed ths beast was practically immortal. But he could make the thing very uncomfortable indeed.

"Am I a galley wench to come running at His beck and call?" Roan growled, pressing his fingers into the non-flesh of the demon's throat. The little thing gargled as it hung there, front claws raking Roan's arm, its tail lashing from side to side sending a spray of its poisons flying in a wide arc about it.

Roan ignored it. After a moment longer he snarled in disgust, and flung the demon from him.

"Your Master would do well to remember just who it was that granted his miserable existence a reprieve from death!" he growled, wiping ichor from his claws.

Then, the movement lightning fast, he pointed at the demon, using his abilities to raise it about two and a half meters from the non-ground of this terrible place.

"Tell your Master that he is not mine; I deny his offer!"

With that he rent open a Portal, and flung the demon through it to land at the feet of the one who had sent him.

Roan howled his outrage, letting the Master know quite clearly his feelings in the matter before he twisted his wrist in a peculiar manner and snapped closed the Portal he had opened.

“I am surprised,” he mused. “I expected no less than three pieces be sent back, not a whole. Perhaps I should have sent you instead?”

The Master stroked Jharmeen’s forehead once again.

“No matter,” he said. “It is only jealousy, bitterness that the Dark Lord of Buffoonery is forbidden entry into this tower without my leave. I would almost think he would jump at the chance to enter, but no, he of course would decline out of pride. He must be called here, but on his own terms. Allow him to believe he has not been granted permission, that is what we must do, my dearest.”

The Master turned to the little demon, and ripped his own portal open in the air between the two. In an instant, the Dark Lord was in view.

“Roan!” he called out. “I have returned home, and I brought something-- a small memento from my travels. I would dearly love to show it to you, perhaps even share.”

He picked up Jharmeen easily in his arms and turned to face the portal once more. He stroked her hair with his clawed hand, and stared into the portal as an unearthly grin spread across his face.

“What a pity it is that you cannot join us,” he smirked.

"The old fool," he muttered in a raspy growl as his dark merriment was brought under control.

"And he purports to be so powerful!"

Shaking his head at the blindness of the other, he turned from the spot where the Portal had hovered, and went on to further oversee the military training of his demonic hordes.

“She will be remain here,” he said, turning to the two demons that occupied the room with him. “The powers of the tower shall prevent her from leaving, or being… taken.”

“Watch her,” he spoke to the smaller demon. “But speak not with her should she wake. She is of living flesh from the Realms of Light, and as such will fill your head with lies and deceit. Remain here until called for.”

He then turned his attention to the demon he called Skarwael.

“Save you cackles for the babbling hordes,” the Master hissed. “I pulled you out of those ranks because you showed intelligence, if you wish to roil with the mindless masses then I shall gladly send you back. Lord Roan would surely find a use for you in the army.”

The Master’s demeanor changed swiftly once more. His face became a sea of devious delight as he flicked his hand upward, and the demon rose into the air. With a twitch of his finger, the Master brought Skarwael floating closer. He left the demon hovering and walked a slow circle around it.

“But if you indeed possess the intelligence you purport,” he cooed, “then calm yourself and mark well my instructions. My son, Lord Phalomir of the Sith, rightful heir to the Three Clans--”

A small orb of fire burst into being to the right of the Master. It cleared, showing the face of Phalomir.

“Remember him well,” he continued. “Revere him for the sacrifice he shall make, for the life he shall give to our empire, and to its master. The Realm of Light has failed us, and it is time to take the hand of our own destinies. Bring him to me, Skarwael, that is your task.”

He released the demon and it fell gently to the ground. The image of Phalomir continued to float.

“The method is completely up to you, my friend. Once you travel to the Light, by means of a portal, then do what you can to coax Phalomir here, to the Tower. You, as a being of this Realm, may open your own portal back to the doorway. Of course, having no experience in this, I expect your portal to open somewhere in the Caves of Chaos instead of the Tower doors, but control will come with practice.”

Seeing the eagerness once again rising in the demon, the Master threatened a backhand. Still holding his hand poised, he merely continued.

The Master grinned, then swatted the demon with his boot to send him through the portal. Watching Skarwael disappear into the shadows along the wall, the Master closed the portal.

“I wonder how many Sith warriors it takes to slay a demon?” he mused. “That is last I shall see of that one.”

He turned to the smaller demon, who was fidgeting in the corner.

“As for you, should anyone approach our prize, be it even Lord Roan, come to me immediately. The Tower shall protect her, but I wish to know who would deign to view our Lady. I shall be in the Resurrection Chamber.”

She gasped, instinctively screwing her eyes shut tight-tight-tight against that awful Light, and when she opened them...

...it was to the blessed, cool relief of red-tinged darkness. She smiled into that darkness, laying for the moment just enjoying the feel of it, until from nowhere memories came barreling down upon her all in a rush.

Her eyes widened; she sat quickly up, looking around her into the unfamiliar darkness.

This must be... a medical bay on the Sith ship? she thought to herself as she slipped from the bed. She tottered slowly about the room, gaining her equilibrium, just being as other memories came flooding along with her growing strength, her growing confidence.

A hand flew unconsciously to the Glyph on her forehead; with a little grunt she realized it was there as normal, lighting her hand in a soft violet glow, reflecting about her in a tiny pool of light. She stretched out with it a bit, letting the light from it extend further to brighten the dimness...

...and gasped to find she was surrounded by something that looked like cold stone but which in her very soul she knew was not.

A small rectangle against the dimness beckoned; she went to it, finding it to be a tiny slit of a window high on the wall of the mysterious chamber. Her powers responded to her by now naturally occuring and unthinking call; quickly she rose from the floor until she was level with that tiny window and able to see out of it.

She gasped at what she found on the other side....

"Phalomir! Shayla!" she couldn't help but cry as she descended far too quickly to the stone floor once again. Then logic overtook her; grimacing, she then reached out with her powers along the Links she had created with them, seeking to reassure them in their undoubted prisons that she was conscious, aware of their situation, and coming to their assistance...

Only the call stopped cold, slamming into a block placed between them.

Angered, feeling strength born of fear for the safety of the others rushing through her, she decided upon a more direct action. There were other ways of contacting her comrades; a hand stretched out, twisted just so, ripping a Portal in the fabric of otherness that existed, even in this horrible place. A look of determination darkening her features, she marched toward the Portal...

...only to rebound from it as if she and it were the same polar ends of a huge and invisible magnet. She shook her head, and tried again.

Again she rebounded from the opening she had created, quite unable to pass through.

It was only then that cold, uncaring logic descended upon her, informing her that (one) opening a Portal as she just had was really, really fruitless since she obviously had no idea what lay on the opposite side now, did she? - and (two)...

Her powers were strangely truncated, leaving her less than half-defenseless against the horrors of the Darker Realms.

But not totally defenseless.

Determination flooded her, chasing away momentary despair. She would find a means of escape, of that she was certain. Ideas were already coming to her; mixed with them was her fervent hope that Phalomir and the others wouldn't discover where she had been taken and try to come after her.

Unless, of course, they were already here, imprisoned as she was.

She returned to the black bed, sat down upon it, quietly reserving what strength she had as she lent every brain cell to the task of reuniting herself with her loved ones.

But here was the lady, now resting again on the bed. His job was to watch her, to alert the Master if anyone should approach her. This was easily done, but his curiosity was growing every moment, as was his boldness. After a short while he scampered slowly down the wall and landed on the soft ground.

“Is-- Is the lady comfortable?” he croaked out the best he could. His voice seemed almost demur, hesitant. “Does it wish for something warmer?”

She hadn't expected it would actually speak to her, however. Not to mention the surprisingly civil words that it had uttered.

She blinked her violet eyes, slowly, and forced herself to remain as calm as possible.

"Yes, I desire a particular warmth," she finally said.

"But it is something you cannot offer me."

With that she folded her hands in her lap, and fell silent.

“You seeks not warmth of heat, but warmth of other?” it asked. “Master has telled me of such things, but understanding I am not. Warm to me is nothing, but to warm my outside when chills creep. Master tells of heart feelings, things that play on strings.”

The demon stared at Jharmeen a moment, it’s dark eyes pondering.

"No," she replied slowly. "It is not that. The warmth I seek is of the sun; it has been too long since I have felt it against my face."

Keeping her breathing soft and easy, she spoke softly to the little imp.

"The Master has sent for Phalomir?" she asked him, radiating innocence with every aspect of her being.

"Who is this Master, and why is he so weak as to seek out a mere Dark Lord of the Sith, when there is greater power to be had--"

Or battled against....

"And who is this other, this... Him of which you speak?" she finished with before falling into silence, letting her gaze dwell upon the scorpion-tailed little being, but now letting a flash of darkness creep into her own visage.

Indeed, although being constrained by what she assumed to be the magickal arts of the future Sith, she knew from the lessons she had received from Aelvedaar that every spell had its counterpart.

She now devoted herself to more serious contemplation of her predicament, lending every ounce of brain-power to the task of finding a way out of it, all the while keeping up a simple facade of helplessness and innocence in the hopes that the little creature before her would continue to be deceived.

After all, others of its kind were dealt with easily enough; she had no doubts that this one would follow suit.

“Him is the one! He was, then was not, but will be again, he will! And to be the one that is who was and will be again will make HIM the one who is and will be! Simple, it is! Master knows, Master knew. When Master found the secret of time, he makes a deal, he did. Time-tripping son, blown around like fly in the wind, back and forth, forth and back, always landing and not knowing why. Not knowing who he is sometimes. But the son is not stupid, just lucky. But now Master knows the secret, knows why they make the deal, and knows it is time to bring time-tripping son home to finish deal.”

The imp dropped his back slightly and stepped in a bit, and lowered his voice.

At least this little creature is telling the truth... to a degree, she relented, remember what the Dark Lord had told her about his earlier misadventures behind the Black River.

In the Valley of the Dark Lords. In the presence of the Eternal Flame.

In that most mysterious of places where what had to be her own offspring had finally undertaken the rites and ritual necessary to bring the Sith back into the realm of the living.

Did that have anything to do with what Phalomir had experienced? If so, to what purpose?

No, that made no sense. There had to be someone else, someone... other, this "Him" of which the imp chortled in so round-about and confusing a manner.

Taking a little breath, she emboldened herself to rise gracefully to her feet. Her hair, tangled into flaming knots, danced about her face, reflecting the soft light of the Glyph into a circle of small radius, the only light in this terrible, dismal place.

Smiling, she stepped forward, reaching out a calm hand to the little imp.

"How special you are, you must be, to be entrusted with such secrets," she said softly, taking another step forward and yet another, each one bringing her closer and closer to the demon. It didn't move, but rather eyed her warily, seemingly poised to dart off at the slightest provocation.

She resolved not to give it such; a gentle smile still upon her face, she stopped mere feet from the creature, her hand stretching out toward it.

"But yet, how strange... to feel the need to hide such secrets from one as puny as myself."

Now she let her hand drop in front of her, where it met with and clasped its partner. Standing in this unthreatening aspect, she continued to smile, continued on with her gentle comments.

“My son,” he said. “It is time for you to come home. Your lady awaits you.”

Phalomir’s eyes darkened, piercing even through the portal.

“I will come now,” he said, hate filling his face. “And will leave nothing of your realm in my wake.”

The Master widened the portal to allow Phalomir passage, his own smile widening as well. It was soon dampened, however, as Phalomir was dragged away but unseen arms. The Master sighed, and the portal collapsed

The imp hopped back a step.

"We all die, little one," she finally said, now taking another step toward it. It skittered back another few feet, still eyeing her warily.

"Death is nothing; what is of account is how one lives, whether the time given to one is long or short."

She paused, cocking her head to one side as she watched the imp, who only remained silent and still before her. Her smile broadened, grew even softer still.

"I am not afraid of death, nor am I afraid of your Master. For all his supposed power, it would appear that He is the one who is afraid--

"Else he would not have imprisoned me here as he has, or would not be seeking his son as he so desperately does.

"I pity you both; there could be so much more for you, little imp."

With that she fell silent, letting her hands once more enfold themselves into a loose knot in front of her, her Glyph shining, every aspect of her being radiating calmness and serenity and yes, something approaching even love.

Other.

Swallowing then, she calmed herself.

So that is it, then....

"Games can have more than one ending, little one," she replied as she firmed her resolve, strengthened herself, softened her demeanor and took another step forward.

"But it is difficult to play the game when one does not know the rules of play; come now, be brave. I need no surprise, and I fear no death.

"Tell me the rules, the part I must play. For indeed are there games afoot, this I acquiesce. I merely deny the outcome being preordained. For, as some have said:

"Always in motion, the future is."

With that she stopped, casting a glance all about herself once more, before returning that gaze to the little imp in front of her. She held her arms out to it, beckoning it to come to her, as proof that she too believed it was not as evil as some would think.

“So many things is happened to you,” it said through a grin. “I watches, I sees. Friends, lovers, enemies, sisters – how you do it all and not go loo-loo? Why you care about rules? Big big plans, they has, now all big big plans done. What left for lady? Dark ones, ones close to her, all gone. Dead, betrayed, or just up and left. What has she now?”

The imp moved a step closer.

“She has future,” it beamed. “She has knowing of big picture. Sith all thinking they are big big, Dark Lord this, Dark Lord that. Who wants ruling of galaxy now, who wants who dead, who care? Do Lady care?”

The imp tapped its clawed foot on the soft ground, a strange click coming from the impact.

"My, but you do ask a lot of questions," she said softly, crooking her lip.

"Why do you wish to know so much about me?"

The imp looked to the ground and smiled again.

"Oh, I think not," she breathed, then dismissed the little demon for the moment. For what more could it possibly be other than a watchdog for the one who had entrapped her here? From prior experience she knew these demons were nothing but the embodiment of evil themselves, burst into creation whenever the merest of evil whims, the tiniest of evil actions, came into play in the dimension that she called home.

A thought struck, and she paused, turning back to the hideous little creature once again.

"Unless you are not what or who you appear to be," she finished firmly, staring into the imp's pupilless, red eyes for a long moment before closing her own and concentrating fully on her predicament once again.

The imp backed a little, standing slightly straighter.

“Who appear I to be? Only imp? Only evil? Help it I cannot, looks are looks. You looks frail, pale, helpless, weak. One snap of bone and you breaks. But frail you are not, strongs and full of powers you are. So tell to me not of how I looks. Tell me instead what Lady wants.”

They were anything but ignored, however, no matter how she appeared to be.

The quiet in the room stretched on, interminable seconds seeming to roll into minutes, into hours, perhaps days; how can one deduce time in a place where such simply does not exist?

"Yes, there is something I want," she finally said, breaking the silence and her immobility as she got quickly to her feet. She let her hands fall to her sides, and directed a calm, level look at the little fellow.

"I wish to be taken back to my compatriots, back to the ship from which I believe I was taken, before any of my friends come to harm in trying to rescue me.

"For I know they would do this for me, if they are able. However--"

She paused, her eyes slitting a bit as she considered further.

"Perhaps they too have been taken, and are being likewise held against their will; if this is the case, I wish to be taken to them, and then the lot of us freed back to our own dimension.

"But," she finished, unable to stop the small sigh that wafted from her lips.

"This is something you cannot give me, I fear. Neither choice is open to you, no matter what you say.

"Not if the one you call 'Master' is indeed that to you... for I believe it was he who brought me here."

For a moment she paused.

The imp did not wait to see if the Dark Lady comprehended, and continued.

“Master comes here from his land of light, where Sith come from. Same land of light as you. He wants power, he wants to live forever. He gets power, granted to him by Lord of this realm. But what Master not know is who Lord of this realm is, only what he wants. He wants son of Master – Phallymire. Son must come here, on own will, and take rule of this realm. Why? Me not knowing. But me do knowing Master failed. Master become master of time, moving back to here to make it better for him in future… is difficult, but true. Phally-mire also taken back, tricked. Too far back. Others take Phally-mire for dealings in land of light. False ideas, memories given. Phally-mire is toy, puppet on strings. But toy is not playing fair, not doing what intended anymore. Think false things in head are real, thinks lies in head are true. Toy is meant to come here, take rule of this land, not run all over time and be with Sith. So luring him, Master is. Taking advantage of false memories and feelings.”

The imp clicked in the back of its throat.

Graysith closed her eyes, bowed her head, fighting against the instinctive rush of grief and pain the imp's words provoked within her.

Again.

Remaining absolutely still, she pondered what the little demon had said. Fought to find truth in what she believed in her heart of hearts to be lies....

Yet again. It was her fate.

But were they lies? Of what use were such words to her? What could be gained by the Master if she believed the demon, if she took it on its word and left the Darker Realms?

Phalomir would be gained.

But why?

Strange it seemed, to rule in a place of evil. Where Lord of Evil was indeed the hideous entity Entaris, aided now perhaps by Dark Lord Roan. Strange too, all this talk of false memories. How frail the mind, to be subject to the whims of others, to be warped and twisted and changed in a manner so subtle the owner should be unaware of it.

But such things were possible. Hadn't she seen this happen in her lifetime as the Chosen Daughter? Had she not herself used her powers to change the thinking of others, although perhaps in a manner more blatant?

Which then led to another truth, one she firmly believed in:

False thoughts might be introduced into one's mind... but once that mind continued interacting with life around it, those thoughts of course could in turn change. While Phalomir had indeed showed her puzzlement in some aspects of what he believed to be his past, he had never once swayed from the solidity of his feelings for her.

If they were false to begin with... certainly would they not now be as true as what she was feeling more and more strongly with each passing day? Surely there were some things that remained central to one's being, the ability to govern one's own continuing feelings being one of them...?

But what if this too was erroneous?

She bowed her head, opened her eyes, contemplated her hands which lay clasped together like quiet birds in front of her. Raised her head then, and stared the imp directly in the face.

"I take you up on the offer," she said evenly.

"Send me back into the realm of light, to my Adept and my friends. If the love for me by the one I care for most is nothing but purported, then I must divorce myself from it.

"I wish to do so quickly.

“I sees what Lady wants,” it said flatly. “Lady wants all nicey-nicey things. Even when Phally-mire gives all to her, I watches. He takes loads of poodoo from Lady at beginning, still wantses her. He help fight beast, make big booboo and drive Lady insane, but takes madness into himselves. Still she give poodoo, but still he wantses her. He offered rule of more than he or Lady knows, he chooses love. He given Finger, knows it will makes him strongest of Sith-things, but chooses life with Lady who still give him nothing but poodoo.”

The imp extended a single claw towards Graysith.

“Whether you full of poodoo now, I not knowing. But we finds out. You tell Phally-mire youself that trade made. When he come, I lift Blood of Temple from you and you go through.”

The claw raked the space before the Lady, sending forth a shriek of pain that seemed to come from the very air. A dark slit appeared, growing in size until it filled a crack in the room nearly seven feet tall. Before the Dark Lady, in a gloom that rivaled the darkness of the cell she now occupied, stood a very startled Phalomir.

Remained quiet yet as he moved to rush to her, nearby imps be damned.

Raised a hand to halt him in his tracks.

"I have been promised my freedom in exchange for you, Phalomir," she said, her voice calm and quiet and quite matter-of-fact.

"I wish to be with my friends, your father wishes you to be here. I have been told you harbor false memories; if this is true or not, I dare not linger to discover."

She paused, her eyes filling with what was in her heart. Quickly she masked the look, before the imp could see it. Calmly then, she went on.

"There has been too much pain for me; I wish the solace of my station and my adept, who I shall ask to remain with me in K'eel Doba as my advisor. The Warriors will be led by a Lady only, for there are none other who ever could be their Dark Lord."

With that she stiffened, and fell silent, strengthening her resolve to withstand what she was certain to follow.

Which, logic told her, was nothing more than the betrayal of the imp. Being what it was, how could it honor the promise it had made her?

This she realized fully, even as she turned to it.

Her words were not what he had expected to hear at all. This had to be some sort of ruse, lies to make him abandon his senses and come rushing in to save…

But that was what he had planned on doing, and if this was a ruse then it would have deflated that urge. Just as it had now done.

But no, this was not a thing he could accept. This could not be Jharmeen, it was another deception. Another doppelganger, this time set forth by the Master to make him abandon love for despair. He would not allow this ploy to work either, his life for hers indeed, but on HIS terms! The fire within him swelled, and even as he seemed to hear a strange gravelly voice shout it is done, he willed his body into action.

“NO!” he cried, diving for the tear in the fabric of space. As his legs pumped forward, his eyes caught the movement of a claw next to Jharmeen, the shimmering glow of a forming slit, and the dissipation of the red around her as she was shoved through the other portal.

“The son returns,” came a raspy voice from behind Phalomir. He lifted his head in response, not yet turning.

“He brings light to a darkened realm,” the voice continued. “He brings strength to a weakened land. Long have we waited for the return of the son, long have we struggled.”

Phalomir sighed and turned, the pain of loss now prevalent upon his face.

“What do you want of me, Mast--”

His words stopped with the surprising realization of who – or rather who was not -- standing in the room with him. Instead of the smug, towering form of the Master, Phalomir faced a small imp resting on its haunches.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“This is a deception of some kind,” he growled. “The Master is a master only of lies, he has no real power. I am weary of his interference in my life, and I will destroy him and all associated with him, beginning with you, demon.”

Phalomir flung his hands out from his side, feeling the powerful magicks within him rising to his command. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the silent demon before him, envisioning the horrid flesh bursting into flame and charring to cinder. The thought brought Phalomir a sinister pleasure, and he prepared to leash out.

“That is what I had hoped you would bring with you, my son,” came the voice of the Master from behind. “Your anger permeates us all, it makes us stronger. Can you not feel it?”

Phalomir whirled to face the being he once called ‘father’. The magick was at its ready, and he felt it biting at his mind, wanting to be unleashed.

“I can feel the rage, the fire within you, my son,” the Master continued. “Let loose your fury, strike me down. I shall bring you only suffering and pain, you know this to be true. Do it, end the game and win your freedom!”

Phalomir wanted nothing more to oblige him, but something was not right. The Master needed to die, and Phalomir’s magicks were ready to the task, but yet some strange niggling in the back of his tortured mind held it back. His eyes still blazed, but the sneer on his face had turned to a look of uncertainty.

“Do it now, or I shall kill the human whore of the Sith whom you hold so dear and throw her body to Roan!”

Phalomir looked the Master directly into the eyes, and let loose with the fury of his magick. Bright red lightning flew from his fingertips, burning itself into the Master’s body. The Master’s head threw back in a long, loud scream that filled the small room and trembled the living walls. Phalomir felt as if his whole life force was in that blast, and every ounce of power was directed into the one purpose of destroying the Master.

The Master’s scream intensified, then broke, turning into several shorter blasts that became a cackle. He brought his head forward, showing his fangs in a toothy grin that brought Phalomir to a stop. The lightning subsided, leaving Phalomir standing in bewilderment in a cloud of smoke.

“You see,” said the Master, “hate is the strongest emotion of all. Could you not feel the power? You shall come to hate me as you have never hated before, my son. And you shall love me for it.”

Phalomir felt drained beyond comprehension, and even if he had heard the shuffle behind him in time, he could not have reacted quickly enough to avoid the blow from the small demon. As the world slipped away from him, his mind wrapped around thoughts of Jharmeen, mingled with the echoing laughter of the Master.

He blinked a few more times, the fog lifting somewhat. His head still throbbed, and his mind felt like a blanket of mist had covered it. One of the shapes moved towards him, and he felt a hand press against his forehead. He became aware of a metallic taste in his mouth.

“Phalomir,” came a voice, sounding more distant that it should. “Awake, my son, there is much to discuss.”

Phalomir tried harder to focus, the whites of his eyes rolling about as he fought for control of his vision. He suddenly felt cold, and strained his sight on his arm. He followed it up to a blurry picture of his hand, seemingly tied to a tether. He flopped his head to the other side and saw the same image. He pulled upwards and felt something pulling at his feet and realized his legs were held open. He was being held in place, suspended upright inside some sort of frame, unable to move anything but his head.

He turned his attention to the shape before him. Blurred horns projected from the top of the shape.

“There is nothing to discuss,” he tried to say, but the words were slurred. He worked his jaw to try to clear up the lack of control.

“But there is,” the voice replied. “Jharmeen has forsaken you, trading herself for you. You see, she knows as well as I that you were not meant for her. I have tried to tell you, my son, the memories in your head are lies. They are falsehoods meant to lead you to a preordained end. Some are there to protect you, but most are there to steer you in a particular direction. I tried to save you, to bring you to power. But there were those who worked against us, stole you away from me for their own nefarious purposes.”

Phalomir blinked more. “What insanity are you speaking?”

“She does not love you, how could she? She is a human, my son. She is a tumor upon the flesh of the Sith. She has whored her way into power, using the lust that is inherent within our race to her advantage. She can no more love you than a stone that slips within your boot. She is a snake, a leech.”

Phalomir shook his head in large swoops. “I will not listen to your lies!”

“Search inside your heart, my son, but listen also to your head. She has bewitched you, but your mind holds the key. Listen to its reason! Think, my son. How long have you known her?”

“I have always known her,” he replied. “She was my wife, the mother of my son. My heir.”

“And when did you meet her?”

Phalomir stopped. The answer did not leap to him, and he frantically searched his memories. He recalled walks along the sand, picnics in the dark woods, carrying her in his arms across the steaming rocks of the geyser lands. He remembered passionate nights in their chambers, the birth of their son, and the roars from the crowds on the day they together introduced the infant to the Sith.

But he could not recall where he had met her.

“What have you done to me? What sorcery or drug has taken my mind from me?”

The shape before him seemed to turn and walk away.

“I shall leave you to think, my son. He comes soon, and we shall have much to discuss.”

Phalomir let his head fall, weariness pressing in on him. He closed his eyes and thought of Jharmeen.

Lovely Jharmeen. All he had lived for, all he had ever wanted in his life. The mother of his son, the child named…

Named…

A blankness came over him as he tried to now remember the name of his own son. He opened his eyes and stared at what he could only assume was the blurred image of the ground below him. He felt very tired.

Very tired indeed.

But his arms would not move. He struggled to reach her, but his arms were pinned above him. A sharp pain shot through his lips, and Jharmeen pulled away with a broad grin than dripped blood. She backed up a few steps, posing her naked body in a provocative stance. She laughed as her eyes flashed red, the glyph on her forehead blurring and fading.

“You want this body, Phalomir,” she said seductively. “As all have wanted it. Get in line, my lord.”

She threw her head back and laughed, and in doing so transformed into a creature of pure black skin. Wings sprouted from her back, and long fangs grew from her mouth. She smiled again, and walked back to Phalomir. She brought her head close in again, and as Phalomir fought to pull away, a long forked tongue darted out. It licked its way from his chin to his bottom lip, picking up the trail of blood that ran down his face. The she-devil brought her head up to meet with Phalomir’s eyes.

“You belong here, my lord,” she said, her voice wafting softly across the short space. She pressed in, kissing his cheek, then moving her lips across his face until she breathed hot breath into his ears. “You are destined to rule here, my lord. We are your family, your servants. Rule us.”

The demon nibbled Phalomir’s ear, drawing blood, then moved to his neck. He fought his revulsion, wishing he could free his hands to repel the beast. She moved to his chest, leaving a trail of bite marks and bruises.

“Leave me!” Phalomir shouted. “My life belongs to one and only one, my love!”

The demon stopped, bringing her head slowly back to Phalomir’s.

“Then why did she abandon you, my lord? Why did she save herself to leave you with us? She knows she cannot use you to achieve more power, my lord. She has left you to your destiny. Feel for it, my lord, feel for your destiny. You know it to be true, He has waited for you. He shall come to us soon, and you shall give your body to him to save us all. You shall be invincible, more powerful than anything in this realm or any other. It takes only your consent, my lord, and it shall be so. Forget the whore, leave your false past buried.”

Phalomir stared at the demon, his eyes lost somewhere between disbelief and horror.

“Go away!” he shouted. “Return me to my love, or I swear upon my very heart I shall destroy you and all you know!” A streak of energy ran between his hands, but it died quickly. He felt suddenly drained once more.

The demon flinched but recovered in an instant. She smiled and backed away, blood dripping from her mouth.

“Think of her, my lord. Think of where you met. Let it come to you, and you shall see your destiny. In the meantime…”

The demon held her arms up, indicating the mass of shapes that until now had gone unnoticed. The dark shapes writhed and bobbed around her.

“Feed, my sisters.”

The shapes descended upon Phalomir, tongues lashing and licking all over his body. The touch of the barbed tongues was painful to the point of erotic. Phalomir fought the sensation, trying desperately to not yield to the desire of the demons. He threw his head back and roared, trying to draw on his magick to throw these she-devils from his body, but he was magically drained.

Soon, he was physically drained as well. The demons left him hanging where his was, dripping blood from the hundreds of small bite marks that ran across his body.

“Oh, my son,” he said softly. “What have they done to you? How could it have come to this? Why must your stubborn love for that tramp cloud your mind so? Release your grip on this foolish myth, my son, let her go. She can bring only pain to you, can’t you see this? Look into your heart, see what she has brought to you thus far. What is it? Love? Understanding? Devotion? No, my son, she has thwarted you at every turn, betrayed you, and left you alone in your most desperate hour.”

The Master stroked Phalomir’s head and brought his face closer.

“No, only I am here with you now. I do what I can to keep them away from you, but they know you are the chosen son. The vessel for Him. They know you are destined for greatness, and they fear what you shall become. You must accept your fate, open yourself to Him. All of your life you have prepared for this, every ability honed to accept Him into you. Fear Him not, my son. Take His power and save the galaxy. Save the Sith.”

Phalomir opened his eyes and stared deeply into the Master’s. A long moment passed, and Phalomir’s intense stare did not alter.

“Father…” Phalomir croaked faintly. The Master smiled and leaned even closer. Phalomir fought to bring words to his mouth, and settled instead on a spray of spit directly into the Master’s face. The Master drew back, matching Phalomir’s bloody smile with a grimace. He wiped the spray from his face and licked it from his fingers. The Master turned and left Phalomir to his labored laughter.

---

“Skarwael,” said the Master from behind the demon. It jumped and whirled.

“Phalomir must accept the Great One’s spirit of his own free will. There is no room within his mind for this, not with that wretched witch in his heart. Free him of this nonsense, convince him to forget her. If not through words, then through actions. Leave him intact, but break him down if need be.”

The Master grabbed the eager demon by the shortened tail.

“But do not be carried away, we need his body and his spirit whole.”

The Master released the Imp.

"Come now Phalymirs, what do you haves to lives for? The stupids mortal wench who sought to use you and did is gone, so why bother? When she needs you again she'll come to rescue you, but as soon as she has used you she will abandon you again. Now is a perfect times to sieze power and plot your revenge, opens your mind and soul to Him, let him guide and empower you, become what your destiny requires!"

“You are trying to deceive me,” he spat. “It was not her, it couldn’t have been. She would not do such things to me.”

Jharmeen floated in Phalomir’s mind, her soft features warming his heart. He pictured her smile, her eyes, her hair. In this vision she reached her hands to him, opened her arms to him, and his heart strengthened. Then her smile turned into a sneer as she clawed at the air to rip open a portal. Behind it he could see imps dancing in the fires, led by the horrible figure of Roan. She reached for Phalomir with long fingers.

“Be gone with you and trouble me no longer!” she shouted.

Phalomir roared and flung his head in circles. He connected once with the imp, but the thing remained on his shoulder. The pain was excruciating.

“She would not betray me,” he croaked. “She would never. She has never.”

Phalomir closed his eyes and hung his head. He could feel blood dripping into his eyes, while the pain in his shoulder thrummed. He felt the world around grow darker and a low toned hum began in his ear.

She sent you to the Darker Realms, came a nagging voice in his head. She had you arrested. She has thwarted every attempt you have made to win her. You are a fool, Phalomir. These ideas of love are false, they never existed.

“No,” he mumbled. “No fool. Not false.”

He pulled back on both horns. "Use whats you have! Takes what father and your realm gives you! Opens your heart tos him and take revenge upon the witch, the traitor, the abuser, the one who traded you in for her own selfish desires!" Skarwael cackled and proded Phalomir's cheek with his sharp finger. "Comes, takes what we gives and never looks back upon the falses of the witch!"

Skarwael paused. "You says she has nevers betrayed you, but watches!" Skarwael grinned and pressed his thoughts towards that small scene, where she had abandoned him, even declaring that she wished so, and grinned as the memory closed. "Hows can you denies what your own ears heard and eyes saws?"

"I have been promised my freedom in exchange for you, Phalomir," she said, her voice calm and quiet and quite matter-of-fact.

He shook his head from side to side, denying the image. Twice he struck the imp, thwacking hard against the demon’s skull. Phalomir felt nothing but the flaming of the memory.

"I wish to be with my friends, your father wishes you to be here. I have been told you harbor false memories; if this is true or not, I dare not linger to discover."

False memories? No, how could this be true when most of his memories centered around Jharmeen? Vivid memories, all of them. Holding hands in the moonlight, walking along the beach of the winter home, the birth of their son…

”But how did you meet her, Phalomir?” The voice of the Master whispered along his thoughts. He tried to wipe them from his mind, and the words of Jharmeen filtered through.

"There has been too much pain for me; I wish the solace of my station and my adept, who I shall ask to remain with me in K'eel Doba as my advisor. The Warriors will be led by a Lady only, for there are none other who ever could be their Dark Lord."

“I wish to be with my friends…”

“Where did you meet her?”

“There has been too much pain for me…”

“What is the name of your son?”

Phalomir struggled against the ropes that held him in his vertical position, the muscles of the giant Sith straining. Sweat and blood poured from his body, his eyes remained clenched shut, and the memories of recent events swirled with the echoes of the past as he fought.

Somewhere in his mind, hidden away in the deep stores, a small tight ball of energy unraveled more and more. It was a small condensed manifestation that he had held in check for some time, ever since he accidentally released the insanity inside of Jharmeen. Now his hold upon it was loosening, and its contents were seeping out.

Phalomir threw his head back and roared. The tip of his horn caught the imp in the forehead, sending it flinging backwards to hang from Phalomir’s body by its back claws. One of the cords around his hands loosened, but he did not notice. His eyes flew wide open, hot and red. His face was set stone solid as he shouted at the imp.

Quickly clawing up his chest to hang off of his shoulders, his feet against Phalomir's stomach, Skarwael looked Phalomir straight into the eyes.

"You, have, no, SON!" He hissed, his gaze unmoving, unbreakable.

“Love… There was love, it was always there….”

"Remove the Blood from off me, that I may return to those I love..."

His thoughts turned to a strange day on K’eel Doba, when he was still trapped in Panthar’s body. He had accidentally projected his spirit into the chambers of Graysith, and as she berated him for the intrusion the memories of his life with her had come flooding back to him. She was very hostile.

She knew nothing of the love, how could she? came a voice in his head. You come from different times. Think of the lies you were told, the lies in your head? You were stolen from the future, years past her time. How could she have been with you?

The cord on Phalomir’s hand was very loose now, and without thinking he slid his hand from it and in a blur of motion wrapped it around the neck of the imp. His eyes, somewhat vacant, stared through the imp.

“But I was told I came from the past,” he said calmly. “I was trapped in the Eye of R’lous.”

The imp struggled in Phalomir’s grasp as he spoke to the unseen voice in his head.

Lies, all lies. You were taken from the future. There is nothing of you from the past.

“But I saw things. I went to the secret lab of Trelanicus, I found the bodies that had been turned to stone, I knew of the ship. How is that explained?”

Silence.

“HOW IS THAT EXPLAINED?” he shouted, eyes still distant.

The Eye of R’lous, what had it told him? It always seemed to try to help and protect him, and it was from the Eye that he learned he was from the far past, trapped inside the crystal of the Eye for hundreds of years until found by Panthar. The Eye had told him his father was a sorcerer who had discovered the nature of the All, foresaw potential abuse of its power, and sought to devise a way to counter it. But all evidence since then had told Phalomir that was a lie, that he instead was somehow pulled from the future at the time of his death. But who had told him this? Which was more believable…. Neither?

The Master was Phalomir’s father, that was one thing of which he was sure. He had vivid memories of his childhood, of being taken to the Black River, of being given over to the tar man that slithered out of the non-ness, and of discovering his magick in that moment of terror. He also had memories of Jharmeen, of his marriage, his son, the invasion… But he could remember nothing between the Black River incident and Jharmeen. He could not remember how he had met her.

He could not remember his own son’s name.

Who had lied? The Eye? Why had it protected him so fiercely? Why would it have sacrificed itself to give life to Jharmeen when Aelvedaar had done whatever it was he had done back in the catacombs below the Temple of the Armorers? No, he must believe the Eye told him was best for him to know.

But how could both stories be true? How could he have been stolen from some future time and have come from a time in the Sith’s long ago past? Unless he was taken from the future and placed far in the past, not brought directly to this time but actually stuck inside the crystal for so long…

But why? And what of this Trelanicus? How does he fit in?

The questions pounded through Phalomir’s mind, making his head spin. He shook his head violently to clear it, spraying blood and sweat across the face of the imp.

“I have no answers for the larger questions,” he growled. “So I will focus on the issues at hand.” He held the imp higher, tightening his grip.

He let himself go limp and hung his head. The ground below him was pooled with blood and other fluids, all swirling into strange dark soup. Phalomir stared at the mixture, a blackness tinged with red and white. It eddied slowly, a thick ooze spreading like a slow lava flow. It moved along as if it were being stirred, then bulged out at different spots until it took on a shape. Phalomir’s eyes widened as the noxious mixture formed into the shape of a body, black and putrid, that began to crawl along the floor.

Phalomir struggled once again, a level of panic rising deep within him. He clawed at the cord around his wrist, missing and tearing a long opening into his wrist. It missed the vein that rapidly carried blood back to his heart, but cut through enough smaller vessels to send a mass of deep purplish blood flowing from the wound. The pain was not severe enough to register past the panic and the pain of his other wounds, and he stretched higher to reach the cord.

With a loud roar he grabbed it, stars filling his vision as his side exploded in a torrent of agony. He held on to the soft rope, and even as his ankles bellowed for mercy he carefully positioned a clawed finger onto the cord and began working it back and forth. He heard a low gurgling sound from below but dared not look down.

Finally the rope frayed and split, and he could feel it give around his wrist. He let go of the rope and reached across to the black pole that made up the right side of the frame to which he was secured. He grimaced and pulled, and though his entire body seemed to be imploding with pain he could still feel the rope give more. Finally the cord snapped and he grabbed the pole with both hands.

Panting, struggling to keep the blackness from overtaking him, he clung to the pole. He forced his eyes open from the pain and peered to the ground below him. The gurgling had stopped, and the ground was dry. The imp stood a few feet away, smiling.

“Tell the Master,” Phalomir forced between breaths. “I am waiting… I will kill him… Bring him…”

Phalomir’s words were raspy, his throat filled with flem and his lungs burning. He could feel consciousness spreading its wings to take flight and leave, but he held on best he could.

“He wishes to see me, to kill me,” said the Master. “He shall have his chance.”

The Master waved his hand before him, opening a portal. He stepped through, allowing the imp to follow, then closed it behind him. Phalomir had fallen to the ground and was working on removing the second cord from his legs.

“Would you like a knife, my son?” the Master called out. Phalomir jerked his head to meet the Master’s gaze, but remained on his back on the dark ground. He continued to work at the cord while he stared.

“Come now,” said the Master. “Surely you could kill me much faster if you were free. Allow me to help.” The Master waved his hand once more, and the rope fell away from Phalomir’s ankle. Another wave and the framework fell backwards and vanished in a hole in the air. Phalomir threw his head back to the ground and roared, then pounded his fists into the floor.”

The Master chuckled.

“Come now, my son,” he said. “Surely the floor has done you no harm. Save your energies for bigger game.”

Phalomir rolled to his side, wincing with pain. He propped himself up with one arm, his face setting into a stone expression of hatred.

“I will kill you,” he said flatly. “I will kill your demon…” Phalomir lifted himself further, crawling towards the Master. “…and your succubae, and your friend Aelvedaar…”

The Master raised an eyebrow, a twinkling in his eye.

“My, that is a quite a load of death to unleash. I am sure you’ve thought this through, of course, but are you quite sure you have the strength? Perhaps you should rest first, no? I mean, to kill the guilty is one thing, but to slaughter the innocent is most draining. Skar, prepare a bed for my son immediately. Over there, next to the wall.”

Phalomir sneered and continued his slow crawl.

“Innocent? Innocent? How dare you even utter that word… ”

“Oh, my son,” the Master laughed. “If only you knew. If only you knew…”

The voice roiled out from the shadows like oily thunder, sending bits of shattered almost-stone to drip noisomely from the surrounding walls. One in particular came to a rather heated rest directly upon the truncated tail of the imp, who grimaced and tried to bury itself in the rotting bed it was making.

Roan strode out from where he had been standing, a sneer on his darkly entrancing visage. Going to where Phalomir was still crawling amidst his wounds and blood, he placed a booted foot upon him, shoving him roughly into his own gore. Smiling at the new level of pain he was creating, he turned and approached the Master, where he stopped.

He crossed his arms on his broad chest and glowered at him.

"Play with his mind, play with his body--pah!"

He snorted, turning his head now to let forth a globule of rancid spittle. It landed directly on Phalomir's cheek where it stuck, and only after a bit of time began to slowly ooze down the planes of his face.

"Kill him and be done with it, my friend; then you can play with him for the rest of eternity! But enough stalling--

"Get on with it already, and bring me the one that I want! I've held up my end of the bargain... and you know it."

Roan's lips curled in a snarl and he leaned forward. Indeed, there was nothing the Master could do to him that he, with the abilities he had honed in the All, could not counteract.

And Sith magicks had little impact upon the dead.

“I see the Tower has finally allowed you entrance,” he said. “Does that mean you have finally learned to wipe your feet?”

The smile vanished, and the Master cleared his expression. He glanced to Phalomir, who lay unconscious at Roan’s feet. He raised his eyes again to Roan.

“Yes, you have upheld your end of the bargain. You shall soon have what you wish, my friend. But be patient, lest the follies that befell your brother the wizard repeat themselves upon you. Everything proceeds as planned, and your rewards shall be great. The vials are safely delivered, your daughter shall soon discover them and make haste to know their secrets. The Chosen Sisters make their way to us, armed in the belief they come to the rescue. And, finally, my son is nearing readiness as the time for Him approaches. Oh, speaking of sons, yours is progressing very nicely. Would you like to see him? He has his mother’s eyes, don’t you think?”

The Master looked up at the little imp who was clinging to the ceiling. Its eyes sparkeled as it looked back and forth between Roan, the Master, and the other imp. All humor left the Master’s face as he looked back to Roan.

“Your business with the Kaminoans was quite messy, as was the annihilation of your army. You have been a risk in both life and in death, always leaving loose ends. The next time you die before your business is finished, be sure to leave a backup plan.”

The Master glanced upwards once again.

But he was coherent enough to hear the words the Master spoke, and it set his mind tumbling into thought. The imp was Roan’s son? Did the Master mean that literally or figuratively? And what of the Kaminoans? Science and labs? And the “chosen sisters”? Jharmeen and… Shayla? Galen? They were coming for him, and the Master knew it.

No, not Jharmeen. She is gone from me. She wants no part of me.

Unless it was a ruse… but even so, she could not return here and face both the Master and Roan, even her powers were not that great. Not with two masters of the All, and with the Sith magick, and whatever else the Master possessed, no… if only the Eye of R’lous still existed, that would give them a chance.

The Eye… wait, the Eye was destroyed, but how?

Phalomir’s mind now raced, trying to cling to what memories he could grab. The Eye had been destroyed, yes, but how? There was a giant set of eyes, the beast, darkness… the beast had attacked? He was not sure, but he felt it left Jharmeen very cold, nearly dead. The Eye… the Eye had wrapped itself around Jharmeen’s spirit!

The Eye had given itself to Jharmeen! It sparked her spirit back to life, did it not? If so… if so, then could it’s power be within her?

Phalomir opened one eye a small fraction and peered out. The blurred image of Roan was moving away, presumably closer to the Master. A small shape moved slowly on the ceiling. Phalomir closed his eye and focused inwards, trying to reach his powers. They were there, but still faint. He let his mind let go of the physical sensations around him and concentrated solely on drumming up his magick.

Roan’s voice broke through the stillness, but then blurred into nothingness as Phalomir let go of his senses. Soon even the pain was miles away. His inner sight envisioned a small ball of energy, growing larger by the second, and all around him was the soft singing of a very familiar, and very dear, female voice.

He had found the source of his powers, and he knew that he could never let her go.

“Can you feel that, my friend?” he asked. “After all he has been through, after the betrayal, he still finds solace in her. Humorous, no? Oh, wait, didn’t you yourself harbor such feelings at one point in your living days?”

The Master walked closer to Phalomir’s still body.

“He is seeking inner strength, drawing upon his powers even now as his body fails around him. I had hoped his will would break before his body died, it does us little good to have him here as a permanent resident.”

The Master knelt and listened at Phalomir’s chest.

“He does have much power indeed,” he mused. “Let us say he uses it to keep himself alive rather than use it against us? I know how little you respect his powers, but bear in mind that it was through him that both you and your beloved met your untimely ends.”

The Master reached out a clawed hand and placed it on Phalomir’s exposed abdomen.

“Wake, my son. Do not waste your energy thinking of your whore, spend them on yourself.”

With a twist of his wrist, the Master dug his clawed fingers into Phalomir’s middle and raked three long, deep cuts into his flesh. Phalomir’s eyes snapped open and a long, horrifying scream shot from him. Dark violet blood filled the new wounds, pooling in gruesome ponds before flowing down Phalomir’s side. His bloodshot eyes burned white against the red of his face, and his scream trailed into a hoarse whisper. Phalomir’s hands went to his midsection, as if attempting to keep its contents from spilling. A light blue glow surrounded his hands, and the blood stopped flowing.

Phalomir brought his head up slightly, shaking and jerking. He stared at the Master with tightly clenched lips. He held his stare for several seconds before he coughed, a trickle of purplish blood running from his mouth. He mouthed words of hatred and his head fell back to the ground.

The Master turned to Roan, his face lively with a toothy smile set off by the blue glow from Phalomir’s hands.

“There, you see? Now his powers are focused on something constructive, and he shall still be alive by the time he gives in.”

The Master stood.

He lay his head back on the soft ground and carefully pulled his hands away from his body. He could feel the blood growing cold and sticky on his fingers, and he shakily moved them to wipe the blood on his robes, only to find he wore nothing but a tatter of cloth. He sighed and wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering.

He let the darkness slide around him, wrapping his mind in a blanket of quite solitude as the voice of the Master echoed away into unreality. Where is your brother… sounded off of the walls of his consciousness until it was no more. Phalomir felt the pain of his body, the bitter sting of helplessness, and the wanton longing for those who he missed.

My lady… he thought. I am failing. I have promised you freedom from worry, to remain by your side through all, and that I shall never leave you. Yet I feel my time growing short. They are killing me, and I am powerless to fight back…. Jharmeen, forgive me…. You were right to leave… not strong enough….

He lay still on the ground, his breaths growing shorter. His eyes opened slowly to stare at the black ceiling, and through blurred vision he saw something crawling above him. He concentrated on the object, it’s slow movements. Strange, he thought. His pain moved to the background, his guilt and sorrow and longing stepped aside, in his moment of death his thoughts turned to this thing crawling on the ceiling. He wanted to know, to see what it was.

His pain ceased as he drew closer, his vision clearing as the small imp came into focus. It did not run, it did not even seem to notice him as he came along side of it. It was indeed an imp, smaller than he had known them to be. Almost the size of a child. Its color was lighter than usual as well.

He turned away from the imp to face to the master, then looked down. The Master and Roan were below him, talking. Phalomir’s body was lying on the ground, huddled and breathing slowly. A blue glow came from his midsection, and wounds covered his body.

Phalomir slowly realized he had left his body. Even in the Darker Realms, this strange gift could serve him.

He had used this gift in the Darker Realms once before, unwillingly, when he had been sent here in his "spirit" form by a possessed Jharmeen. At that time he could interact with things in this realm, touch them. But not this time, for now he remained invisible, non-corporeal. Could it have been because his body was here with him in this realm?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He was free from pain here, free from the drain of his spirit. He was as of yet unnoticed, and he decided to stay hovering in this form for the time being.

"He is right where you asked me to place him," he growled back, but not before sending a fresh wad of spittle upon Phalomir. It struck the newly stitched wound, laying there in a noxious green glob, sinking into his body through the small spaces which existed in between the stitches.

The blue aura turned a ghastly pea-soup green.

Roan grunted, then turned back to the Master.

"Would you kill him and be done with it, and complete the spell!" he demanded.

"We no longer need my dear brother Aelvedaar, just as you don't need that husk of a Sith who mewls at your feet like a sickly kitten!"

He indicated Phalomir with a jerk of his horned head. Taking another step to the Master, he continued along the same vein.

"I grow weary of the task you have placed upon me; even with your magick and our combined use of the All, it has been difficult to maintain the facade among the sorcerers... although I will admit it became a bit more bearable after this one--"

Whirling, he strode to Phalomir and gave his wound a vicious kick.

"--released my spirit from the weakness of the flesh."

He came back to the Master a final time, stopped, and crossing his arms stood arrogantly in front of him.

"I do not see what it is you need with that dog, when you have others who are not only more powerful but amenable to your plans."

Now he turned his head, reached out an incorporeal arm, beckoned. Something writhed and roiled in the shadows, like a cold mist over a colder sea. It bubbled and curled about itself, until something that was more than darkness, less than tangible, took solid form and stepped out.

Two somethings.

Two young beings, Sith at first glance. But closer scrutiny revealed their halfling characteristics: their sharp, pearly nails rather than claws, their shortened, daintier horns, the wealth of flaming hair atop their heads.

Hair they inherited from their mother, the Chosen One.

But the arrogant smirk upon their faces was purely from their father.

Roan's lips curled in a terrible smile. His two children, a male and a female, smirked right along with him, their eyes -- one pair vividly turquoise, the other blazing violet -- glowing with pride and anticipation of what was yet to come.

Their fingers twitched, ready to let loose with the Sith magicks they bore. They fairly glowed with All strength.

"Really now, do you really need that one after all? Or my weakling of a brother? Or this?"

Slowly he drew forth the Finger of R'lous from his robes, twirled it like a majorettes staff, held it up in front of his face.

Roan's smile grew even broader, darker, more deadly, as he then moved to his children to take them in under his arms in a terrible fascimile of a loving embrace.

It was, indeed, anything but that.

"Your feeble attempt to cram an army of your damned demons into the mind of that weakling will do nothing but bring about his separation from reality.

"It will not work! -- and you are a fool to adhere to such archaic hopes as that.

"The All... there is the true strength, the true power. My children--"

He tightened his grip about their shoulders, pulling them to him.

"--are First Ilk, the First to be born with it inherent in them. It has diluted with the ages; even someone as addled in the sciences as you ought to understand that.

"And as for my other leftover, as you so quaintly attempt to provoke me, well!"

The pause which followed was pregnant with dark assurances, assured realities.

"She will soon see the error of her ways, and will return to her Father to take her place as the Third.

"How can she not? It is in her blood."

The Master looked down at Phalomir’s body.

“Your daughter shall never see the error of her ways until she knows she is in error. And who will teach her such things?”

The Master sniffled, then wiped a tear away.

“A father knows the meaning of true sacrifice, my friend. The bonds of love stretch far and true, and bring about the greatest power.”

The Master looked to Roan and spoke softly. “Just think what you could accomplish if you truly loved them.”

He returned his gaze to Phalomir and waved his hand over his still form, placing a red bubble around the sleeping Sith.

Odd, he thought. His first instinct was curiosity, wondering what sort of shield the Master had created. What if this shield is not removed? Curiosity turned to wonder, wonder turned to fear, and Phalomir felt a panic rising within him. He rose back to the ceiling and slid to a corner, fighting to keep calm. From his vantage point he watched the Master and Roan as they exited the room, the wall parting to allow them passage. The small imp climbed down the wall to sit a few feet from Phalomir’s body, where the other, amputated imp had already perched.

What can be done? thought Phalomir, gaining his poise. I can
remain here until the shield is removed, or I can try to get out. If I
succeed, then what good will that do? I am in the Darker Realms, and have no idea if my powers will function in this state. Still…

Phalomir let his spirit rise to touch the ceiling. He moved slowly, then passed through it as easily as usual. After a brief hesitation he zipped through the rest of the way.

He found himself in another dark room, but this one more lit than his
prison. Around the walls hung several sets of manacles, many of them each imprisoning a poor soul. The majority of the captives appeared to be Sith, with a pair of Kaminoans and a handful of various other races.
Phalomir peered for a moment then rose to the ceiling of this room, trying to find a way out.

He passed through to yet another room, this one empty. He rose again, and again, and finally came to room unlike the others. Much smaller and bathed in white, this room thrummed with an energy he had never felt before. The feeling was soothing, yet was tinged with an underlying menace he couldn’t quite place. He moved slowly through the room, wary of the energy.

Suddenly he felt differently, as if he should be in this place no longer. The panic began its return and lowered himself to pass through the floor, but he could not penetrate it. He moved to the wall but recoiled from it. He moved to another, and another, and soon was bouncing off of the walls like a rubber ball. He stopped in the middle of the seemingly empty room and tried to calm himself.

Finally a scene extended itself from the chaos shown upon the wall. It was a pair of glowing red eyes, protruding from the wall as if the room itself were alive.

Oh no, not again thought Phalomir. Yet this is different… this is not That Which Is. This feels different, more… malevolent.

“Phalomir,” a voice sounded, loud yet not penetrating. Phalomir remained still.

“Phalomir,” the voice repeated, patiently. It was deep and full, richly toned yet tinged with a hint of darkness. “Before you is the history of life. All races, all realms, all of time in relation to life within your galaxy. We are all bound, all life. We emerge from the shadows, deal our hands in our short time, then return to the darkness as but a small drop in the sea, merging with our kin in an endless pool of energy until once again called. Faceless, nameless. But there are those who gain much in their brief stay, those who rise above the game and fall not into the pit of nothingness. It is for them this realm exists.”

Phalomir remained still and silent.

“Our numbers are few, Phalomir. For a being to rise above, they must be strong in powers and personality. To exist beyond the game is a great thing, it makes a god among slugs. See it in those who you have met here. See their wills use the power of this realm. Yet even they are blinded, so intent upon their own existence they cannot see the grander vision. It is a game, Phalomir, and there can be only one winner.”

“These are lies,” Phalomir finally spoke. “I know not who you are, but this realm is of nothing but evil, a dark mirror to the realm of light where sane beings dwell.”

The voice paused, then resumed with a slight bounce.

“You have been touched by the Master of the Game, surely you can see for yourself the truth in what I speak. The Game cares only for the Game itself, the playing. It is only we who play who desire an outcome.”

“And what is that outcome?” asked Phalomir.

The voice paused again, and for a long moment there was no sound in the room.

“All things are tied to a galaxy, were you aware of that? Of course you were not. All life, all energies, all realms. We are all part of a multi-dimensional biome, existing and returning to the core. When foreign energies are introduced, the Game is voided and shall be… reset.”

Phalomir waited.

“There is a war coming, Phalomir. A war with energies from another biome, a terrible force that shall ravage our realms. The life energies of our galaxy shall shift, returning to the pool in numbers far greater than should be. The realm of life shall fail, and this realm shall follow. It shall take time, but the first small step towards annihilation begins soon.”

Dubious, yet somehow curious, Phalomir allowed the words to linger in his mind.

“An invasion from another galaxy shall mean the end of our existence? What madness are you trying to make me believe? What invading force could be so powerful to trigger the end of our galaxy? The Vong…?”

The eyes raised slightly.

“Do you not see it? The life of our galaxy is not ready to face this terror again. They have already begun, and soon they shall conquer all, sweeping away the players of our game and bringing a premature end to our realms. You have seen it yourself, Phalomir. You died from the invasion, yet you were one of the strong. You rose from the pool and declared your existence would not be in vain. Do you not remember promising to find a path to the past and return with a solution? Well, you have done it. Now accept me into your life, let me merge with you so our powers can combine and stop the invasion before it begins.”

Phalomir hovered, confused. The images continued to play out scenes of death and rebirth, of events past and future. The eyes beckoned and the floor turned from white to black.

“The shield is lifted, return to your body and welcome me to it. Let us be as one.”

Phalomir hesitated, then darted for the floor.
LIES! he thought as he raced through the levels, finally emerging back into the dark, foul room in which his body lay. The red glow was gone, and he snapped his spirit back into place. The rush of pain was intense, and he called out in agony.

“LIES!” he shouted, grabbing at his midsection. His head fell back to the floor as he curled his legs up to his chest, then rolled to his side. “Lies…. This realm is nothing but lies.”

Yet a thread of doubt wound its way into his mind. The strange story gave some credence to his decimated memories. Yet still…

A fresh wave of pain swept over him as a dry spasm racked his stomach.

A scraping of claws sounded from the floor behind him. Phalomir closed his eyes tightly and croaked out.

“Are these not lies?” he asked the demon, or whoever it was behind him.

For so long these had been the companions of T’elion De R’lous, the spirit within the Finger of R’lous. With brief forays into the worlds of men, the worlds of action and adventure, where each time he drew one step closer to his destiny, he waited. Now once again he found himself alone and sequestered.

But this was a peaceful isolation, for he knew this would be the last. His time was soon at hand, the task for which he was summoned so many years ago would soon be completed.

And so he waited, the stored energies of the boy safely stowed, the powers of the device which he occupied neatly controlled, and the knowledge and desires of he who last wielded the Finger rolling in his mind.

Cold. A cold icier than death, more glacial than space itself.

The cold of utter despair.

I am coming, my Sire, she thought toward him, hoping a connection had been made.

The air in front of her ripped open, revealing living shadow. She stepped through...

...and found herself upon something that was not quite stone, staring up at the limp form of the Sorcerer Lord, who hung by blue-glowing manacles against something else that was not quite stone, some twenty-five feet above her head.

Even though she knew that time was of the essence, she could not refrain from taking an instinctive step backwards.

Into the cold there comes a mote of warmth; into the dark there intrudes a spark of light...

Into the miasma of despair there comes a glimmer of hope...

I groan, shifting against the ties that bind me as from nowhere a welcomed familiarity washes over me. Slowly, oh so slowly, for the movement itself brings fire to my nerve endings, brings the sensation of muscles being yanked from their anchors, I open my eyes.

It is as if they are being shredded within their sockets.

With every bit of power I possess I struggle against the pain, the feeling, the overwhelming gloom and dark laughter which has held me here since--

Since when?

A momentary pause now as my mind sidetracks, traveling a road toward things of reality and sanity, back and back to the day--

That day.

The day the demons overran the Temple, the day I banished those who I now, oh so belatedly, recognize as true allies and comrades, the day I sent Her, my most beloved Chosen One, away from the screeching terror that Phrinnchatka had become.

Only yesterday it was, was it not--?

But now, no time to recall such things, no time to become lost. Now is the time to discover by what new and insidious means He has managed to torment me, giving me the will to seek this, the strength to open my eyes...

I blink. She is there.

I blink again, find the strength to shake my head. Squint to peer down upon the flame-headed form who stands, face frozen open-mouthed beneath me.

"I-- I--" I begin hoarsely, then can say nothing further. My head lolls; it is all I can manage to remain conscious.

Panthar, without hesitation, followed Graysith through the portal, winking at Galen and Terrin as he vanished through the dark rip in reality.

He stopped short as he emerged, nearly running into Graysith as she stepped backwards from her previous spot. Panthar moved to stand beside her and let his eyes move slowly up the wall to see what she was staring at. He stared in kind for a moment, the feelings of pain and despair so thick in the air. He finally turned his head to Graysith, who was still staring in a mix of disbelief and horror.

He looked to wall and reached a hand out to touch it. It was very much like the substance so abundant in the Darker Realms, a sickly soft rock that wasn’t quite a rock. He pushed hard with his good hand, leaving a deep indentation. He then pushed down and was able to lift himself a little.

He turned back to the Dark Lady.

“I may be able to climb,” he said. “But with this bad hand I’d feel better with Shayla here to do the levitation trick.”

She continued to stare upwards, shaking her head slowly. He stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Jharmeen,” he said softly. He repeated her name, more sharply. Her eyes snapped down to meet his, wide. “Jharmeen,” he said once more, softly. “We need to get him down. I can climb, but I would rather have Shayla here to levitate me. Do you know how to break the manacles?”

Even as Panthar made his statement about needing some levitation, Shayla stepped through the portal, Erik on her heels. Slammed immediately with pain and despair coming from the Dark Lord as well as from other sources, Shayla momentarily rocked back on her feet, physically overwhelmed. Erik's steadying hand on her shoulder stopped her from falling completely back, and gave her the time she needed to gather her strength, her poise, and her thoughts.

"If we can get the manacles loose, I could definitely levitate you," Shayla responded to Panthar. Then she stepped up to Jharmeen, reaching out a supportive hand to then lay it upon one of her Chosen sister's shoulders. Her greeny-blue eyes met Jharmeen's violet pair. "Perhaps breaking his manacles would be easier if he had more strength to help us with as well?" Shayla then queried. "Granted, I can only heal through the Force, but it would at least be a start towards breaking that which binds him."

And perhaps in more than one sense...

"And with your strength as well..." Shayla continued to Jharmeen, her implications clear. With nothing further, however, Shayla turned to the Dark Lord, who was struggling to remain concious.

"Strange that they kept him alive, if he indeed posed a threat. What else were they up to, for this most certainly had to have something to do with the Master and his probable ally..." Shayla spoke quietly, her greeny-blues defocusing for a moment as she thought about this.

Shayla closed her eyes then, tossing her head back slightly, her lengthening blonde hair falling back as well. And with all the Force strength she could draw upon, Shayla stretched out to the Dark Lord, pouring all the strength she could into him, waiting for Jharmeen to do likewise with her All strength.

After all, they'd stand a much better chance at all this if Aelvedaar himself had the strength to fight back...

“Why indeed,” he muttered quietly. “Why keep him alive?”

Panthar studied the great Sith who dangled from the wall. He had obviously been there a long time, his hair had grown long and very un-Lord-like beard had crept out and now hung disheveled on his chin. Panthar pictured the pristine and awe-inspiring version he had met and feared, and this was but a pale mockery of that Sith. He looked tired, old, drained. Much like he had seen Phalomir look when he had been used by the Eye, but much more severe…

“Drained?” he asked himself. “Like they are using his powers…”

Panthar’s gaze turned to the blue glow around Aelvedaar’s wrists. It was not a solid color, but pulsed very slightly. The blue was actually a slow swirl of hues, moving in circles.

Her staring look fell into the limpid pools of Shayla's greeny-blue eyes.

Greeny-blue... blue.

Blue.

Like the manacles which shackled the Dark Lord...

"It-- it is Sith magick which holds him, and more-- Shayla!"

Now strength and determination returned to her, flooding out of her violet eyes, every nuance of her body language screaming this, the Glyph ravening in an almost anticipatory manner.

"Keep giving him strength; there is more here, something bolstering his own strengths; it is a combination of many magicks...

"...and the All. We need magicks to combat this!"

Now she whirled around, seeking the young Aeylmaar. He was not to be seen, having chosen to remain behind with the sphere that would allow them egress from this terrible realm.

Despair threatened again; with a grunt, she staved it off.

"My Sire, we need your-- wait."

Now Panthar's softly murmured comment came to her ears.

"Like they are using his own powers..."

"Shayla, stop!"

Whirling about, she placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder and squeezing hard yanked her from her concentration.

"He weakens... but as he does so, so do the manacles by which he is bound; see, even now they flicker."

All eyes turned upward; all beheld the same truth Panthar had pointed out.

"He weakens enough to where we might help him; Shayla, I need your strength that I might conserve mine. Quickly, raise me to him that I might smite the shackles and free him before--"

She gulped, shook her head to fling away gathering tears.

"Before he dies."

Closing her mouth with an almost audible snap she then turned her attention back to the dangling Sith Lord. Only now within her hand was the shining edge of the Blade of Chaos--

--in which was housed another Sith Sorcerer of not inconsiderable strength in the arts of magick and sorcery.

Then he raised his head, and with an effort so obvious it was painful, stared her straight in the eye.

Desist... that look seemed to say, one last command coming from Sire to Chosen One.

"Not while I draw breath," she murmured softly. The look in his eyes softened, and a ghost of a smile flicked about his torn and dried lips. Then with a terrible sigh his head fell back down upon his chest.

She dared not delay any longer.

"Ragorian, your aid!"

Whether the words were born on the back of a battle cry or vice versa, none could say. But they left her lips with the vigor of a herd of stampeding rontos, managing to echo about the chamber despite the eerie consistency of the rock of which it was made.

She swung the blade once, then again.

Shards of fiery red met with roiling blue, underscored with a final flicker of greeny-gold that burst out briefly, only to fade away.

As did the manacles, which released the Dark Lord to fall toward the quasi stones of the chamber floor.

"I thank you, my ally," she sent along the link they maintained with each other, pulling the flat of the blade to lay against her brow and arch of her nose. Then she smoothly sheathed it in her thrimm, coming to a feather-light landing beside Shayla even as she finished the move.

"I agree," she said curtly, nodding. Waiting for no reply, not willing to give the evil within this non-place any further opportunity to bring them possible harm, she closed her eyes to reach out once more toward the young Sith sorcerer.

A smile crept about her face as the connection was made, and she found herself in the warm corridors of his mind. Then, the motion by now as natural to her as breathing, she raised a hand and ripped a tear in the fabric of space and time, opening up a portal to return them back into another realm that men would not term real.

But one much more desirable than the hideous non-reality of the Darker Realms.

A puff of air escaped her as, relieved, she stepped back into the dark chamber where the others waited. After making certain that all were with her, she let the portal close altogether, then turned to Panthar who yet held the Sith Lord in his arms.

"How is he? Shayla, your aid..."

“And now, my son,” he called out. “The true lessons in love and pain begin. Soon you shall beg me to allow Him entrance.”

He cracked the whip towards Phalomir, catching him in the side. Phalomir roared in pain and rolled his side, exposing his back to the Master. The Master cackled and prepared for another strike.

Then he felt it. From somewhere, he was being watched. He scanned the room, seeing no one but the imps and his son. He let his feelings seek out the intruder, and caught the very slight energy from a very familiar source.

The Shar’tak, he thought. So, they have returned to the Armorers to find me.

“Come for him,” he said quietly. “We shall be waiting.”

He waved his hand above his head, feeling the power of the Shar’tak. Being a device created through his own powers, he felt it easily. He grasped for it, caught it with his powers, and severed the connection. He paused for a moment, smiling at the irony. He then turned his attention back to Phalomir.

“Well, my son,” he called out, pulling the whip back behind him. “Your whore wishes to watch you but does nothing to stop this.” He cracked the whip into Phalomir’s back, bringing a fresh pair of wounds that immediately leaked a stream of violet blood. “She hates what you have brought into her life, what pain you have caused her. You have done her a great wrong, my son, and you are impure because of it. You must be cleansed! First you must suffer the anguish that you have forced upon her.”

Another crack of the whip sent Phalomir’s body arching tightly.

“Then you must give retribution, and accept that you were not meant for her, nor anyone in the realm of light.”

Another crack, another set of wounds. Phalomir’s back was taking the appearance of a macabre child’s game of sticks.

“Then you will be pure, and shall be given powers beyond your wildest imagination, powers that shall save all of the realms. I shall be proud, my son.”

The Master paused, looking upon Phalomir with eyes that could be mistaken for loving. Then his face darkened once more, and he scowled.

“But first, we must drive away your sins and free you from the feelings you harbor for that witch!”

The whip cracked in a fast series, leaving a dozen more fresh wounds along Phalomir’s back. Phalomir stopped moving with the blows, and concentrated on remaining conscious, constantly channeling power to the magick field that held in the contents of his abdomen.

The word came out, quiet and dark, from the shadows, followed upon the heels by the form of the once Sith Lord. Having overseen the training of the imps until he was raging with their general ineptitude regarding all things of a military nature, he had scorched his generals and set the others off to run the perimeter of the Darker Realms.

Which of course would not be accomplished immediately, as fleet as a demon might be.

Bored then, he had returned to the Tower, anxious to either watch or partake in the tortures his compatriot was inflicting upon Phalomir, debating with himself whether or not it would be useful to impart upon the nearly broken form some of the more dubious delights his former partner, Entaris, had so relished.

Now he sighed as he stepped forth, shaking his horned head in disgust.

"How quaint," he rumbled, coming up to Phalomir's head, there to stand while the whip cracked and sliced, sending gouts of violet blood flying with every strike. His lips curled a moment; then he sobered as Aelomir's words came to him.

"Really, my friend," he stated, coming up and catching his whip hand in his own large and powerful one. His claws sank deeply into the Master's wrist, drawing yet more blood which flowed sluggishly down his upraised arm.

"Have you had enough of such paltry entertainment? Granted, I can see the delight in the punishment of so wayward a son, but have you not gained enough in this to allow him entry?"

He paused a moment, his vivid turquoise eyes peering deeply into those of the Master.

"Such a dark streak within you, to feel the need to break him before you kill him... but time grows short, I am afraid. Perhaps you'd better be finished with him altogether before he manages to put two and two together, even in his weakened state, and sees what you are trying to do.

"I fear he will let his body die before his spirit completely breaks, and that will do us no good. Besides--"

He let go of the Master's hand now, turning round to stare down upon the groaning Phalomir. His lip curling, he delivered a resounding kick into his wounded side.

“No, my friend,” he said. “I do not desire the power to enter into me, nor into you, nor anyone else. As arrogant as you are, even you understand why it must be Phalomir. We are calling forth the ragnarok, whose time is well beyond any of ours. Remember our mutual goals, my friend. One Sith, united. A triumvirate of power united in one supreme Dark Lord. But it is for nothing if the galaxy collapses under the weight of invasion while the ones with the power to stop it lay bickering over trivial nonsense. He will break.”

The Master sighed.

“Once the power of the Darkest One comes to us, this temple shall channel its spirit into Phalomir. Only he carries the marks of all clans, and the power shall ignite them all. You know well as I where the powers of the clans derive, and all of the old Lords shall feel their powers of entitlement vanish. With his mind open and free from hope or bonds, then he shall be ours to command. When the invasion is halted, with no threat of another, then we shall have succeeded in securing our future and he is yours. Once you have bred him with her then we have no other use for him… or her.”

The Master took several steps towards Roan.

“Ankrist, you must have patience. Personal vendettas must wait, it was the Eye that killed your physical form, not Phalomir. See him for what he is, not for what he was. He is our future, our puppet, and our stud.”

Almost as an afterthought, he spoke.

He was not sly.

"I have yet to understand why, if the coming of the Power evaporates the powers of Entitlement, why all three will not disappear as well from this...

"Thing."

He gave Phalomir another kick, then still looking down upon his body sighed.

“The entitlement will not vanish from Phalomir, my friend,” he said with a saintly air, “for it is those very marks of entitlement that shall drain the powers from all others. The Sith are the first race, the prime. We are one with all realms, and it is from that relationship that we shall save our galaxy.”

The Master mused to himself for a moment, then added a smirk.

Not waiting to see who followed she whirled and stepped into that awful place, sliding from one indescribable dimension into another.

There, she took a step forward, then another. Ahead of her, a blotch of non-light in a realm which shied from it to begin with.

Shayla took a deep breath to steady herself, keenly aware that danger laid in their pathway...

...but likewise keenly aware that that powers could be defeated when outwitted.

And this had been done before...

Casting a greeny-blue gaze towards Terrin, Galen, and the two Eagle Enterprises employees, Shayla could remember a day or two...[/i]

Dismissing the thoughts then, Shayla turned to her husband, who waited by her side, the worry in his brown eyes clearly evident.

"What if we don't..." he started, only stopping as she covered his mouth with her hand, gently.

"We do," she replied simply. "We do."

Gripping Terrin's hand with vise-like intensity I lurched out into the weird darkness of this place, so aptly named. The ground was weirdly soft and squished unpleasantly beneath by feet as I moved another hesitant step forward, thus allowing Oni and Panthar a bit more room as they too came through the rift.

Then I stopped, my eyes glued to the sight of my sister and the blonde, the latter holding onto the hand of the jedi, all three with their backs to me as they stood silently before an even stranger blotch of non-ness.

I shivered a little, hunkering closer to Terrin, for I recognized what it was lurking there ahead of us in the general gloom and doom of this place. I mean, I might not exactly understand what it was, specifically, but I sure as there's Treasure on Roon knew what it could do.

"Wh-watch out," I murmured in a tiny whisper, as if to speak any louder might be all that was needed to draw unwanted attention to us.

Which, come to think of it, might just be all that was needed.

I clamped my lips shut and tiptoed forward, coming to a stop to the left of my sister, Terrin's hand still solidly planted in mine.

Even as they stepped into this new realm, Jasyn had already decided he didn't like it. And, judging from the fact that no one seemed to be in any great rush to move anywhere, Jasyn's senses went on the alert rather quickly...

...and even with having to look through some of the others, Jasyn could see that there was, quite literally, a black blotch of absolutely nothing in front of them. And Graysith and Shayla and perhaps even Erik Kartan didn't seem all that surprised.

Oooookay...what was going on here again??

"This is a chronotic shield I placed about the actual Valley of the Dark Lords, to protect the Eternal Flame from being used by Roan after he transferred the valley here from its original home on Korriban."

She paused a moment, then continued only now there was a trace of iron in her voice.

"Unless it is for the benefit of the Greater Good, only the one who implaced a chronotic shield may remove it."

Now she turned her head and spoke over her shoulder to the others.

"Which only substantiates our beliefs that, whatever it is the Master is up to, it is not to the benefit of all that is. But now--"

She turned back to the eerily substantial void in front of her.

"We need to gain access to the Eternal Flame, that we might gain knowledge of where in these dark places Roan and the Master are. For, while I was indeed a prisoner in his dark tower, I do not know exactly where in this realm that is."

Speaking no further she merely closed her eyes, letting her head roll back as the Glyph on her forehead burst into electromagnetic life. It pulsed and roiled, sending ultraviolet radiance outward in all directions, to bring a spot of warmth into a place where none existed, to bring a modicum of light to a place in which it was shunned.

And to drop the shield she had erected, over a year ago.

The radiance struck the blotch, blending with it, worming its way into its very interstices before, with a nearly audible groan, that non-ness seemed to shrink in upon itself, roiling and churning in kind as it grew less dense, less dark, lesser in size and scope.

Until at last it was no more.

In front of them was a canyon, one limned with silent statues bearing multi-colored eyes, all in regal robes, all bearing strange weaponry.

All horned. All Sith.

She drew in a breath and cut a fast glance to Shayla, but the words she spoke were for the sakes of all present.

"Take a care, my friends, for this place calls out to that darker side inherent to us all."

Without saying anything further she simply stepped forth and began to scale canyon's tabled slopes, soon disappearing deep within its shadowy depths.

He was a freak, a big dumb red thing with horns on his head like some vile demon. Maybe he belonged here, in this horrible dark hell, belonged here with all the other freaks and demons. What could the real world offer him now? What could he offer it? Who could love a disgusting red ogre, anyway? Oh, damn that Thoran! Just to wrap his hands around that scrawny little neck and squeeze until he--

He stumbled on a rock and caught his foot between two larger stones. His hand went instinctively to brace himself, slamming down hard on a nearby stone. The action prevented his ankle from twisting, but sent massive shocks of pain up from his hand. He winced, then allowed the rush of knowledge that he had done something incredibly stupid wash over him. He slowly picked his hand up from the rock and watched the fresh flow of violet blood spill from the bandages.

He used his good hand to rip off another piece of his tattered robe, wrapped it tightly around the bandages, and tied it with his teeth. He carefully removed his foot from its position and followed the others.

“How—“ he started, stopping with a rush of pain. He caught his breath and looked to Jasyn, who had caught up. “How far is it, do you know? And what exactly is it that we're looking for?”

Panthar stumbled again.

Although from the looks of him, he didn't seem as though he could draw another breath, let alone upon his magicks.

The Dark Lord turned to the Master.

"And what of the boy?" he growled, snarling a little beneath his breath.

"I have done as you requested: he has been given the Tattoo of Entitlement, and with your magicks worked upon me believes himself to be son of Lord Aelvedaar, and thus Lord Apparent to the Sorcerers. While not Sith, being raised as a cult assassin has endowed him with certain... abilities, and although he is not as powerful in these as a sorcerer he does show certain promise.

"There is such a lovely dark streak in him; I'm certain we can utilize him in the plan as well... as in wedding him to my daughter.

"That union would certainly provide more fuel to the fire we wish to spread, ey?"

“Yes,” he replied. “What interesting offspring they would spawn… But you realize, my friend, he would not survive the wedding night, if even the courtship.”

A small chuckle escaped from the Master, his eyes dancing.

“But there is something greater still in this lad’s future. Once we have our heir, this one”, he said, indicating Phalomir, “is of no use, as shall be He Who Walks Among Us in my son’s body. We shall need a puppet to remove both from our path. The boy shall win a trial by combat, take the titles of all three houses and adopt our heir. He shall marry your daughter and raise the heir under our guidance. And when the child is old enough, he shall take the titles himself.”

The Master looked down at Phalomir once again.

"There is one flaw in your plan, my friend," he finally growled. "And that is the union you propose in order to obtain the heir. She is not stupid: she is well aware of what... ministrations have already been performed upon her past get, she knows that we hold this one--"

Another vicious kick to Phalomir sent the Dark Lord groaning.

"--and could not possibly believe that we would not be having plans for any future get she might bear. Believe me, I know her."

He paused a moment, then cast a thoughtful look toward the Master.

"Why this round-about ballyhoo? We have one who in time will become more powerful than her, and that is my lovely ShaRhylla. That one has the All inherent to her, which is more than I can say for her mother, as skilled in its use as she might be.

"Use her to create the heir, then destroy this pitiful... thing and wed her to the lad. With his insanity and her bloodlust the child would grow into such a magnificent ruler.

"Which reminds me..."

He trailed, now turning away from the diabolic scene, striding to the perimeter of the surrounding gloom.

"We have held my dear brother long enough. He is of no further use to us; his job--"

He now cocked his head, slitting his eyes as he reached out with his All abilities along a link established so very, very long ago. It whickered through the deathly realms of the dark beings, into the mind of the Chosen One, slyly entering therein where it probed about until a vision rose up before the Dark Lord:

That of what She was seeing. Which at the moment was a particular bend in a particular Valley, one against whose stone walls there glowed the reflection of the only speck of light in this entire reality.

"--has been completed. They are here, and are at this moment entering into the Valley of the Dark Lords."

He turned a death's-head grin upon the Master, raking him up and down before he raised his hand and ripped into the very spacetime fabric of which the Darker Realms was made. That smile planted upon his dark visage, he stepped through--

--but it was not there when he returned seconds later. It was replaced instead by sneer of white-lipped anger.

"He is gone!" he said in a low voice as he raised a clawed fist to the Master.

Of course he is gone, you unspeakable oaf. he thought. You are so close, yet so far from the true concept. Graysith would indeed detect treachery if rescuing my son were easy. No, you pitiful fool, it shall be difficult, yet it shall be done, and I shall honor the memory of your soul after it is destroyed in the process. Then when the heir is born it shall be your daughter who not only raises him, but bears his son as well.

He sneered, comforted by the fact that he was already dead...

...as Aelomir was most assuredly not.

He glared at the Master.

"No," he said.

"I will not stand by and watch everything you so dearly strive for find fruition in the union of Sith blood to that human.

"It has already been done-- more than once.

"But not again!"

With that he whirled, ripping open a Portal and with no further words stormed away from his supposed ally. Dark plans of his own whirled in his head.

I shall be victorious, he thought as he popped into view upon the lip of the Valley. Staring down from the darkness, he beheld the little group who struggled toward the Flame.

Only those with the dark within them can utilize this to the fullest, he smiled; then reaching out from the lip he held out his hand, palm up, his claws raking the dark air of the realm.

"No," he whispered then as he twisted his hand just so, grasping hold of the icy flame even though he was far removed from its presence, causing it to gutter and jerk for a brief moment before flaring up, reaching out, encircling the Chosen One and her Adept, plucking them like rich fruits that were ripe for the taking, yanking them from beneath the noses of the others...

...to send them far and away, farther than anywhere in the known galaxy, beyond it in fact...

...to a dark and dismal ship of yorik coral which howled through the vast impossibility of hyperdriven space.

Not this time, my sweets, he smiled to himself as he turned his thoughts to his brother, Aelvedaar. His hand raised yet again, but paused. The snide words of the Master roiled in his brain.

He is right, this one is old and wasted, he thought to himself.

He can most certainly be used in another manner, oh yes.

The smile darkening upon his features, he turned and departed, going back to his demon horde and the even more demonic disciplines he was teaching them, assured with the knowledge that the others were nothing but motes, less than motes, the merest of dust-specks easily dismissed at his merest whim.

Now to set my own plans into action...

((OOC: Follow Graysith and Shayla into Standing on the Edge of Forever in the "CSWU" forums, thank you.))

That accomplished, I now find the time to pause a moment longer, sending a molten look into the horrified eyes of the others.

"We are safe, for the moment," I then state flatly before falling silent, thus granting the others the time to complete their assimilation of what had just happened to us all. Bit by bit then, the expressions of those surrounding me altered, running the gamut from surprise to horror to finally end at the most debilitating emotion of all: fear.

I raise a hand to those looks, striving now to bring comfort where there has been loss of hope.

"Fear not, for wherever they have been sent is but a thought away from us. Recall now, if you will, just where it is that we are."

I pause again, cocking my head a bit to one side to send a look into the amber eyes of my Son. A wan smile manages to worm its way onto his face; I smile in turn.

"The Darker Realms are but side-slipped from our own reality, if you recall. By this act we have, rather than being debilitated, learned something most valuable about our enemy. Something that I believe we should consider before I drop this shield to allow our two loved ones access back to us.

"Unless, of course, for the sake of safety you prefer this action is completed back in the universe which we call our home..."

Swiftly I drop the shield, wait a heartbeat, raise it. I give him a piercing look.

This is not the way it was meant to end, he thought. The memories are there, I have seen them. Pulled from the brink of death before, sent here for… what? To die at the feet of the madman who was once my father? This cannot be…

Phalomir’s thoughts trailed as the strangely familiar sound of the fabric of space ripping trickled to his throbbing ears. An eerie helplessness wound its way from the pit of his stomach and pressed into his mind. The grip on his midsection loosened slightly as Phalomir’s breathing slowed.

The darkness behind his eyelids was broken by slow swirls of white spots, flying in circles until they focused into a single bright dot. The dot widened, spires of white pointing outwards. He felt a warmth from the white, a calming, and felt compelled to move towards it.

And so he did.

As he approached the light, he saw a figure standing in the shadows cast by its brilliance. Long white robes flew in a breeze, masking the face, but the long red strands of hair waving in the wind told him. He relaxed, calm with the knowledge that his last thoughts would be of Jharmeen. He smiled as he passed the figure in white, now seeing her face. She smiled back, sadly, blew a kiss, and pursed her lips to speak.

“You stupid love-struck dumb-head fool!” came the voice. Phalomir stopped his journey, reeling as the figure of Jharmeen transformed itself into the body of a Sith – a familiar, yet forgotten Sith.

The epitaph burst out with a viciousness which surprised even me. But not unwarranted, no, not by a long shot.

I had had it. I mean, I had really had it. This was the straw that broke the ronto's back, and to tell the truth I was just getting sick and tired of it all.

Every time. Every blessed, single, last time... No matter what, or where, hope had always been just within reach, just at my fingertips when...

WHAMMY.

In steps the archangel of Murphy to send me backsliding a couple light-years or so once again.

Well... not this time!

"Hell!" I reiterated, turning to the others.

No time to go into petty details; those tiny geeses were marching up and down my spine with a cadence that suggested we not sit around twiddling our collective thumbs.

"C'mon!"

I motioned to the others, who were still standing about in varying stances of surprise.

Now was not the time to discuss this as a committee. In fact, now was not the time to even approach said committee with ideas.

Now was the time to act.

"C'mon!" I repeated with even greater urgency.

"We can do this; she said it responds to the dark in us... well, boy howdy but I think I might have a tiny speck of brightness somewhere down deep, if I search for it hard enough..."

I paused, breathless, gripping Terrin's hand, realizing I probably sounded like all kinds of fool but knowing there was simply not the time to go into details.

As I said, now was the time to act.

I gave Terrin's hand a tug, and took an urgent step toward that flickering, devilish flame.

...and motioning them along with his free hand. "She's right. The tactics in this scream a diversion. So...

...let's not allow it to divert us."

It is such spirit which is our greatest ally, when all is said and done.

"You are both correct."

I take a quick step forward as I speak.

"It is obvious to me that Roan has done this foul deed merely as a diversionary tactic, for with her knowledge of the All my Chosen Daughter can easily find her way back to us. By this action, he shows the degree of his desperation...

...and while a desperate foe is a dangerous foe, oftentimes it is an unthinking one as well."

I pause a moment, waving toward Aeylmaar. He quickly comes to stand at my side.

"Go unto the Light, and seek that which we must know. My Son and I shall act as mainstays, that you not totally lose yourselves to the darkness you must now invoke."

So saying, she completed the portal...

Grasping Shayla's hand in hers she stepped bravely forth, coming to a halt in the shadows which gibbered in the perimeter of the chamber, in the middle of which lay the Dark Lord Phalomir.

"Phalomir!" she shrieked in a silent whisper, a hand going to her mouth to mask even that tiny noise. Forcing herself to remain where she was, she then reached out with her abilities, trying to determine the exact degree of foulness which had been perpetrated upon his body.

The damage was horrendous. She knew she would be able to heal him, but it would take time.

She needed time....

Master and all the demons from Hell be damned.

"Shayla, come!"

Even as the Master was turning toward her, an evil grin of even more evil welcome spreading across his features, she launched herself across the intervening space, Shayla in tow. With the other hand she called upon a simple tool used by the Jedi, a mere part of the Living Force, in turn a tinier part of the magnificent All, but effective nevertheless.

She grunted as with a simple Force push she shoved the Master approximately twelve feet from where Phalomir lay.

Even as he flew backward, she and Shayla had gained Phalomir's side. Now she let the Glyph on her forehead blast into full force, driving the gibbering shadows away as ultraviolet radiance filled the chamber.

In the middle of it was a black blotch, one which grew until it devoured every lick of light. It sat in the middle of the chamber, taunting any who would then approach, daring any to bring it harm, knowing none could.

None but the One who had raised it to begin with.

"Phalomir..."

Letting out a sigh of relief that he at least still lived, protected by the chronotic shield she had raised about the three of them, Graysith knelt at Phalomir's side and laid a cool hand upon his face. Her other hand moved coolly down to lay directly upon the wound, trying to bank the fires which raged there that with her talents she could begin the lengthy process of knitting flesh together once again.

"Shayla, your aid," she murmured, then fell silent, putting all of her energies and concentration into healing her love.

Roan had certainly set his own selfish plans in motion by this time, breaking their thin alliance and succumbing to the natural tendencies that ruled him, even in death.

And most importantly, the spirit of the Tower now rested inside of Phalomir, inserting itself right at the moment of his spirit’s death.

Everything was proceeding as planned.

The Master was almost giddy as he turned to the chronotic shield. He prepared a spell to send a burst of energy into the center of the room when the shield was dropped, nothing fatal, but enough to make the woman believe she was under attack. There was no reason to harm anyone further this day, the seed was planted.

As the Master waved his hands, he caught the whisper of a shadow moving across the wall. He paused and looked in that direction, but saw nothing. He slowly turned his gaze back to the shield, then out of his peripheral vision caught movement once again.

“No,” he said quietly. “This cannot be. He spirit was dying, I felt it…”

The Master stopped his spell casting and turned to the wall. A darkness was spreading across it, growing like a mold. The Master stepped backwards, away from the wall, but the darkness gathered itself and spread to the ceiling. The Master snapped his hand forward to rip open a portal, but the darkness dropped with lightning speed and enveloped him. He staggered, completely covered in black, the darkness melting onto him. For a moment his head showed through the dark substance, a mix of terror and anger on his face, but it was enveloped once again. He struggled, falling to the floor and thrashing. His body shivered and arched, then fall flat.

“We shall speak soon, my friend. You still have a long road ahead, and when you are well I shall come to you.”

Phalomir felt severe pain flow back into his mind. He was suddenly keenly aware of every cut, bruise, puncture, and broken bone. His body convulsed and he fought to regain control of his muscles. Through it all, although he shivered in the cold air, he felt a warmth next to him and swore he felt hands pressing on his own. Then the sweetest sound he had ever heard came to his ears, drifting through the clots of blood and sweat and filling him with something he had so recently abandoned, hope.

Phalomir…

It was the voice of Jharmeen. He struggled to open his eyes, and managed to bring one lid up enough to make out the shape of someone beside him. Two someones.

“Jharmeen,” was the word that tried to form in his dry throat, but a quiet whisper was what left his lips. He smiled regardless, and let his eye close. The pain was still intense, but suddenly the thought of living another day brought him joy.

...yet sensing his life-force as well. Kneeling then, Shayla reached out and laid a hand on one of his arms, stretching out then to the healing energies of the Force, a gift she knew now would be very needed. Channeling that healing energy, Shayla reached for Phalomir's life force, and began sending the energy directly to him.

Panthar walked towards the bend, the flickering glow of the flame pounding shadows against the stones. In the shadows he saw the shapes of giant Sith, set in the stone. He swallowed hard, hoping someone was following him. He rounded the corner, eyes closed, then opened them slowly. Before him was a strange flame, burning from an ornate urn. Around it stood the stone images of more Sith, standing regally in their eternal vigil.

It seemed harmless enough, just a fire. Panthar shrugged and stared into it, and as he did it seemed to shrink. He frowned, then stepped closer. In an instant the flames suddenly stretched out to him, sending tendrils of light flickering to him. His vision seemed to tunnel, a kaleidoscope of yellow and orange swirling its way into his mind.

He blinked, then again, clearing his vision. His head still swam, and he tried to grasp the thoughts that spun there. He was here to ask something, to gain knowledge. What was it? What was the thing that weighed most heavily upon his mind?

Yes, that was it. The true feelings held in his heart now leaped forward into his mind. Dark thoughts of loss and longing, of wanting, now permeated him. Yes, this was truly what he wanted, it was suddenly so clear to him. Now, this knowledge firmly in place, he set his thoughts to forming the correct question.

“Where is Shayla?” he said through his teeth.

There it was, writhing and winding, coiling about itself, breaking into myriad tendrils which combined with the liquid sinuosity of a den of snakes.

Something in it seemed to beckon to me, reaching out to me, reminding me...

Yeah. I remember.

The Sith.

This is a Sith place... and they're the ones who took Darra and... made her what she's not supposed to be.

It's thanks to them that Terrin had to suffer the atrocities he had: the loss of an arm, the pain of death itself.

Daddy is dead because of them.

Why in Hell's Seven Circles am I here?

I cast a suddenly dark look upon Terrin, tugging at him, my mouth opening to state something to that effect when from behind me came a testosterone-laden voice.

Shayla? What's the deal with that?

It was enough to make me whirl on the spot. Dropping Terrin's hand I took a step toward Panthar, then another. My eyes flicked to the little knife he carried, then back up into his eyes.

Here they were, using Sith magicks, surrounded by Sith...

...the Sith who had taken Galen and used her. Who had taken Darra and used her as well. Well, perhaps not all the Sith. But Roan sure as hell had. And yeah, Galen's sister had done more than her fair share too. How he would love to call some of the scores even just now...

...when Panthar took over and did it for him. Erik froze in his tracks, his eyes widening in sudden surprise at the implications flying around.

"What in all the Fates..?!?" he queried, still standing frozen, still partially in disbelef.

“What the heck are you talking about?” Panthar asked, truly confused. “I’m trying to figure out what we’re supposed to do here.”

He noticed the knife in his hand and stared at it, then looked up sharply at Galen with a worried face.

“What the—?” he asked. He shook his head and backed up several steps.

“No,” he muttered. “This is not right, not right at all. I don’t know what’s going on, but I—“ He stumbled against the stone body of a giant Sith and tumbled to his rear. He sat on the ground shaking his head and dropped the knife to the dirt beside him.

“Let’s do whatever the hell you guys wanted to come here for and get the hell out.”

Yet the thought of picking up the knife crept into his mind...

One by one.

"Come, my Son!"

The cry would be deafened by the approach of the dampening flame-tendrils, but I will brook no delay. I too have darkness within, for Sith I am who has witnessed the death of all...

...but Sorcerer am I as well. While this place is new to me, a place I have never before admitted myself, I know of the insidious manner in which it protects itself by launching subtle attacks against would-be interlopers.

These are not Sith. They would be viewed as thus.

Grasping Aeylmaar's hand in my own, I raise the other high. He mimicks me, claws outspread, one foot forward, the other acting as a brace. Together we stand, mirroring each other, calling forth the guardian tendrils to seep into us, we who can withstand them, that the might of the Flame would stand open and vulnerable to query.

"Now!"

My cry echoes from the rock surrounding us.

"Quickly, whilst we hold back the dark! Break yourselves free and bid it show us where the pair have been taken!"

I shivered, raised a hand to my face, rubbed it to ward off that evil, then took another look at Panthar. Suddenly he looked like someone with concern written all over his big, red face: concern for the pair who had been yanked so unexpectedly from us.

I shook my head again, trying to clear it, then turned back to the urn. Within its cold, orate depths the Flame moved and writhed, the motion somehow seductive, beckoning.

Those dark tendrils crept closer.

The winds picked up a notch.

Something within me seemed to rear its head, ears pricked in interest. A responding growl began to build within me, but not one founded upon unthinking madness.

"Show me my sister."

Without realizing quite how I had gotten there I suddenly found myself standing directly in front of that urn, one hand actually laying upon the icy-hot stones of it. Fed by the dancing fires it held, that strange sensation crept along my arm, following veins and nerves, reaching upward, upward, leaving a widening trail of black in its wake.

I shivered again, now feeling a responsive warmth pop into existence from-- somewhere. It seemed to growl, reached out, engaging the darkness, letting it creep through me but yet at the same time diminishing its overwhelming capabilities.

A little part of me nodded calmly in recognition. Funny, that.

Aelvedaar and Aeylmaar...

Unconsciously bolsterd by the inner armor which had developed so unexpectedly within me, I let every muscle in my body go loose, every defensive wall I had placed within me falling in an incorporeal heap.

The icy-hot flashed through me. It flowed to my extremeties, through my torso, reaching upward, moving smoothly up my neck...

There, a sudden image. In my mind's eye:

A dark and dismal place, rife with gibbering shadows. Two shadows of deeper black stand, close yet aloof from one another. One, larger in circumference, is lower than the other, which stands like some silent, cylindrical monolith, as if in quiet contemplation of the other...

Knowledge flooded through me, and I shuddered with the effort to bring myself back to the mundane reality of our impossible surroundings.

"I-- I have them -- at least I think it's them," I whispered hoarsely, striving to maintain that delicate balance between letting the weird sensation continue showing me its dark miracle, and losing myself to it.

The responding tendrils of warmth seem to flare a bit.

"Wh-what do we do now?"

Shayla had always been the strong one, the driven one. He didn't know if he had enough Force-abilities to be of any help...

...but then, what if he did? And how could he be sure unless he tried?

I need to find Shayla...

In response, images danced before his eyes, within the flame. He didn't know if anyone else could see what he now did: he saw darkness, but a vague place none the less. In fact, it was so vague...

Erik gasped. "They are not far," he managed, stil locked in, now seeing an identical image to that which Galen had already been seeing, although he was not aware of that. No, they weren't far...

...he could feel it...

"Can't...we open a portal and go to them, now that we have strong links to their location?" he queried, falling silent, the image of the Flame still flickering in his brown eyes.

There must be great anger in her, or else...

"Yes," I state calmly, coming forward now.

"Keep the image strong in your mind, we shall use your combined strengths to guide the direction in which I shall place a Portal."

Nothing further needs be said. I close my eyes now, reaching out with my own considerable powers, feeling that of my adopted Son's joining with mine as together we simply rend the fabric of that which is around us...

I open my eyes to see a tear in the fabric of space and time. Something black and noisome glints deeply within it.

"Come, my friends, there is little time to be lost. We go to the enemy, now!"

With that I step forward with Aeylmaar, leaving him at the portal to guide the others through while I go first to pave the way against what foulness we shall most certainly find on the other side.

Panthar sprang to his feet, grabbing the knife in hand as did so. He slid the power on and strode quickly towards the portal. The glow from the blade cast its own shadows on the ground beneath him.

“I’m on it,” he said, looking directly into the portal. He stepped through and fanned to the left, preparing the knife to slice through anything that moved towards him. He saw through the corner of his eye someone else sep through the portal, but he continued to scan the room. The two imps were still standing where he envisioned them, although the smaller had begun moving to the far wall. His eyes darted to the spot he saw in his vision where the doorway was forming, and there now stood a man-sized being of living blackness. Its skin seemed to roil and crawl about the body, as if it were made of boiling pitch. Two large black shapes that could have been horns jutted from its head. The thing stood, staring with red glowing eyes.

“Where is she?” Panthar cried out. He winced and called out again. “And Phalomir, tell me now!”

In that moment of relief, his thoughts turned quickly to the situation. Both Roan and the Master were here, and what if this was a trap of some sort? His heart raced with that thought, and his eye widened. He fought with his dry throat and tried to make a word form through his parched lips.

“Ro-,” he struggled. “Ro— Mast—“

Frustrated, he stopped trying to speak. Instead, he focused his eye on Jharmeen and felt for the link that they once shared, and he hoped still existed. He knew there must be something, all through his ordeal he felt her with him, giving him something to cling to while his life was drained from him. Feeling for her, he concentrated his thoughts.

Roan, the Master, they are here.

...but then paused suddenly as a darkness slammed into his senses, as well as did the knowledge that Shayla's essence wasn't anywhere to be found. He turned back, his eyes wide, looking to the others. "I can't sense Shayla anymore," he said honestly. "But there is something very, very dark. And Panthar..."

He trailed, sensing shock and panick from within the portal. "...has walked right into it, and is in trouble," he finished, finally stepping into the portal only to find Panthar stuck into the wall, struggling to get away from it. Erik frowned and came to the other man, albeit a bit uncertainly after the way he had been acting. He tried to help pull him out of the wall...

...but Panthar didn't budge.

Come on, Erik, a little voice that seemed to sound more and more like his wife prompted, You can do something about this, you're a force user.

Agreeing at least soemwhat, Erik returned his attentions to Panthar, stretched out to the Force, and gave him another pull. Before he knew it Panthar popped lose, and they began rolling. Once they stopped, Erik found himself on the weird non-ground of the place, looking directly at some tarlike black creature with horns...

Even now the others come, but for now, rest and heal, my love. We are safe, for the moment.

Well, duh. It WAS the Darker Realms, after all.

For a brief moment, the entire situation overwhelmed him. And then he firmed, his blue eyes now pinning Aeylmaar.

"Well, he's in trouble...What the kriffing hell are we waiting for?!? I might be an ex-smuggler with zero Force abilities, but I know if all else fails having a group of people at your side in a crisis at least somewhat lessens the odds. And that's all the time for strategy that I've got right now."

Then he turned to Galen, his blue eyes suddenly concerned, intense. "You don't have to do this," he told her, "But know that if you step in there, I'll be with you. And I intend on coming right back out with you, too..."

...and being nearly knocked over as Jasyn began blazing forward only to be tripped up by Matt. Matt grabbed him by the shirt, unsteadying him and causing him to have to stop moving to check his balance.

"Wait a minute there, pal," Matt then interjected. "Booze adrenaline be damned, I suggest you go in last with him. You remember...? The ship?"

Then I turned to look at the Portal, shuddering.

The Master... Roan. It was more than likely that at least one, if not both, lay on the other side of that rip in reality. It was quite possible that we were too late, that my sister and Shayla and the stalwart Jedi and Panthar were at this moment dead, killed by the pair. It was closer to probability that the rest of us would more than likely suffer the same fate.

I pursed my lips, my eyes darkening.

But we had to try... or Darra would never be safe again. There were two magickal Sith with us, both All users. Somehow I knew that Lord Aelvedaar was hale and whole, though he had already gone through the portal. Then there was that weird spot of whatever that seemed to be in me, too. It wasn't something I could access.

But maybe others could. Who was I to keep this slight bit of ammunition from the hands of those who might be able to use it? Besides--

I had to know what had happened on the other side of that rift.

"I- I'm ready when you are," I gulped.

Then before I could change my mind I took a deep breath, took a running start, and leaped through the opening...

...coming to a skidding landing in what seemed to be a dark and dismal room. Dank stone walls echoed my entrance in a disturbingly mushy manner, my feet seemed to want to stick to whatever foulness it was that beslimed the floor.

I wrinkled my nostrils with distaste, and took a quick glance around. My eyes slammed into the tangle of Erik and Panthar off to one side, of a strangely familiar lump of non-ness which took center stage...

...and came to a crashing halt against a tall, bipedal blob of black.

I took an instinctive step backwards, even though the thing didn't move. Neither did the squat lump of non-ness.

...and was just taking in the "sights" when Galen took a step backwards, bumping into him. His thoughts were along the same lines as the query she now voiced.

Oh kriffing hell, what IS going on? Something ugly, no doubt...

"I hope it wasn't us they were waiting for..."

I let that trail, holding my breath to see if it provoked anything.

Nope, nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I allowed myself to breathe then, and took a hesitant step toward the squat black. Even though I knew Terrin recognized it, I didn't know about the others in the party.

"Take a care not to touch that; it's a chronotic shield. I'm not exactly sure of how it works, but anything that touches it, matter or energy...

"...well, just isn't anymore."

I paused, chewing my lip thoughtfully. A quick glance up to the Blob revealed that it had two red eyes. They stared balefully out at me, but as of yet the thing didn't move so much as a millimeter. If looks could kill, though--

"I think Jharmeen and Shayla are under there."

I nodded toward the black lump.

"If that's true, they're probably safe."

I brightened at a sudden thought, now glancing about our surroundings with a bit more care. It didn't take long to find Lord Aelvedaar, standing silent and strong and somehow very, very certain of something.

Well... that's how it looked to me, at any rate. Like he wasn't too concerned about our circumstances.

At least for the moment.

Another breath sneaked in, out of my lungs. I turned back to Terrin, though every so often I shot a glance back at the red-eyed Blob.

"Doesn't seem like there's much to rescue from anything, does it?" I whispered. A hand shot to my lips then as with a great effort I strove to stifle the sudden series of giggles that began to flutter about in my chest, seeking escape.

Oh, not the image of the red-eyed monstrosity preparing to cast Panthar into certain death.

Nope.

It was the image of myself, as if seen from afar, running and leaping and grabbing onto Panthar's flailing hand with a desperation born out of...

Well, out of sheer desperation.

Oh heck, he’s going to throw me! That’s a pain I can do without.

Panthar then realized that something was gripping his hand, something warm and-- human. He glanced over to see who or what it was, and saw Galen's strangely calm face.

That was enough. No way was he going to let Galen be dragged into this, and no way was he going to let her be one up on him in the life-saving department.

Not only that, but she had a firm grip on his injured hand, and it hurt like hell!

With his good hand he jabbed out and grabbed the closest thing he could reach, which happened to be one of the black horns protruding from the black head. He fought against the revulsion the oozing substance on the horn gave him, and gripped as tightly as he could. The thing below him howled, and a bit of the blackness began to seep over onto Panthar’s hand.

His injured hand slipped through Gslen's as the thing pushed forward, trying to throw Panthar. His grip on the horn held and Panthar tumbled to the floor in front of the beast, bringing the thing’s head down with him until it lost its balance and fell to its knees. Panthar quickly let go and rolled away to the wall.

He looked down at his hand where blisters were forming on his palm. He looked frantically over to Galen and Aelvedaar.

“What is this thing? And where are Gray, Shayla, and Phal? Do we HAVE to fight this thing?”

Roan had him, and she had lunged at Roan, exchanging herself for him. Now, he didn't know what the Big Blob had in mind, but he refused to let something like that happen again.

Just as he got to the Blob, he saw a blur that looked like Galen and Panthar roll past him, back towards where everyone else was. Meanwhile, BB groaned then roared, a monstorous hand holding the horn Panthar had been hanging on to as he then began to straighten back up. But he was still leaning over, just enough, and directed a smouldering red glare Terrin's way...
Awww, kriffing hell...

As the big thing continued to direct its red eyes Terrin's way, as if pondering just what he could do with him, adenaline fueled the sucker punch Terrin delivered right into the creature's gut. As his fist made solid contact, Terrin grimaced at the creepy feeling he got from touching the black substance the Blob was made of. Letting go of his horn, the thing grabbed first at his midsection, which was right about at Terrin's eye level. Terrin scrambled back to where the others were before BB could recover fully.

"Ok," he panted, "Maybe attack isn't such a good idea. Can we put one of those... things... around the Blob?" he queried, pointing at the smaller black blob that they thought contained Shayla and Jharmeen. Then he added, "You know, with them hiding out in that thing, not moving, I wonder if they're healing someone or something...

...could Phalomir be with them?"

Erik now frowned, concern now fueling his thoughts.

One of the people in that shield was the person he loved more than life itself, and sooner or later, she would have to come out of there...

...so yes, they did have to fight this big boy.

"And I swear to you, that is the Master," he commented. "I can feel it. We have to do something..."

And you were almost a Jedi, Erik Kartan. Above all else, YOU should be able to do something yourself...

...but what? You were never very good...

Erik cut off the thought, now determined.

For Shayla.

Coming to a halt on my hands and knees, I looked up in time to see Terrin lay into the big blobby biped, followed soon thereafter by the thing flying backward in response to a tremendous Jedi Force shove.

My jaw dropped, my eyes slid momentarily to Erik.

Wow. I didn't know he had it in him...

Then I went to join the others, who were split between eyeing the squat black nothingness on the floor and warily juking about in front of the fallen Blob. It lay on the floor, glaring at us with those hideous red eyes.

A dim little bulb popped on over my head.

"Ummm... guys," I said slowly, careful to not let my gaze drop from those twin red fires.

"Has anyone noticed the decidedly, ahh-- ineffectual attack methods this- this thing is using? I mean, if that is the Master in there -- which I think it is too -- then why isn't he just whammying us all? Maybe he's in a bit of a sticky wicket himself, ya think?

"I mean, sheesh, trying to throw Big Red over there..."

I stopped, my eyes widening as another, horrid thought hit home.

"Hey Big Guy, you all right?"

After all, they had made physical contact. As had--

My eyes widened even further.

"You ok too, Terrin?" I asked, sidling over to stand next to him so I could scrutinize him more closely. After giving him a quick once-over (he did seem to look ok, at least!)) I called out a bit louder.

"Hey, your Lordship, a little help here, wouldja? I mean, yeah, can't you put up some kind of block around this thing until whatever in Hell's Seven Circles is going on underneath that--"

I nodded toward the squat, black lump.

"--gets finished?"

I smile as from behind there comes a gasp.

"Father, you must teach me this method--"

I merely smile a bit more, then approach the others who have congregated carefully around the first chronotic shield.

"We are safe, at least for the moment, but we must not forget where we are, and who it is that lives in this dark place."

With that I fall into silence, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my robes, silently bidding the pair beneath the shield to hurry with their healing, that the shield could then be dropped and we ourselves bid this terrible realm adieu.

Hell no had he forgotten who wss here...

"I'm fine," he replied to Galen. "But the Blob reminds me of..."

He frowned more deeply, not liking where he was headed, "...of those damn Sith demons. I don't seem to remember the Master looking that way at all before...

...but since when did he have the Force-ability to actually knock it over? Heck, he wasn't even a full-fledged Jedi...

...but then, he'd never liked how the Jedi always hesitated on using their abilities until push came to shove and there was no other choice.

And dammit, that thing was just waiting for Shayla, Graysith, and possibly Phalomir to come out of that chronotic shield. No way could he just stand around while it happened...

Realizing the others were talking, Erik blinked, clearing the fog from his mind and his eyes. Aelvedaar's last words registered in his mind, along with Terrin's. "Ummm...maybe he's somehow not in a position to attack us? Or maybe he's simply waiting for something better..."

He pulled his hand away from his back and looked at the bandages. Once again soaked with violet blood, he took them off and ripped another shred from his ruined robe. He looked at the wound to make sure there was nothing major in the way of infection. He wiped away a bit of dirt, then reached for a darker bit of something. A stab of pain in his hand made him wince once again, and when he reopened his eyes the dark bit was gone.

He wrapped the new bandage around his hand and tied it tightly.

“So what can we do, just sit around and wait for someone to pop their head out? Can’t we go in there with them?”

"Hey, Buddy, weren't you listening? What part of anything touching it isn't here anymore didn't you understand?"

I nodded to the twin lumps.

"Whatever or whoever is underneath that is under a chronotic shield," I repeated my earlier observation.

"If anything touches it, well, it just is gone.

"Poof."

I spread my hands out a little to each side and made flicking motions with my fingers, waggling my brows at Big Red as I did so. Then I paused, stared at him a moment, noted him nursing his hand.

"Hey Big Guy, you ok?" I asked, frowning to see the returning "I'm all right, really I am" lie he immediately put on his face.

Snorting, I turned to Erik.

He traced the link with his spirit, basking in the strength he felt there. He imagined himself reaching out his hand and having it grasped by Jharmeen’s. He smiled inwardly, and perhaps outwardly, and allowed his body to rest and heal. The strength was returning to him bit by bit, fueled by his love and by the healing powers of the two women mixing strongly with his own inherent magick.

His mind wandered back to recent events, time he spent pumping magick into holding his innards inside, and a time when he half-consciously heard the Master and Roan speaking. There was talk of deception, of… vials? Mutations… what had that been? He let his mind free to grasp the half memory, hoping it would stumble upon the answer.

ShRhylla. She would discover the vials… the vials aboard the ship they had brought with them. It had been a setup, conceived by the Master. Why? What mutations had he spoken of? And what more had Roan said about her…?

Phalomir’s eyes opened, wide with urgency. He lifted his head and looked into Jharmeen’s eyes.

“We must return to K’eel Doba,” he said hoarsely. “ShaRhylla is in great danger, or about to cause it.”

He looked down at the gash in his midsection. It had somehow began knitting itself together, aided no doubt by the reality bending powers of the All.

“She had the Finger of R’lous,” he said, trying to sit up. “And the vials on the ship, the Master spoke of them….” He paused, caught his breath, and looked around.

He trailed, his brown eyes defocusing a moment. Then they snapped alert. "Anyway, I don't think I have what it takes to heal Panthar. I can lend my Force energies to help a healer heal someone, but as an actual healer...

...I'm pretty much stuck. Not one of my force strengths."

He shrugged, Then he finished with, "Maybe Shayla could help when she comes out of there..."

...who was also being held here. There has been a doppleganger on Khar Delba acting as him...

...one probably created by the Master and Roan..."

He scowled at his own comment.

“But if they have the Finger…” he started. “There would be no stopping them. I think, from what I was able to hear from their boisterous talking when they thought I was unconscious, that the doppelganger may have been Roan himself, with aid from the magick of the Master. I do not believe they trust each other, each other, and that may be to our advantage.”

Phalomir shuddered, a severe pain shooting through him. He coughed and turned his head, quietly spitting a wad of dark violet onto the floor, trying to conceal it from the women. He regained his composure and turned back to Jharmeen.

“We should move quickly. There is much to repair, and the longer we wait the worse matters may become. The Master had planned for me to be dead or — or possessed by now, so time may be on our side. Events were set into motion with the news of your ‘death’ on K’eel Doba…”

He forced a smile onto his face.

“I am fine, or soon will be. Let us gather the others and return. What do you two say?”

He paused, thinking.

Graysith reached out a hand and laid it softly against Phalomir's jaw. A bit of a frown flicked across her features when she felt how clammy his skin yet was.

"Please, do not push yourself. If you press before you are completely healed, all the work that Shayla and I have performed may be undone."

She paused a moment, searching deep into his physique with her talents, trying to sense how strong the Sith Lord truly was. The initial knitting of ligament and bone and vessel and flesh had begun, but the deep bone marrow connective tissues were not yet what they should be, and his blood volume was far from being up to snuff.

"I think you should let us heal you just a moment longer, to make certain you are able to withstand the trials ahead. Recall, if you will, that we are yet in the Darker Realms; while under this shield we are protected, but the Master skulks without, undoubtedly just waiting for us to come out from protection. I hope that Lord Aelvedaar and Aeylmaar, combined with the strengths of Erik Kartan are enough to keep him at bay -- for they were hard on our heels as Shayla and I came here, surprising the Master -- but there is no guessing when it comes to this.

"You should be in peak fighting condition, or at least as close to that as possible; what if Lord Roan should return and you were not yet strong?

"Would there be strength enough between us to fend them off then, particularly if it is he who now possesses the Finger of R'lous, as we suspect?"

“Yet, if the others are indeed aiding us at this moment, out there beyond this shield… what if they require our assistance? Perhaps is the not knowing that pains me… My spirit is strong, my lady, and with you here it grows stronger still. If Roan enters, and he has the Finger, then they will need us.”

Phalomir sighed again, his body again shuddering.

“Is there a way to know what transpires here without bringing the shield down?”

"I do not believe so," she frowned, pondering.

"After all, this shield was developed to be a total defense mechanism, that nothing would be able to penetrate it."

She chewed her lip.

"Th- then if you're not a Jedi, how in Hell's Seven Circles did you manage to lambast the Master?"

Now I turned my eyes to Terrin, the look in them becoming progressively more worried.

"If he's not a Jedi, how can we really count on him when the going gets rough?" I whispered.

Yeah, right Galen. Like they weren't rough enough already--!

"I mean, as much as I hate to say it, I hope he won't become a stone hanging around our necks. That shot he blasted out just now might only have been a lucky chance."

I stopped with that, growing a bit uncomfortable with even harboring the thought, for hadn't something exactly like that happened to me?

I shook my head, glancing around to make certain that the blankness which surrounded the Master hadn't altered any. It hadn't.

"As for that blast--" trailing a moment, Terrin's eyes darkened just a shade more, "What man wouldn't love to nail anything threatening the woman he loves that way? Still, the whole blast thing is a bit unnerving..."

He quieted another moment, "I didn't know he had that in him, and have never seen him do anything quite like that. He's been holding out, or something fishy is going on..."

Terrin's frowned darkened, then faded a bit as another reality surfaced, "But then, this guy has already been around. At least he has that to his credit."

...or your own sister? You know as well as I do that being a Jedi and having all the powers in the universe doesn't necessarily mean a hill of beans. I've been trained in the Jedi arts...that training is a bit rusty, and I don't necessarily use it...

...not unless I find it practical. That is the way of a Corellian Jedi. And to take that the step further, I never attempted my trials for one reason, and one reason only. Placing yourself on trial means proving yourself to some council or some governing body of Jedi, and I don't find that practical or useful. I could have passed those trials, but I already had the knowledge I needed to do what I needed to do if and when the training was needed. Having someone tell me that, or for that matter declare it to the known Universe, seemed unimportant."

Erik paused, pursing his lips. "As for the blast itself, again, a practical use of training. Still...

...I didn't expect to be quite as effective as I was..."

Nobody -- and I mean nobody talks to me that way. I whipped a glare on Erik as, shrugging off Terrin's arm I stomped over to him.

"Look, buster!" I fumed, getting right up close and personal. I stabbed a finger into his chest.

"I don't know who died and left you in charge of the 'poor me' department, but consider this a wake-up call."

I paused a moment while about eleventy million things I wanted to snap at him tried to coalesce into something a bit more civilized.

"Was I talking to you? Seems I only asked how the hell you managed to shut down Ol' Ugly over there --" I nodded tersely toward the one black lump "-- and it seems you've had more than was necessary to reply to that.

"Yeah, I know about powers, and not having them. I know about who and what to rely on; I've seen Jasyn and Matt sticking their necks out on the line plenty, and when it comes to Terrin's, well... he makes the other guys look like stand-arounds.

"But you--!"

Another poke to the solar plexus.

"I don't care if you took your trials or not, I don't give a womprat's hind end if you're a Jedi or not.

"All I care about is what you'll do when the going get's tough, and buddy there just better not come a time on down the road when our lives depends on you and your 'gee, I didn't know I had it in me' mumbo jumbo!

"What have you done to assist us anyway? Ok, again, you flattened the bad guy.. this time. But what about the next? Can we rely on this or not?

"Seems you've been kind of hanging off in the background for the most part, Charlie, and now you have the nerve to go whining about not taking your trials because you can't give in to authority for the greater good of all--?!"

I blustered to a halt, just shaking. I don't know what it was that got me so bent out of shape; like I said, things just hadn't been all skittles and Corellian ale lately, what with all the craziness we've been subjected to...

...but all I needed now was one of our own to go off into his own little pity party and mope there.

"Look pal," Terrin then spoke up, his eyes not leaving Kartan's, "We're all here now, and we've got to rely on what we've got. Me...I have no problem with relying on people who don't have a damn lick of Force sensitivity. But then I still expect to know what they can do and will do when the time comes, and I like that to be a consistent thing. If you don't know how you did something like that last display of yours with the Master, then 'X' it from the things you are certain you can do for the group. At least at that we'll know what we have to work with."

...I just didn't know it would be to that extent. However, for the sake of the group and to make you all feel more at ease with what I can do, I won't do it again. And please..."

Erik paused a moment, turning to look at Galen, "Believe me when I say that I'm here for the team. You can count on me not to back out when the going gets tough. I know you might not believe me til the time comes that I can actually prove it, and I understand that. But until then, you have my word."

"Words aren't worth the paper they're written on unless they're backed up with good ol solid collateral.

"Just ask Terrin... he'll tell you about how it works--"

...only to come up entirely short. She opened her eyes, frowning and shaking her head. "No, I can't contact him," she then stated aloud. "The only way we will know what is going on out there is if the shield is dropped...

And now they trap Master and Darkness… the Dark Master. It is shield, but will it hold? I asks, I tells them… but they trusts not me, they trusts not no-one. How to make them trust? How to make them see? I knows…

The imp crept silently across the ceiling until it clung just above Erik, the Jedi which had sent the Master reeling. It bared its claws and propelled itself from the ceiling with lightning speed, grabbing Erick around the throat with one hand and pressing a claw into his neck with the other, positioned just next to the jugular. It wrapped its legs around Erik’s midsection and clung to his back.

The little imp peered around Erik’s head at the rest of the group and spoke loudly in its gravelly voice.

“I not hurts him, you not hurts me. We talk, we listen, no-one hurts no-one. I lets go when we trusts. But now we speaks, we speaks much. Agrees?”

“Holy crap!” he cried out. “What the heck is that thing? Erik, are you all right?”

“You speaks or no?” it quipped. “You must hurries, if you wants what I knows.”

Shayla likewise had rested her hands on Phalomir to administer her healing powers, and his other hand took hers.

He focused on the hands he held. He could feel the warmth, the softness of the skin, and as he let his mind wander he could begin to feel Jharmeen’s pulse in his right hand. He imagined himself following her pulse, and could almost sense the blood moving within her. His own pulse quickened, then slowed, and in a moment was matching Jharmeen’s. He then felt Shayla’s hand, and in the same manner soon her own pulse had matched the others.

Both women were now sitting with their eyes closed, kneeling next to Phalomir. They each held a hand, each one’s heart beating in rhythm with Phalomir’s, and each one breathing in perfect synchronicity. There was no sound other than this chorus of breathing and heartbeats.

Phalomir stretched out instinctively with his powers, not thinking but just doing. He could feel the energies from Shayla, intensified by the powers of the All coming from Jharmeen. It kindled his own energies, the Sith magick that dwelt within him, and he could feel a powerful warmth spreading through his body. Strange twinges and itches sprang from everywhere as tendons, muscles, bone, and tissues knitted themselves together. The pain intensified greatly for a brief moment, the shock blasting through not only Phalomir but the two women as well. All three hearts raced.

Phalomir’s back arched as a cry escaped all three people. Jharmeen and Shayla both fell backwards, their eyes flying open in surprise. Phalomir lay silent, eyes wide open, unmoving. For several seconds all either women could do was stare at the other.

Phalomir coughed, breaking the silence.

Terrin firmed, his initial shock shifting to mental clarity even though his mind was racing.

"Why should we trust you when your threat is to kill him?" he queried, indicating Erik. "No trust can be found in this scenario...

...not unless you let him go, and now. What of Phalomir do you know...

“I wants to speaks, but I am not trusting you, as you not trusting me. Swear, swear on the soul of yours mother, you not harms me if I not harms you. Swears on her soul, you does, no harms comes to me. Then we speaks. Then I lets go.”

The imp glared at Terrin.

“Swears it now! Swears it now or I sees you are not for trusting! Swears it now or enemies you are and this one dies! NOW!”

...especially considering one was digging nicely into Erik's throat. A myriad of options--none of them particularly grand--swirled through Erik's mind. He settled on one, stopped struggling, and spoke directly to the imp.

"Leave them alone," he growled. "Get off my back and talk if that's what you want...

"...no harm will come to you."

Like we could truly harm you if you're of the Realm of the Dead anyway...

Ok. Resident quasi- Jedi...

--but memories of what those horrid little demons could do stopped that battleplan dead in its tracks. Thus I merely made an abortive step forward and stopped cold turkey, eyeing its lashing tail warily.

Then it struck me that if it had planned on killing Erik, or any of us for that matter, we'd all be history by now. Those things were fast, as far as I remembered, and had a weird way of popping in and out of reality like dissipating and coalescing smoke.

I wavered, then ventured to speak, though I didn't particularly relish the idea of possibly drawing its attention.

"I-- I don't think it's intending you any harm; er, that is, not any immediate harm at any rate," I said, tensing in case the little horror decided to make good on my speculation. Luckily for me -- and Terrin as well, who yet stood near me -- this didn't provoke anything from the imp other than a red-eyed glare shot at me. Heartened, I continued.

"I mean, you'd be dead now if that's what the thing had in mind, trust me on that one."

Now that the initial adrenalin rush had subsided a tad, I was able to turn my attention to what the thing was saying. It appeared it wanted to talk, and it appeared it wanted certain assurances on our parts that it in turn would not be injured by us.

Injured by us? Now that was a new wrinkle!

Hoping my logic wasn't too faulty, I decided to speak up for the group.

"Ok, Lizard Lips, you've gotten our attention. And so far a tiny modicum of trust, just because you haven't already killed Erik there."

I nodded toward the unlikely pair, then went on.

"You don't hurt us, we don't hurt you. I, umm-- we swears.

"Now what's all this brouhaha about, anyway?"

With that I widened my stance and planted my fists on my hips, determined to present a firm and fearless front even though inside I was a hair-line away from melting into a puddle of fear-induced goo.

The next all comparative hell had broken loose. Her eyes flew open, but instead of seeing Phalomir's dear face before her all she saw was black. For one heart-racing moment she thought she had been blinded; then she realized she was laying on her back, staring up at the top of the chronotic shield bubble she had emplaced about the three of them.

It was nothing but the sheerest of luck that had prevented her from falling against it; shuddering, she shot a glance to her right hand, which lay on the strange non-floor mere centimeters from the oddly wavering blackness there.

She snatched her hand safely away, raised herself upright, hurried to Phalomir. A quick and gentle probe confirmed the reason for her rising delight.

"It is as I suspected; he is healed."

Sitting back on her heels, she leaned forward to give the Dark Lord a warm embrace. Then she rose to her feet.

"We need this no longer; gird your strengths, my friends."

With that she made a simple gesture, and dropped the chronotic shield.

The reaction was purely instinctive from that point on.

Oh Great Khaandon's Ghost! She would have to come out from under right now... right now!... wouldn't she?

I scarcely had time to form the thought, for Shayla was moving too fast. So far no one else had revealed their thoughts to what the demon had spoken, but I for one believed we should listen to what he had to say. A small droplet of trust, wary though it might be on both sides, had just begun to coalesce between us when here comes the cavalry galloping misleadingly over the hill.

I moved without really thinking of it, without even crying out a warning or anything. Besides, I didn't really think Shayla would pause just for lil ol' me, and if she wasn't stopped I was positive that not only would the imp disappear back into the shadows but would leave Erik dead just for spite.

Those thoughts were enough to send me flying from Terrin's side and charging into Shayla's trajectory. And this time timing was everything, for we came to the same spot in space and time at the identical moment.

Which basically meant that I simply bowled her off her feet, taking her completely by surprise. The momentum of my rush sent us flying off at a tangent, where we impacted the squishy floor and rolled, a tangle of arms and legs.

NO!"

Now I finally found the seconds I needed to let words catch up with action.

"We need to listen to what this thing has to say!"

Even as the last word fell from my lips we rolled to a halt, she laying on her back legs and arms akimbo, me sitting somewhat disheveled a meter or so away from her. I shot a fast glance at the glowering imp, ignoring the undoubtedly glowering Shayla, hoping like hell this proved beyond any doubt that at least I was willing to stick my neck out to show that I trusted it.

Terrin rushed out right behind Galen, hoping to create a barrier between Erik and the imp and Shayla as he motioned for Matt and Erik--and whoever else cared to join them--to help. Little did he know Galen had plans to take Shayla totally off her feet by simply knocking her clean from them.

Dammit, what was with Erik and Shayla and their impulsiveness??? Between the both of them they had a solid strategy to get them ALL killed...

He came to Galen's side, helping her back to her feet, then eyed the downed Shayla, who was quickly beginning to recover from her initial shock, scowling as she did so.

"The demon wants us to listen, and wants to be certain that we're not going to harm him before he lets Erik go. We were just in the process of confirming that when you showed up and came blazing forward."

At this, Terrin returned the scowl. "We need to listen, he says he knows something about the Master and Phalomir," he explained, then turning his blues to Galen. "Nice TKO," he commented, trying for the moment to lighten the situation at least somewhat. Then he turned serious again. "Everything still in one piece?"

Or perhaps he was just wondering if she was going to blast him.

The scowl faded a bit, and logic began to win over her initial reaction to a possible threat to Erik's life.

Two sides to every coin, remember Shayla? came a little voice from within her mind. And you can't understand that other side if you won't at least listen...

...and certainly attacking that thing on Erik's back will only make things worse.

Shayla's look softened, and she turned an apologetic look Galen's way. "I'm sorry, I just..."

She trailed, eyeing Erik as the demon remained on his back, its tail still switching. He nodded once, as best as he could.

“Me thinks is not good,” it said, “but me thinks it have to do. Not time to fight, only time for talk, then time for die if stay. Dark Lady free now, Phally-mire free now, even Sorcerer free now… all happy goodness, no?”

The imp spat a laugh.

“No! Not happy goodness. Master not good, now even worse. Master wanted son, but not get son, now paying price for pissing off darkness. Me thinking you all go, not even all of you want to make fight with darkness when it takes Master. Tower busy now, now time for leaving. Much badness to be had here, and many things to be fixing elsewhere.”

The imp pulled back its lips in a form of a smile.

Take it... with us?!?

An eerily gutteral groaning sort of burbling moan came from the black lump which yet slouched in the background; I cut a glance toward it, and then back to the sneering imp.

That worthy merely sneered all the more, one devilishly clawed forepaw now waving delicately about as if to say, I told you so.

I drew in a shaky breath, shot another dagger look Shayla's way, and approached Erik.

"Gee, I've always wanted a pet.

"Ok, you come with us, and Sissy-poops--"

Now I turned to Jharmeen.

"May I suggest you rip open one of your handy-dandy little doors back to the real world, and pronto? I don't think we've got too much more time..."

I nodded meaningfully toward the black lump, then turned back to Erik and his demonic burden. Drawing in another breath, I crooked my arm toward it.

"Care to humor me, Lizard Lips? I mean, you might want to get off of your hobby horse before his wife blows her stack again."

Rolling my eyes in apology toward Shayla, I then shut up and waited impatiently for peeps to get moving before the black lump on the floor exploded into gods only know what.

“I accepts you’s terms, I trusts, I goes with you, I be’s your pet.”

In nearly one fluid motion, the imp hopped from Erik’s back, onto the floor, and bound with lightning speed towards Galen. Even as her eyes widened it reached her arm and used it to prop itself as it wrapped its arms around her shoulders and hung gently to her back.

There were, however, wounds in his mind that could not be healed as easily, and they were bared fully as Phalomir turned his eyes upon the demon hanging from Galen’s back. He immediately powered up his magick, a red blast of energy forming in his palm.

“Galen!” he cried out. “On your back! Duck!”

He brought up his hand, preparing to strike when Galen’s head moved out of the way.

...and Phalomir reacted. Something in Terrin totally related to him, and somehow he knew.

Aww hell, you too, huh?

But as Phalomir started to direct a red ball of something the demon's way, Terrin's legs went in full motion, and he stepped in front of Galen, trying to get Phalomir's attention.

If he went blasting that thing while it was on Galen's back, gods knew what it would do! What was he thinking?!? Oh yes, he probably WASN'T.

Terrin waved his hands in front of him, just to try to gain Phalomir's attention more fully as he then spoke. "Woah, pal!" he started. "If the demon had wanted to hurt us, it would have done something a long time ago. He knows something Phalomir, something that may help us against the Master. We need to get out of here...

... with him ...

...and hear what it is he has to say."

No time for talk now, Jasyn realized, the brandy he had probably making him feel a little invincible, Time for action.

Taking everyone totally off-guard then, Jasyn blasted forward, a la Han Solo. He ran full-speed directly for Phalomir, tucking his head and slamming into the shakily-standing Sith's gut, taking him by surprise as well.

Taking him enough by surprise that his balance was thrown, his extended hand knocked upward as his whole body rocked back. The red ball of something he had been intending to throw the demon's way shot upwards towards the darkness that acted as the "ceiling" for this horrible place, causing a momentary blast. Then the non-ceiling seemed to just absorb the red stuff, and Jasyn found himself staring directly up at it, now flat on his back on the non-ground.

He scowled and cringed at the feel of it, momentarily frozen as he recovered, hoping Phalomir didn't decide to blast him.

He looked down at Jasyn, saw that he was unhurt, and then peered up to the ceiling. The area where his blast had gone was unaffected, as if it had been hit by nothing. He puzzled over this and then glanced to Galen and her guest, then noticed the strange non-ness behind her. Something seemed to wiggle there, and he sensed a very dark and foreboding presence. That, mixed with the memories of what had happened to him in this room gave Phalomir a sudden desire to be elsewhere.

“I am sure you will all fill me in once we have vacated,” he said, looking down to Jasyn. He extended a hand to the man to help him up, then looked around at the others. Noticing Aelvedaar, Phalomir nodded his head in reverence.

“I tend to agree with Terrin,” he smiled. He then turned to Jharmeen.

"I am quite well; I have no idea why everyone is suddenly so conscientious regarding my health when it is simply obvious--"

She cut herself off with that, biting her lip as a different sort of frown came over her features. Giving her head a little shake, she let out a most disgusted-sounding sigh, and waved her hand.

Immediately a portal blinked open, shimmering with its own brand of unreality.

"Shall we go, then," she said and stepped through, hurrying just a touch as the same strange warbling growl came wafting to her ears from behind.

((OOC: Follow Graysith back into Elseness in the "Jedi/Sith" forums, thank you.))

He smiled a moment, but there was something that briefly flashed in his eyes, something that made her wonder just what had gone on in the time they had been apart. But now was not the time to ask. Without another word, she stepped through the portal behind Jharmeen, Erik at her side, glad to be away from this horrid place.

(((OOC: Follow Shayla and Erik back to Elseness in this same forum.))

"Yeah, Lizard Lips. We goes."

Then giving my disconcertingly willing burden a heft, I waggled my brows at Terrin, took in another fortifying breath, and followed Sissy and Shayla into who knows where that damned doorway opened.

Just as long as it wasn't Here.

He liked it better when it was on Erik's back...

Then, shrugging the thought aside, Terrin began to head into the portal right behind Galen, stopping only a moment to pause and make sure Jasyn and Matt were along as well.

They didn't need any prompting. In moments they had stepped through, and Terrin was glad they were away from the Darker Realms...

...at least, for the moment anyway.

Now turning to the other two Sith, I bow formally to them, letting my gaze sweep down to the strangely disturbing floor of this hideous place before it rakes up and into their own pair, one after the other.

"Come, my brothers. Let us depart."

“Panthar,” Phalomir said, stepping towards him. Panthar continued to stare.

“My friend,” he repeated, stepping closer. Phalomir grew concerned and closed the space between them. He reach out and placed his hand on Panthar’s shoulder. Panthar jerked his head towards Phalomir, eyes snapping to his, wide and surprised.

“Panthar, what is it?” Phalomir asked. Panthar shook his head and smiled, and placed his hand on Phalomir’s. Phalomir immediately felt a sense of dread sweep over him, and tried to mask the concern and fear he suddenly felt. Panthar winked and headed through the portal, leaving Phalomir alone.

Phalomir turned to the chronotic shield and stared into its strange nothingness. From what he understood, nothing could enter or escape it through normal means. What had they trapped inside of that shell? The Master?

A thought occurred to Phalomir, and the feeling of dread intensified. He recalled the way the Master had entered and exited this very room, the walls opening and closing portals seemingly on his command. He looked down at his feet, where his boots were leaving impressions in the strange spongy floor, and wondered if the shield was a complete sphere, or merely a shell placed over the floor.

He stiffened, and turned towards the portal. An eerie and deep growl emanated from the opposite corner of the room, and Phalomir dove through the opening.

(((OOC-Follow Panthar, Phalomir, Aelvedaar, and Aelymaar as they join the others in Elseness)))

The Black Tower.

He snarled as he approached it, looming there before him, a desolate shadow against shadows more drear. For a moment his snarls truncated into a deep series of sadistic chuckles, as he recalled not only the wonderful tortures he had inflicted upon his once brother, but those he had promised to fulfill. It was for that express purpose that he was returning to the Tower; his snarls were for the stupidity of his demonic troops, who as yet couldn't seem to understand the meaning of discipline.

Not even upon the pain of disembowelment.

He shook his horned head, entered into the Tower, soon came to a particular room.

The dank walls echoed with his yowls of rage when he found his plaything to be missing. Quickly then, he turned and left, his strides lengthening until he was nearly running, heading now to the Master Hall of the Black Tower. His eyes grew dead, his fangs gnashed and shredded his own lips in fury, for certain he was as to who exactly had taken Lord Aelvedaar from him.

"Aelomir!"

His roar filled the halls along with his bootsteps as he quickened his pace even more.

"What have you done--"

The words were truncated the moment he entered into the torture room called the Master Hall. For there, instead of finding his unwilling companion, all he found was a black lump.

One he well recognized.

His lips curled in amusement.

"See how the mighty have fallen, to be tricked into imprisonment beneath a chronotic shield!"

He thought of letting him remain there, giving him the freedom of the Darker Realms... but no. As a shade, he held no sway in the Universe that men term real; he needed his erstwhile ally, though he hated to admit it.

Grudgingly then, he yanked the Finger of R'lous from his robes, where it had been hidden. While he couldn't drop the shield as it had been emplaced by another, he could raise it.

Using the Finger to strengthen his own considerable All abilities, he pointed it at the blank blob, watched in satisfaction as, disconcertingly enough, it appeared to worm its way upward through the very interstices of spacetime which yet existed in the Darker Realms. It rose to about three meters from the vaulted ceiling which arched overhead and there stopped, hovering impossibly.

His eyes flicked down to the spot it had covered, his lips curled to expose his fangs, his great broad chest barreled out with the breath by which he would let loose his explosive curse toward his brethren...

For the Master, it had turned a life.

For Roan, it was a cruel bastard.

---

The Master struggled against the power of the black ooze. It fought to control his mind, his body, to possess his spirit. It was the physical manifestation of the power behind the Black Tower, and it toyed with the Master for as long as it pleased. There was nothing he could do but wait until it tired of the game.

It settled into him, speaking calming whispers, promises of power, warnings of betrayal. The Master beheld beautiful images of darkness, felt the power flowing through him, and relished in the delight of what the future held in store.

Oh yes, there was hope.

But first, there was one who had gone off on his own, one who put himself above the good of the whole; one who must be punished, and then brought back into the fold.

The black ooze settled into the Master’s skin, flowing into the pours and turning his red hue into a marbleized jet black. His eyes snapped open, cold and glowing bright red around a center of pure black. He saw the strange energy surrounding him, felt its danger. He smiled and reached out to the Tower, sensing its response and acknowledgement, and began to sink into the floor.

The Master emerged from the floor a few meters from the shield, slowly unmelting. He stood effortlessly and smiled at the back of Roan, who was standing in a confused anger. The Tower knew, for it was part of its own essence that now lived within the Master, and within a second the Dark Lord Roan was sunk into the floor up to his waist.

The Master stepped behind the bellowing Roan and grasped his horns firmly, his new strength quickly twisting Roan’s head until it snapped and was facing directly opposite of where it should.

The Master smiled a black smile. Roan’s eyes widened in surprise and pain. Being dead already, a broken neck meant nothing but pain to this shade.

“My brother,” said the Master, his voice flowing like smooth silk. “I bring you good news. A joyous rebirth has taken place, and though until now you walk your own path of blindness, you too shall be taken in and allowed to nourish from our power. He has chosen ME, my friend, and I forgive you of your past. Power unlimited, my friend, that is what the Tower has given me. I shall save the Sith, I shall unite the realms, and I shall give you the vengeance you so very much deserve.”

The Master patted the top of Roan’s head.

“But the plans of the past are folly, my friend, and we must begin anew. But worry not, for we can build upon that which is already done. And we begin with a slight reminder of who you are and what is your place in this realm. I shall return for you, my friend, after your lesson, and hope that we hold a new respect for one another.”

The Master released Roan’s head and let it fall to the side. The tower floor constricted, tightening around Roan so he could not even scream. The Master sliced an opening into space and time and turned to give Roan one more glance. Black ooze from the floor had begun to creep up Roan’s chest and neck.

“Simply listen to it, my friend, and learn from it. Pride will do little for you.” The Master sounded caring, almost sad. Yet as he turned towards the opened portal a broad grin swept across his dark face.

He stepped through the portal, closing it behind him.

The Master waved his hands, opening another portal behind the surprised healer who stood before him. He smiled endearingly and pushed the air between them, sending the healer backwards through the portal and into the darkness beyond. The portal closed, and his dark skin seemed to glisten in the low light as he took in ShaRhylla’s beauty. He stepped to her bed and ran his hand across her forehead, feeling the darkness within her and relishing in the despair he felt inside of her.

“And now, my dark angel,” he whispered. “I am here for you. Awake.”

(((OOC – Follow The Master into Chasing the Shadows in this same forum)))

...all in his head.

At length his eyes snapped open, his fevered brain grew less laden with blood-hate. A sideways vision of the distant wall mocked him, reminding him of the predicament he was in. He strained to draw in a breath, Aelomir's final words taunting him, laughing at him when he found he couldn't move as much as a toe, and even that slight jostle was enough to make the black oozing diaspora creep ever higher up his chest.

Finally he stopped, closed his eyes, and for one of the very few times in his life -- or afterlife -- he calmed himself and actually tried to think.

The answer came to him with blinding simplicity.

Now he let his vision tunnel inward as he reached inside, finding that portion of his soul to which the All still responded. It leapt obediently to his call then, following his unspoken order to gather from his very thought processes minute bits of energy which it channeled into the ooze and the floor. The calmer Roan became, the harder he thought, the more energy he managed to produce and the more and more heated grew that weird non-material which entrapped him.

Hotter and hotter it grew; now he grimaced in yet more pain, bearing it's fiery embrace. But even in the Darker Realms matter is matter; though perhaps not of the same variety as that of the more earthly realms it still responded to physics. So as the floor and the ooze grew hotter and hotter the bonds holding them together grew looser and looser, until finally they liquified enough that the Sith could scrabble free of his imprisonment.

He crawled upon the cold stones of the surrounding floor, the high vaulted ceiling above him jouncing before his eyes even as the stones scraped against the flesh of his chest. When he was far enough away from the place Aelomir had enmeshed him, he pulled himself to a sitting position and with a quick jerk reached upward and twisted his head back the way it belonged.

He then turned back to the blackened and now slowly cooling ooze.

"Never again," he growled, reaching out now with the All to gather it all up into a roiling, oily ball. Then with a flick of his fingers he placed the lot of it upon a Mobius strip time-loop, that it would exist in a permanent now, thus being handily out of reach of any within this realm or any other.

He smiled grimly as the ooze popped out of existence. But the smile turned dark and foul as he recalled the last sight he had of his erstwhile ally.

"He shall not succeed," he muttered to himself, not knowing for a fact but harboring something of a suspicion as to what the so-called Master was planning.

"She will not let him..."

They will not let him...

His lip curling with disdain, he then opened up a portal into the world of the living, one linking his shadowy existence with that of the Temple of Sorcerers on Khar Delba. Through a long tunnel, darkly, he could see the glint of fire dancing in a hearth, could hear a distant murmur of a voice, could smell the fresh, clean scent of life.

"Rykounagin, my son," he called seductively across the boundless perimeter separating them.

"It is your Father; you must trust me now, my Son, and come to me now.

"Come, Rykounagin, enter into the Portal I have opened up...

"Come hither to me; there is foulness afoot and one who would keep you from your given destiny of greatness..."

((OOC: Dark Lord Roan calls out into My Enemy, My Ally in the "Jedi/Sith" forums; go there to see what happens, thank you.))

"Of course father-" He said, walking quickly through the portal.

"Father, why would you not merely-" He looked upon the strange sith who stood before him, for all appearances having been the conjurer of the portal.

It begins now, he thought to himself as he brought himself up to his full, towering height. From there he looked down at the lad, who although being fairly defenseless -- unbeknownst to him -- didn't show as much as one drop of trepidation.

This one is indeed one after my own heart, Roan thought as he strove harder to present a more calm demeanor in the face of the boy.

"I do not present myself under the 'guise of your father,' as you so charmingly put it," he said, now nodding his head in the direction of the weapon the boy carried. The lad did not reply at all, but merely tightened his grip.

"I am the one who has chosen you to become my son, and offer you in union to my daughter ShaRhylla. You can rule the Sith, my boy, in all their power and might. The two of you will be invincible, for together do you represent the very heart of the warrior.

"There is much to tell you, but first-- see for yourself..."

Again he nodded toward the weapon Rykounagin carried, only this time making it clear that it was not the sword he was trying to bring to Rykounagin's attention, but rather his wrist.

"Who are you?" Rykounagin said, while slowly bringing his arm forewards from the place where it had horizontally hovered, so that he could watch this sith as he looked upon his arm.

"The true Mark of Inheritance... of the House of Roan," he said. Then to further cement this knowledge he thrust forward his own wrist, where an identical tattoo glimmered, brazenly gold.

"Even in death does the blood of the Sith yet call out to me, and through me, to you," he intoned as he nodded his head.

"For see the Mark on my wrist has not yet grown dim... and will not until you take up the position for which you are intended."

But why the facade, the masquarade, the lies? Why not take him in as who he was in the first place, instead of hiding as the lord of sorcerers? Why not take his place as lord of warriors?

So many questions, but then. Why him? From every learning since birth, till "aelvedaar" had taken him in, Rykounagin had been taught that he had no place in the sith society- other than too serve their masters and too do no other deed.

So why him? Why not some proud sith warrior, or some strong son of Roans own? Why not merely give all power to his daughter? Why take in a mere servant of the thrones?

But now, all Rykounagin could do was chuckle, then laugh as he fell back upon the dark stone of the floor, his body trembling with the irony of it.

Here he was, Rykounagin, long ago abandonned with no possible future, and no here he lay, being offered the greatest race in the universe on a silver platter. How? Why? He didn't know, but it was too much, absolutely too much.

With perhaps a minute of this, his flesh now to match the color of his eyes as he struggled to fill his heaving lungs with breath, but then, he had to ask the questions.

"You did not question such when the offer was first presented, under the cloak of that weakling Aelvedaar!" he spat, refusing to even honor the sorcerer lord with the honorific belonging to him.

"Forgive my curiosity Lord- I am most greatful for the offering. But it is a transition that is even more awkward than at that moment." Rykounagin said quickly, how Roan had acted reminding him of someone.

Then he let his demeanor soften.

"As a non-Sith there are certain... immunities to which you are inherent, which in the near future might be of great use to me-- to us" he quickly amended, now coming forward and clapping a clawed hand upon Rykounagin's shoulder.

"For there are those who wish to remain in the ways of The Old, to follow the Old Trails, those weary by-ways down which we Sith travelled for millennia... only to be laid heinously low by the traitorous actions of a group who I have come to know call themselves the Jedi."

His hand tightened involuntarily, his claws sinking into Rykounagin's flesh with the intensity of his thoughts.

"I have come to know there were others, non-Sith, non-human, of this Jedi... but the majority were of your kind. My son--"

He cut himself off, stared down into Rykounagin's face as if suddenly seeing him there for the first time.

"With your blood, and what I teach you, and joined in union with my daughter, there will be non strong enough to stand against us. You will rule the Sith, my lad; and then through them and their strengths and your magicks and my cunning...

The death that this could involve, the pain, the destruction. Would it all be worth it too acquire what he wanted? Would the innocents lain to rest, the cries of mothers over their fallen children, the families mortefied?

Definately.

CHOSEN

"Then what is it that we shall do father?" He asked, opening his eyes to look up to him, something... feral behind them.

"Do we take vengeance upon those who destroyed us so long ago? A crusade to purge the stars of their kind? Or is it that we shall upsurp the fools upon their thrones? If it be the former, the time comes soon, for the month of harvest is soon upon us..." He smiled faintly, and yet again, something... different was there, a difference not quite definable.

But anyone who truely knew him (and there were few amongst their number), would tell this was not the same red eyed assassin that a choice few had known before.

Indeed, one after his own heart, this one. For if his weakling brother Aelvedaar could choose a human to be the tool toward whatever end he had thought he would achieve...

...then he, too, could also choose one of his own. Only one stronger, a male, a son any father would be proud of, one destined to destroy that other idiot who plagued him so, the one so full of himself to go by the pompous appellation of Master.

He squeezed Rykounagin's shoulder one more time.

"Ah, a fine warhorse you are indeed, my lad," he crooned as he deftly turned Rykounagin away from him. With his free hand he made a motion, and by that motion tore asunder the very fabric of spacetime which separated the dimensions from one another. The rift he created roiled and bubbled, writhing and churning, while dark Sith flames lapped about the edges as they sought eager entrance into the realms of reality.

Somewhere deep within that Rift, an angry young halfling's voice could be heard hissing...

"First you go and take that which is yours, that which will unite the Sith into a strong whole: the Bride through whom you shall become Dark Lord of the Warriors, and from which stance shall beckon our brother Sith to come back into what they had agreed with me, lo months ago, when my dearest Kreesha was yet alive."

As was I, the dark thought thundered in his brain.

And the one who machined that fateful event will indeed rue the day he had killed me; with what loving touch shall I return the favor, only holding him lingering on the threshold, begging release...

CHOSEN

He smiled as he saw he had been delivered to the same point that he had left from. Perhaps she had found the location from his arrival? It mattered not.

"My son!" his rich baritoned voice boomed as he strode out from the shadows.

"Have you brought that with you which shall cleave you even more tightly unto me? She who is my daughter, she whose union will strengthen you as my son through both blood and bond."

He paused in his speech, coming up to the young man, who remained kneeling respectfully. There he stopped, his eyes darkening from turquoise to deep teal.

He looked up into the teals with his blood red's, and scowled slightly. "She refuses too believe a word. Not a thing I say she will believe. That I am too be her husband, that you arranged it, not a word."

He stood, his face now scorning the wall to his left.

"She now even dares too send me too take the Finger of R'lous from you too prove that I am "trustworthy". She says that if it is all true, you shall not hesitate." he held his hand out- palm open.

"Neither of you have the blood to so much as look upon the Finger of R'lous, let alone touch it!"

His eyes unseeing for the red now blurring afront him, he reached out with one hand to the side, and snapped his clawed fingers. Immediately there materialized the Finger, the Axis, that magickal device by which powers might be strengthened, taken from those who have such, given to he or she who wields it. It lay in his hand, shining a sultry silver, a reddening glow beginning to build around it; a quick twist of that great hand and the Finger of R'lous diesppeared back into the shadows where Roan had secreted it.

He blinked, gradually bringing his raging senses back under control. A smile curled across his face, exposing his fangs.

"Tell her I deny her this request, but by this she shall know it to be true."

The hand once clutching the Finger of R'lous now reached up to his chest, upon which lay a strangely designed amulet. It bore a striking stone of blood and ichor, bound by ivory fangs of some slain warrior, topped by a single shining droplet of crystallized blood.

His fist closed round it, he yanked it from about his neck. The silver chain which held it sliced into his flesh before parting, leaving deep but bloodless cuts upon his neck and shoulders.

"Give this to her, she shall recognize it."

He thrust it out toward Rykounagin, but held on to it for a moment as his chosen son reached for it. Their eyes met over shining silver and cold stone.

"You do wish to rule the Sith, do you not?" he questioned, the words heavy with implied meaning.

Then he let go of the amulet and turned away, to once more disappear into the Sith flames which had heralded his approach. He left nothing in his wake but a temporary portal, quickly established, through which Rykounagin might slip back into the realm of reality once again.

"But it was my hand by which the thing graced yours..." He muttured quietly before slipping through the portal- feeling it close behind him.

I was not particularly afraid, but nor was I the most of amused beings as I found myself not in her warm embrace in an equally warm room, but in the chill space of the darker realms, though entwined we still were.

The words, not entirely of ShaRhylla's own devising, slid with deceptive softness from ShaRhylla's mouth. That mouth remained open then, fangs fully exposed, which before Rykounagin had scarce the time to realize had sunk themselves fully into his wrist.

The-Thing-Not-Quite-ShaRhylla, its fetters loosened even more, slobbered to itself as she devoted her full attention to her task, while the remaining portion of her own consciousness stood in something approaching appalled shock, wondering why she was doing this, why she had brought them here...

Though there was a slight pain, and a slow weakening, something else within reacted. Something dark and ancient, that was not a part of normal humanity, not a normal or natural thing at all.

The victor raised dark eyes and darker mouth to Rykounagin.

"Are you shocked?" it whispered, blood glinting redly upon its fangs.

"Once a demon, always." I did not care for any pain I felt as I looked to her, a deeper darkness seeping through me as I continued to speak. "My blood is yours as yours is mine. If you would want it, then take it!"

“Freely offered blood is of no use. Only the blood of pain and suffering brings the joy of the Dark.”

The Master kicked the boy in the back.

“Here you shall learn the true meaning of pain, whelp. Here you shall learn respect of those greater than you, and the harsh beauty of pain. Here you shall understand that what the Realm claims, none may take away.”

The Master flashed his black clawed hand through the air, ripping shreds into Rykounagin’s neck. Streams of dark blood immediately flowed from the wounds, running down his neck and chest.

“Welcome home, Dark Rose. Your ‘husband’ awaits his lessons.”

The Master’s eyes flashed red, his breath short as he growled with each inhalation.

“And when you wish to learn your next lesson, I shall be waiting.”

A face not that of the Master’s stared from behind the dark eyes. The black skin around his body boiled and rolled, and the pupils burned hot from the sockets. Long white fangs shone from the darkness of his face, and the Master’s boot kicked out again and connected with Rykounagin’s side with a loud crack. As the Master drew in a long, hissing breath, he whiled on his heel and strode off the far wall of the room the three occupied.

“Pain is fleeting, whelp,” he said without turning. “Relish it.”

The Master stopped before the wall, facing it, as if waiting. A broad smile accompanied the burning eyes.

Much more than I would like.

I growled and before she could find me, reached out with a hand and grasped her by the appoaching shoulder, rolling her from me and using her own momentum to pull me into a rising crouch.

"There is no master for a dark lord!" I spat, realizing suddenly that all former form had been lost, that horn had faded and false flesh had been rent away to reveal my true and human body within, leaving me matted in my own blood, pale hair flecked across my face by the precious red liquid.

"I am not bent by any beast save my own will!"

Even as I spoke, I knew there were two risks. Rhylla would not be pleased by my reaction, as she was already bent upon taking my blood. But the master himself was a challenge, for I did recognize him as he was, and I for one, did not intend to let him toy with me.

No one toyed with me anymore.

"Blood is never freely given, there is always a sacrifice made, and a benefit recieved." I said, quoting from some pool of thought in my mind Evictus as the very same curved sword came to my hand.

The Thing within snapped and retreated.

An inner door slammed shut.

"R-Rykounagin?" she stammered, the hand at her temple now drifting down to wipe blood from her lips, altogether too much of it for her liking. She pulled it away, stared at the fingers as if she had never seen them before.

Turned violet-rimmed turquoise eyes up against the dark.

"Rykounagin?" she repeated in a small and somehow frightened whisper. Then--

"No.. not again."

Which was, as a matter of fact, the case.

Bug-eyed entities held out elongated, scrawny arms, reaching out with fingers ghostly pale to touch her, caress her. Their slobbering and fleshy lips hung ponderously upon faces the purple-black of night, shining with drool and mucus, eager to fasten upon her skin. From roiling clouds of oiled smoke there came a blacker image, one with eyes shining deathly red, one whose own sensual lips now smiled and beckoned to her.

"My own Dark Rose," it hissed, the whisper sibilant against the horrific slurps and thickly moist sounds surrounding her, eating at her, seeking entrance once more into her very soul. That soul had once been ripe for it, had indeed welcomed such...

...but had since been altered, bent along a different path, a path which carried it yet farther from such things by the entry of Rykounagin and something akin to love into her life.

She struggled harder... then suddenly fell limp. Her head hung loosely, her hair trailing down in a flaming waterfall to the ground, her arms dangling limply at her side, her eyes seeing only madness through her tears.

The Master’s hand flashed outward, sending a shock wave of great power through the dark air. It slammed into Rykounigan’s body, sending him flying through the air towards the far wall. The wall opened immediately, allowing him unimpeded passage through it. Wall after wall opened, until suddenly Rykounigan was flying into the darkness outside of the Dark Hall. Here and there demons stopped their jabbering and squabbling to watch the stranger flying above them, eager to see where he would land.

“And now,” said the Master to himself, walking to the limp ShaRhylla. “Roan’s failure is complete.”

He reached her, and knelt. He placed a dark hand upon her forehead and searched within her.

“What life have you known?” he asked, reaching into her mind with his thoughts. “To be denied the simple life of a child, and to be thrust into adulthood. That is a crime against you, my dear, and one not easily rectified. Yet there are many trials ahead, and you mustn’t be distracted.”

The Master found the defenses set in place by Garysith, meant to both hold back the memories of her time with Entaris and to protect her from her own internal savagery. He wrapped his powers around them, and fed the power of the Dark Hall into those defenses, strengthening them, and also bending them slightly to suit his own wishes. He could not control her emotions, but he could block the madness of her conflicts and savagery, and bring peace to her thoughts.

“What is once claimed by the Darker Realms is always claimed by the Darker Realms, my child. You belong to us, and no other shall have you. Your soul, your dark heart, your love, they all belong to the Realms. You shall love none other.”

The Master reached further into her mind. The pull of Entaris was strong, and the powers of the darkness within the Master relished in this memory. Since his disappearance, Entaris left a large hole in the order of the Realm, one the Master was all too willing to fill pro temp, but even he yearned for the return of the Darkest Lord.

But that was not the purpose of this. He slipped further, finding the conflict within her, the seed of the madness he felt coursing through her.

It bent down on all fours, its stinger tail poising to strike. Now only two meters from its victim, the imp let out a snarl and pounced.

I scrambled up, Evictus again in my hand as I looked at the tower. I looked for a seemingly endless moment, at the place that scorned me and mocked me with its very existance.

Then, from some deep and unearthly pit of hate I found voice, letting out a scream that could have rent the mundane and shook the foundations of a world.

"YOU WONT HAVE YOUR WAY!" Came my voice as the scream itself retreated, causing my torso to heave in the pain and exertion it had already recieved.

...and love.

Slowly, oh so slowly, ShaRhylla's eyes opened. For a bit those eerie and uniquely bicolored orbs cast blindly about, seeking, looking, blinking and tearing until vision finally returned to them.

The tears dried.

The halfling sat abruptly up.

She turned those eyes now upon the noisome, red-eyed creature hovering near her. Upon its disgusting face, there sliced a semblance of a smile. A pseudopod of material reached briefly toward her, the gesture somehow familial.

She blinked, then turned her focus inward, seeking further knowledge there. Knowledge now easily discovered, for at long last she simply had the ability to do so. For in her short past, an innate madness had always held her captive: the part of her psyche answering to the call of her father's blood had been unleashed, to raven unchecked over her other, warmer, human half. The half which would have gathered information, assimilating and assessing before considering how to react. Trampled into near obscurity by the militaristic howling of her Sith blood, it had merely retreated away, hiding, trembling, not finding so much as a remote moment in time to poke out an inquisitive nose.

Until Rykounagin had not only been placed into her life, but once there had begun to unexpectedly creep into her heart.

Now released from naive shackles, allowed egress as mania and insanity were in turn pushed away, that human portion of her blood responded to what the Master was saying to her. Intrigued, she was able to at last face the awful image of her time with Entaris, to see not merely what they had done to each other, but what they were in each other's eyes.

One innate aspect of her very being bristled. She did not like being considered chattel.

That portion turned to the tiny remaining speck of warmth yet pulsating in her core. There she found an image even tinier: pale skin melding to red, white hair to black, eyes chromatically flashing.

Her reaction to that image was anything but merely knee-jerk reactivism.

The Master's words burned in her ears like fire. She blinked again, focused on his noxious form.

"You are mistaken," proclaimed her newly-winged human half.

"While claimed, as you say, by these Realms, it was not entirely of my own choosing."

She sat up, surprised with herself for her absolute lack of fear. She stared at the Master, feeling instead a strangely pitying connection with him, and through him, to every denizen of this dark and terrible place.

"So very, very sad," she proclaimed, getting smoothly to her feet and brushing odd bits of unknowable stuff from her gown, even as with her mind she begain instinctively reaching out, seeking a connection, no matter how small, with the missing Rykounagin.

"To face reality, or however you define this place, with such a narrow point of view."

And... yes. You as well, my yet beloved but oh so narrow-minded father.

"I find no fear here, nor reason to fear any longer."

Somewhat surprised with herself for the very words she was speaking, she turned inward once again, reaching down deeply into her very core, seeking the reason for this sudden turn-around in attitude, her lack of fear, her sudden acceptance of things larger than what they at first appear to be.

There within, a knotty door. It opened at a thought, to reveal sitting quietly within--

A single, unmoving white spider.

“It comes from the tower,” it said, hissing and clicking as it forced the words from it’s throat. “Nothings leavings tower but big lords, big lords General Roan and big lords Master of All. We am not seeing no-ones leaving tower for long times, and now you are flying from tower with flesh on your bones. Flesh in our lands, but not of our lands.”

The imp glanced back to the nearest of its brethren, then around at the gathering crowd. It looked back, almost nervously, to Rykounagin.

“And you am wearing runes,” it forced. It cocked its head to the side and looked hard at the boy.

I gave out a soft sigh, and then turned slightly to regard the demons.

"What am I? I am a dark lord. The dark lord of the warriors. But that doesn't matter, because what I am right now..."

I smirked, and looked at the tower again.

"...is something the master will wish he'd never seen before."

With that, I began to stride up towards the tower, Evictus' curved edge still in hand, as with each step, I came closer to my goal.