“Warriors?” it asked. “Dark Lord of Sith? Is am that what it is saying? If it being Dark Lord of Warriors, then it am being General Roan.”

A shivering clamor went up amongst the imps, as if the very name agitated them.

“And if it am being Roan, then we am saying ‘no more!’ No more am we fighting for you! No more am we fighting for Master!”

The imp paused, then drew closer.

“Roan am not being lord of this realm, only one am being lord of this realm, and that not being Roan or Master. We am servants of one true lord, and if you am chosen of Roan, then you am enemy. Roan and Master friends, Roan leading army in name of Master. We hates both. We am hoping you friendly against Master…”

As I asked this, I gave every image of being relaxed and at ease, though within was a burning passion that was taut, and ready to be released.

But beating it to the chase, was a small bit of intuitiveness and guile that I possessed. As I began to speak, I let a visage of feralaty that the demons possessed as well coat my expression.

"Turn against Roan? So that they both might be destroyed? To throw off my shackles and join you? That, I could delight in."

“Yes,” it hissed gleefully. “But we am needing more, and more, and more to fights Roan. His is big army, and if we am showing we fighting good, maybe more will turn for us in battle. But we needs other things firstly. Roan is spirit, livings in spirit world. But him too strong to be like us, we can die-- means we go back to void and become one with all and nothing. But him, no him stay spirit. When spirit, nothing can kill him. Needs to be made into weaker spirit, weaker likes us. Then when we killing him, he go back to void, too.”

The imp stopped chittering, and became very serious.

But the Master’s arm would not beckon to this call, and he stayed unmoving, smiling. Initially caught off guard by the advent of the darkness, the Master had been controlled by it. But he was strong willed, and even now was learning to not only coexist with the dark skin, but to influence it in turn. At length the darkness stilled as well, calmed.

“With wisdom,” he said, “you shall be a great leader. There are times of great hardship at the doorstep of the galaxy, and the Sith shall lead the way to victory. You shall then find a galaxy at your very feet.”

The Master felt the pull again of the darkness, but he stayed it. No longer would his own plans be put on hold, for his was the just and true cause that would save the galaxy.

“Your life is clouded, and many secrets I would impart to you. But begin with a thought, and a choice. You have the makings of greatness, I have granted you the balance you deserve, the balance denied you by the tug of war between your father and mother. You shall feel the pangs of human emotions, the need for the love of another. But this shall cloud your instincts, and veil the truth before you. Balance means sacrifice, and you must answer with your heart the questions you will ask yourself.”

The Master smiled once more, this time the blackness around him moving as real skin.

Now over three hundred imps formed lines behind Rykounagin, and marched in time to his own footsteps.

The Tower loomed in the distance, dark and foreboding. The black sky seemed even darker over its spires, and ominous clouds devoured the space above it. The Tower itself was the central piece to the Dark Hall, the skull-shaped atrocity that housed countless ages of dark beings. The giant dark amber beam from the central crystal moved slowly across the realms as it rotated, seeming to seek out any who dare approach.

“The Guardian,” rasped an imp from behind Rykounagin. “There it stands!”

The imp pointed to the distant tower, its disheartening blackness looming. Even from this distance, the rotting carcasses of countless species could be seen hanging from the thousands of hooks and spikes jutting from the walls. At the foot of the skull-shaped structure stood an anomaly in this black land – a large figure standing perfectly still, covered head to toe in pure white and holding what could only be described as a giant pike.

The imp broke its stride and sidled next to Rykounagin.

"I will hear your test, and complete it, guardian of the tower." I spoke strongly, but my mind spoke a different line: and even if I do not, you will not stop me.

Too great a waste of energy, energy I will need to depart from this place, the thought piped up within, pushing the remaining growls away by its surprising logic.

Instead she smiled, and blinked once.

"How do I feel?" she repeated, the tone of her voice one of musing, in obvious mockery of the Master.

"Why, I feel--"

She stopped abruptly then as a new wonder rushed down upon her, enveloping her with wings of liquid ebon.

I can feel...

No longer wrapped up in herself, the emotions she had held within were allowed to burst out. She suddenly found herself not only only capable of feeling, but that she was.

Her father--?

Undying devotion combined with a love bordering on that of infatuated selfishness.

Her mother--?

...

Cocking her head, she brought forth an image of her: long flaming hair, pale skin, brilliant violet eyes, short of stature.

Respect, she suddenly decided upon. Nothing other than that. Not yet. Not even in the face of the her supposed betrayal.

That errant thought brought her full circle back to what the Master had just told her; now she cocked her head in earnest, frowning a bit.

"I have no hatred toward either of my parents," she finally said, her frown darkening a bit more.

"You lie; there is no betrayal. I have no idea where you get this idea, but I will not listen further to such nonsense.

"And as for a galaxy being laid at my feet, why--"

Again, another pause. Again, an innate, inward scrutiny. A sensing, not seeing. A feeling, not reacting.

A solid certainty.

“It is only certain,” he said at last, “if a series of events fall into place. A true Sith, you are, dear lady, to expect the galaxy to throw itself to its knees before you and worship the dust between your toes. The harsh truth is, little one, that the Sith are not even known to exist in this galaxy of yours. Your troops are out of touch with the sort of warfare they shall encounter now, and the magicks which once brought fear into the hearts of systems now barely extend their influence upon your own people. No, child, you are not receiving a gift – you are receiving the opportunity to take something, but you need assistance.”

The Master lowered his head, keeping his eyes trained on ShaRhylla. His mouth tightened into a half-smile.

Only secrets shared with her father, in a white room full of tall, graceful people she did not understand.

As she did not understand now. But not understanding why she had no childhood memories did not mean she pined for them; one cannot, after all, miss as something lost a thing one never had.

She straightened further and looked the Master straight in his baleful, red eye.

"I do not recall such a childhood as you speak of," she said firmly. "Furthermore, it is of no consequence, for what I do remember is Father telling me that I was special, destined for greatness. I needed not the frivolity of youth, as do some.

"He made me whole enough."

She blinked as the last words slipped from her mouth, surprising her for the ease with which they had crept out from an unknown portion of her being. They hovered about her head, halfway taunting, halfway protective.

For a moment she wavered, then chose the latter course. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned away from the Master and walked to the nearest wall. It was cold and oily to her touch, and gave beneath her hand in a manner unpleasantly reminiscent of decaying flesh.

A ripple susurrated through her.

She ignored it, and turned back to the blackened being.

"You do not care one whit for me, do you?" she said, once again surprised with herself.

"You wish this power for yourself, do you not? You wish the galaxy to fall at your feet, not mine, is this not true? Else why would you have taken me from my husband, and brought me here, a prisoner.

“I seek not power,” he said. “For power I have. What I seek is something you would not understand. It is maddening, playing the part I have. Deep within me is the sadness of a father who betrayed his son for the secrets of the galaxy, only to have those secrets destroy all that the father was. Also within me is knowledge of things to come, and things that have been, and the myriad of possibilities that change with every tick of the clock.”

The Master took a step towards ShaRhylla.

“You know not who I am,” he said softly. “Yet the dark powers which enrich me are well acquainted with you. Memories, feelings of – longing. They permeate me as much as the power they give. I have no intent to separate you long from your husband – but I do entreat you to consider who it is that gave him to you, and why.”

The Master reached his hand out towards her, then paused. He retreated a step and turned his head.

“Oh great one,” it hissed. “It guardses the only ways in to the Dark Hall. No taskses, it asks you questions, in the heads, and you answers. If you knowses, you go in. If not, well…” The imp grabbed its nearest comrade and threw it towards the guardian. The huge being shone brightly, spreading its white light into the surrounding area and making the imps jump and weave. It looked down from its head, towering 8 feet higher than the hapless imp, and seemed to burn its vision into the demon. A moment of silence passed, and the imp stared blankly at the guardian. It twitched, shuffled its feet, and looked nervously back at the imp who had thrown it forward. Finally it turned its head back to the guardian.

“Seven?” it said with trepidation. The guardian, in the blink of an eye, drove its massive pike into the imp’s body and hurled it backwards, sending it flying upwards until it smacked into the side of the Dark Hall, impaled upon a huge bone jutting out from the macabre building.

If I were to fail at this moment I would die, and my world would be lost. My love could fall prey to the beast within the tower, and who knows of the other things I now had sway over.

It was a point of no return, a place where nothing in the future was certain, only one absolute existed:

To do, or to die.

Had that not been how I had lived for the past two years?

I smiled, and stepped towards the guardian, knowing from watching the guardian that the query would come to me without a word from it. There was a long, long silence, as its question filtered through me, teasing at me, prodding my thoughts.

There were so many answers to it, so manythings, that longed to draw upon my emotions, upon my pride and my faults, upon my knowledge and my ignorance.

I knew that I knew the answer, for it was not a simple question that always had an absolute. But I knew the absolute, and I feared it. I did not want to admit it. I had never wanted to admit it, and had sworn long ago that I would never believe it or say it...

But even as I readied myself for a firm answer, one that the pride and ego of a Sith Lord could be expected to give, a voice seemed to whisper in the back of my mind. It scolded me for being so selfish, for doing what I wanted when I was not the only thing that would lose if I failed.

Was that really worth it? To go out with pride at the sacrifice of so many others, including the one I most loved?

Is not humility, and Martyrdom the sign of the greatest man?

I bit my lip slightly, then opened my mouth to speak slowly. "I am..."

The words caught in my throat, and I saw the demon shift in readiness to destroy me upon my answer, if it were to be wrong. But I forged ahead, and spoke as clearly as I could manage.

"...Inadequite."

The guardian returned its pike to its original position, then looked to the next demon in line, pointing its long armored finger at it. The imps looked to one another nervously, chittering. The first imp in line looked pleadingly to Rykounagin, then looked back to the guardian, then turned and bolted as fast as it could into the darkness beyond. Imps by the dozen turned and scattered into the night.

"Such is the way of darkness..." I murmured, holding Evictus more tightly now, slowly proceeding, my mind stretching further than my body's restraints in a mental call to my loved one.

The Lord ignored the annoying sting, the whimpering growls, and merely tightened his clawed fingers about the hapless thing's throat.

"You disgust me, all of you!" he snarled, squeezing tighter with each passing word until a muffled snap reverberated into the dark.

He threw the demon off to its pack and got to his feet with a grunt.

"I have trained you to be stronger than this!" he shouted out from his perch, veritable flames of wrath leaping from his mouth. Far below his demonic horde slavered and drooled, bowing and scraping to him.

He might be lord over his foul Tower, but I have these--

"Worthless whelps!"

Yet another snarl cracked from his lips as he stood above them, hands fisted on his hips, his legs apart as he stared down at the pack of imps. They in turn strove to appease his anger by attempting to form into ranks, trying to coordinate themselves into one entire whole which, if created, would indeed be something too horrific to stop.

They managed the feat for a moment... and then dissolved into myriad snapping, yapping individuals.

Roan sighed, his vision growing darker by the minute. Then his eyes narrowed as another thought struck.

My son has strengths within him; perhaps with his aid these ridiculous creatures will be beaten into something close to being disciplined!

Thus it was that he reached out along the Link he had formed with Rykounagin, just in time to "see" his interaction with the Guardian of the Black Tower. Through Rykounagin's own eyes he sensed his entry therein.

The lad has courage and honor, I'll grant him that much, he thought, knowing he could not go to his aide physically, knowing as well that he was in the most dire of danger.

But he does not yet have the power he needs.

A whisper wafted from his synapses, through the ether, into Rykounagin's brain, seeking out every cell, every neuron, every electrical bypath.

"Remember the Channeler, son, that I would deign you not touch. It can help you in your time of need..."

He fell into a mental silence, the wails of the slobbering demons utterly lost to his ears.

As powerful as it is, it is no tool! Time and time again I have encountered it and found nothing but betrayal and hate within it! It seeks to work only for its own purposes!

As I spoke, I saw that the staircase was leveling out, the doorway about a hundred yards up the steps. The darker realms did seem to like being extra-dimensional.

I will not use such a thing! I will not become its pawn!

As I progressed up the stairs, the stairwell seemed to be growing smaller, crushing in; even more evident when tendrils of the structures "flesh" began to reach out at me like the claws of demons, to tear at my flesh and keep me from my goal.

My next words were spoken and transmitted as with a fury I gathered my own magical energies and thrust with my blade at the claws, which quickly were pressing in closer upon me, threatening to overwhelm me.

"Love... and faith... is strength enough!"

With a broad sweep of magical energies, I sent a rush of cleansing flame about the passage, causing the walls and tendrils to recoil away, opening the path as I charged up the steps, determined that the master would accost my love no more.

Kreesha, dishonored at Her hand, dead by His.

His anger erupted into pure, molten wrath, blinding him for the moment, constricting within his chest. Beneath his feet the imps took note, and fled yowling into the blackness of the beyond.

With great effort he forced his anger, if not likewise to flee, to at least simmer down a touch until he could think again. Drawing in a deep mental breath, he brushed outward again, seeking Rykounagin.

Do not place so high a regard in this thing called Love, my Son, he sent forth.

It would make weaklings of the strong, and destroy that which we desire. Only power, power and strength, truly prevail over the worst of adversaries, the most trying of times.

Heed the words I send you, and remember the touch of R'lous. It will assist you when you call, this I promise you.

---

The darkness returned quickly as Rykounagin’s flames dissipated. The walls expanded, making more room for his passage, until they withdrew into a chamber before him. As the walls moved away, four large shapes emerged from them, as if deposited by the walls during their regress. Each black shape dripped thick ooze, until almost in unison tails whipped from the back of each object, wings extended, and the humanoid shapes of four demons now stood before him.

Unlike the imps Rykounagin had encountered outside the tower, these demons looked remarkably like human females. But these demons bore wings, whip-like tails, red skin and piercing black eyes. Moving with discipline, two assumed an action stance before him, waving their horrible tails above them, ready to strike, while the other two moved slowly to either side, flanking. Claws extended, jaws snapped, and dark saliva dripped from incredibly sharp fangs as each being watched their prey with steel cold eyes.

One of the flanking demons swooped its tail in a lightning strike, passing centimeters over Rykounagin’s head. The wind brushed his hair, and a cold chill permeated his scalp. The demon sneered, its saliva falling to the floor and hissing as it bubbled where it struck. The hissing seemed to grow louder for a brief second, leaving a whispered word in Rykounagin’s ear:

Leave.

Which she now stamped impatiently. Lady though she considered herself, she did not particularly like to be stared at as if she was some kind of delicate china doll, or a rare and treasured jewel in a hoarded collection. Respect and fear she expected, demanded.

Being seemingly ignored did not sit well with her at all.

"I see you do not have the common courtesy to answer a simple question!" she flared, her eyes flashing dangerously. Now her nostril joined with the curl of her lip; barely keeping herself from snorting in an unladylike manner, she went on.

"Very well then, I suppose it is of no matter to me who or what is coming to attack the Galaxy; I am strong enough to eliminate the threat, so my Father said.

"He does not lie."

The last words were thrown out almost as if in a dare, striking against the Master's oily face like flitting gnats. He remained silent, considering her.

Her anger swelled further.

"You state you are not going to keep me long from my husband; I demand to be let free to go to his side.

"Now."

Whirling about, she then moved to a nearby wall, in the oozing side of which there lurked a sickly indentation. It appeared somewhat rectangular, and of a height to accomodate a humanoid body. Without showing one whit of fear or hesitation, she reached out a pale hand and laid it flat upon what would be the frame if that indentation was truly a door. It felt warm and squelched moistly beneath her touch, giving slightly but doing no more.

Her eerie bi-colored eyes flashed again and she pinned them on the blackened, leering Thing.

"Well?" she questioned in her most imperious tone of voice.

"Am I free to leave or not?"

I shifted my weight slightly, and by the squelch below me, was reminded that this place was... almost alive. This gave me a thought, and I reversed my grip on Evictus.

"Not until I get what I want. And I always do."

I grabbed the blade by both hands, and knealt to bring the blade and all my weight down on it, sending it sinking into, and then through the floor. I let out a burst of magical energy, and felt it channel through the blade, finding that it seemed to work as a part of my own body in that respect.

I felt the flame pulse into the flesh, and felt it give way as it burst into the magical flames around me, sending me into a free-fall down to the hall below, twisting. In mid-air, I was at their mercy. Not a thing I exactly liked, as they had wings; and seemed ready to employ them.

I flipped Evictus around in my hand, now falling backwards and hoping I wouldn't reach the ground too soon as I stretched my arm back and hurled it up with a tremendous force. The blade denied gravity and my aim was true as it impaled one of the demons through the midsection, bringing a gratifying scream from her and knocking her from flight.

But now I knew I was far too close to the ground, and spun just in time to see that the ground was about to reach up and embrace me. I stretched my arms and hoped that with all my training that the angle was right.

I felt my hands hit the squishy surface, and bounced off of it, sliding a few feet with a roaring pain flairing in my wrists and back. But no time!

Stretching a hand out, I dismissed and summoned Evictus from the demoness' body, and felt it firmly in my hand even as the other three remaining demons descended towards me.

“In the eyes of a child,” he said, musing, “Mother and Father are gods. Though your body shows otherwise, a child you indeed are.”

The Master waved his hand, and the wall behind him shimmered in a small spot, becoming almost glass-like.

“An invasion beyond any the galaxy has seen shall soon take place, and you shall be thrown against it regardless of whether or not you believe me. But the only way you shall overcome it is with my help. Your father, great as he is, has not your power – for one thing, he is dead and his powers in your realm are of no significance.”

The Master waved his hand again, and the glass-like area shimmered once more, changing color until it was a cloudy gray.

“As for your husband, I am afraid I cannot allow you to go his side. However, he is in this tower, fighting his way to us as we speak. He is about to face a defining moment in his life, would you like to see?”

The clouds within the glassy window parted, revealing a viewscreen of sorts. Within it, Rykounagin had just tumbled to the ground, sword in hand, strange demonic screams growing closer.

The first one passed to his left, drawing his eye just for a split second. It was enough to allow the second to pass on his right, her whip-like tail striking his head with a loud crack. Serrations opened a gash across his scalp from which blood began to ooze. The third, laughing maniacally, caught his feet in her tail as she landed directly in front of him, pulling with ferocity and sending him tumbling to his back. The other two demons flew upwards, directly above, and prepared to plunge back towards him, claws extended and ready to tear into his flesh.

“This is the one who would rule the galaxy?” the third demon laughed. “I expected more of a man!”

"You cannot stop me, you know," she hissed, hunching a bit like a cat ready to strike. Then, the motion swift as lightning, she reached out with one hand and, using the All inherent to her, tore open a great rip in the essence of the Black Tower. It seemed to let out a deathly moan as she concluded this motion, the wails rising in crescendo as she clenched her fist and seemed to squeeze.

"I might not be able to leave this place, but I can travel about within it. My Father is not as stupid as I believe you think him to be.

"As for this invasion, and how desperately I need your help to fight it- PAH!"

She turned to the Master and spit in his face. The globule struck his cheek, adhering there glue-like, clinging to him like a droplet of blood.

"You overestimate yourself!"

With that she turned back to the rip she had made, stepped forth and through...

...to then find herself in a dim, clammy chamber somewhere within the recesses of the Tower, where Rykounagin was holding forth against the furies.

"I am sorry to be so late," she said prettily enough, even as with one hand she reached toward the nearest flying temptress and let forth a blast of Sith lightning. It struck the harpy full in the face, coiled about her blackened flesh, and knocked her head over hiney for several meters into the dark.

Even as the demon fell from her strike, I could not help but grin. "Just in time actually." I rose to my full height again and spun, extending a hand towards one of the demons as she flew about us, trying to catch us off gaurd.

However she should have had her own up, as black tendrils flew from the floor and wrapped about her limbs, dragging her too it and holding her there as I almost non-chalantly paced to her, using a simple underhanded stroke to send her "pretty" face from her body, head rolling several meters away.

I turned to see as my love destroyed the last demon with her mere will, and smiled, letting Evictus go for a moment as I trotted to her, embracing her in my arms. "May we go from this wretched place? Or do we finish it now?" As I spoke the last words, I looked to the ceiling above.

“I had hoped you see it through reason,” he continued, the energies still pumping from his hands. “But it appears you understand only the language of violence. Then hear this plainly, for it is not your choice I ask for. It is your compliance, your obedience.”

He cocked his head as the energy still poured from him, smoke now rising from both of the couple. With a jerk he snapped his hands down and the energy stopped, allowing the limp figures to tumble to the ground in a heap.

Dark demonesses slithered from the walls, moving quickly to gather behind the Master. He eyed the barely moving couple.

Finally as it stopped, I slowly began to pick myself up, leaning heavily on Evictus, as I slumped upwards, raising my head painstakingly.

"You want obedience...? You want, allegience?" I asked, glaring up at him, panting from the exertion as I inwardly sought some way to get us out of a most sticky situation.

"You'll get my allegience... when you're a corpse... rotting... after the tuk'ata are finished with you!" I spat, suddenly finding what I needed.

But was it worth it?

If it would save my love? It was worth it. If it saved us both? It was definately worth it.

I reached out with my mind, searching and probing as quickly as I could for the thing that could be our salvation. Suddenly I felt it, almost pulling me to it as it always did. I let out a growl inwardly and faught its seductive call.

Alright Channeler... you know I don't like you... but you also know that if I lose here, so do you. So give me your powers, and I'll see sure to it that this becomes a victory for the both of us!

She was laying on her side, and the tip of Rykounagin's boot swam in her vision.

Now the reality of the situation sank in as the foul sensation of not-quite-stone caressed her cheek. She shuddered and sat up, swaying a bit dizzily while oozing tendrils of the quasi-floor tried unsuccessfully to keep her fully adhered to it. That gentle yet insistent pull brought her fully to her senses; gagging, she swiped at her face, clearing it of the gelatinous goo.

She looked up to see Rykounagin in his confrontation with the Master, heard the final words he shot at the blackened entity. Opened her mouth to join in even as she began to get to her feet...

...only to fall back upon the drooling floor beneath her. She stared angrily at her legs, which for some reason weren't responding to her command to rise, tried her utmost to move them.

She couldn't even wiggle so much as a toe.

Now she turned a hot glare toward the foul creature who stood leering so supercilously before them. Deep within her, something noisome and dark struggled to rise up, to lash out, to spring upon him with all the strength and fury at her disposal. As if from a memory of a dream an image floated to her mind, one of her mouth hungrily attached to warm flesh, fangs sinking and tearing deep even as her clawed fingers scrabbled to rip and flay great strips of flesh, digging down through muscle into bone.

A ripple passed through her as she fought the strange image back into the recesses from which it sprang. Then turning slitted eyes upward she finally spoke.

"You lie."

The words were neither accusatory nor angry. They were a simple statement of fact.

"You speak in great riddles," she continued calmly, as if she wasn't laying half-weakened at the mercy of something whose full powers had yet to be ascertained.

"You wish our allegiance, our fealty, our obedience? How can we give this to you? How so especially now, since after the words you already have spoken to me, and the obvious admiration you showed me mere minutes ago, you treat us thus."

Now she shot a glance upward at Rykounagin, who looked as if he would rend the entire Tower asunder were it in his power to do so. The image that provoked was a pleasing one indeed, and for a moment she thought the insidious spread of warmth deep within herself was a simple response to her desire to seek vengeance. Pausing a moment, she quested inward: there was definitely something strange in the works, as if multi-tendriled hydrae were creeping about within her nervous system, seeking synapses and ganglia, creeping along axons and curling themselves from there into the very heart of every cell of her body.

A slow rush of warmth began to spread throughout her, like a rising tsunami bearing down on shore.

She blinked up at Rykounagin once more, now shivering and trembling with the buildup of energies within her. What this was she had no idea, until a quiet murmur echoed in her mind...

The Dark Lord of the Sorcerers smiled blackly as he snatched up yet another demon who hunkered gibbering and drooling nearby. Holding it by the throat, ignoring the whipping, defensive tail with which the creature strove to attack its molester, he simply shoved the claw of his index finger into the side of its neck and twisted.

Black ichor, and bodily liquids of sickly pink and olive color slid forth from the wound, to drip like half-frozen oil onto the object he held in his other hand directly beneath the sluggish flow:

The Finger of R'lous.

With each drop of demonic fluid that struck it the channeler seemed to shudder, growing warmer and throbbing as if building up to something momentous. All about the Dark Lord lay the limp forms of already destroyed demons, the number attesting to the fact of the inherent strengths held within the Sith device. It let out another preliminary jolt, nearly leaping from his hand; tightening his grasp more firmly he held the thing fiercely, rock-steady in his hand.

And pointed directly at the Black Hall of the Darker Realms...

...and the Guardian as well.

Now he let his lids half-close as he called out into the two young minds with whom he was linked.

"My daughter, trust me, your father who loves you," the words whispered like black silk in ShaRhylla's mind.

"Let yourself go...

"And my Son, use that which she has, that which I have; trust in your Father who takes great pride in you."

Smiling blackly he straightened out the arm holding the now openly struggling Finger, steadying his aim upon the Guardian and the Hall. The demonic eyes of that hulking ediface seemed to glare down at him with all of Hell's fury; he ignored it utterly, his lip curling in disdain.

"Foolish, pompous creature; in Death I am beyond his reach and he knows it. But life's blood yet flows through his veins.

"We shall soon be rid of him, my beautiful, beautiful children..."

A quick bark of laughter bubbled like oil from his lips; then he concentrated more fiercely, waiting for his Son to complete the Link fully held between the threesome, that the Channeler might do what it was designed to do.

I let the thought slip out as my body went ridged, channeling now even more to my father and the channeler, soon to know of its power as I let out a choked scream of pain, feeling it rush even faster. A rapid river of magickal energy that threatened to drown me as the link was completed.

"Your... time.. is comming!" I spat at the master, knowing that there was no more he could do, that nothing could save him.

This incredible power was being guided via the Sith magicks slewing out of Rykounagin, which had the utter audacity to grasp Rhylla's powers and drag them along with it via the mental link. Erg after erg flowed along the invisible conduit, into Roan, down his arm...

...and into the Finger of R'lous.

Which abruptly exploded into life.

The Darker Realms grew incalculably bright then as the incredible energy burst forth from its tip, directed at the brilliant white armor of the Guardian. Striking against it, the energy danced a tarantelle of immeasurable magnitude, a gigantic St. Elmo's Fire which played along his being to burst out in turn through his eyes, his nostrils, the tips of his fingers, empty now since his pike had been blasted wholly away from them.

As if in some kind if fantastic centrifuge the energy released and channeled by the Finger roiled around and around the Guardian, gaining momentum and thus gaining further strength until finally it careened from that awful entity and slammed into the foul, death-bestrewn walls of the Dark Hall.

The Tower groaned in almost mortal anguish as the entire side facing Roan simply evaporated, leaving it open to his entry.

From above, unseen by Roan as strode through the rubble with the Channeler in hand, a bright white light faded. The armor of the guardian melted into cesium and a waft of smoke dissipated into nothing.

Sleep well, my brother. Your slavery is at an end, join now with those who banished you here, and forgive each other. If all goes well, I shall soon join you.

The Master turned, ignoring the threats from behind. His dark skin hardened, lightning drifting about his body. He began walking towards the wall.

“He approaches,” said the Master, raising his hands outward to his side. “He is ready to wage war upon me, to use you in claiming lordship over this dead realm. He brings with him the true demon, the end of everything.”

The Master turned with the speed of wind to face Rykounagin again.

“But he knows nothing of true lordship,” he spat. “I know my fate, I shall prevail.”

The walls behind the Master parted, opening widely until the space beyond was nothing but dark sky. The figure of Roan stood in the center of the new clearing.

What my heart tells me? That was a quaint thought. After all, I had origonally been born to serve without question, to make decisions not for myself, but only decisions that would accomplish my assigned task quicker and more efficiently.

What did my heart want?

It wants to be what it has become. I want to be with my love ShaRhylla. I want to be the dark lord as I should be. I do not want to grovel to such a creature as this.

I hefted myself straight, Evictus held firmly in my right hand, tip pointing to my boot-tips as I hefted a smirk upon my face.

“Ah, so you know what you are?” he asked. “Look around yourself, lad. Do you know where you are? Ask that of your new father as he gives you the tour, and maybe you shall discover for yourself why Hell contains only Sith?”

The Master glanced at ShaRhylla, and for the faintest of seconds his eyes seemed to soften. Then he leveled his gaze back to Rykounagin.

“Salvation is about sacrifice, always remember that. A Lord is more than his station, and if he cannot be Lord with his heart, then he is no Lord at all.”

The Master heard the shuffle of Roan behind him. His smile widened, and his eyes seemed to light.

“Now let us bring about the end of all things!” he shouted.

The Master turned once again, this time towards Roan. Neither Sith Magick nor the All, the dark powers seethed within him and flew from his fingertips in the form of a pitch black flame that seared Roan’s spirit and brought about howls of rage from the beastly being.

The Master stepped towards Roan, who was livid.

"This--!"

The word hissed from his blackened lips like the susurration of an adder: low, haunting, and completely deadly. His clawed hand scrabbled within the Sith robes of royalty he yet wore, bringing out from beneath their silken folds a shining, faceted gem.

It gleamed upon the palm of his hand like the last drop of blood siphoned from a body:

The Nar Kelba. Or rather, a Nar Kelba.

Roan's smile widened, cracking his face.

"You didn't really think there was only one," he said, unknowing if Aelomir knew of his history with the soul-stealing gem, uncaring one way or the other.

"And of course it was created at my direction."

The smile grew grimmer as he inserted a claw into one of the jewels gracing the hilt of the Finger, twisting and turning until he had pried it from its setting. Before anyone could react, indeed scarcely before it had sunk into anyone's brain that what he held was no ordinary gem, he thrust the Nar Kelba into the empty socket, securing it with an annealing coil of the All.

"And now, my dear and one-time friend, you shall die."

With that he pointed the now soul-devouring device at the Master, and let the energies fly.

At long last!

Thousands of years, waiting! Maneuvering, positioning, coaxing the beings of mortal flesh to do what needed to be done to reach the final goal, and now it was here!

T’elion’s glee danced within the Finger of R’lous, making the gemstones glow in colors never before seen. All but one, that one wonderful gem of such long yearnings! That one small bit of crystal that would allow him to complete his goal and return to the netherworlds!

For long eons had the Darker Realms fallen further and further into the depths of evil. It was not meant to be, for the balance was never that of good and evil, the balance was that of light and dark. T’elion knew this well, for expertly did he walk the lines.

But since the coming of the Tower, the Dark Hall they called it at times, the realm of darkness turned more to the ways of evil, led by evil lords and fueled by the powers of this place. That could no longer be allowed. Darkness held its own balance.

And now T’elion delighted that his purpose was to be fulfilled… an assassination of epic proportions.

Backed by the powers of the All and the stored Sith magick, T’elion let loose with all of his might into the dark being before him.

The blast hit the Master with a force that bent him backwards. The wind circled around him, and he stood straight, but could not move otherwise. A cyclone of power entwined him, and he threw back his head and screamed.

More power! More!

T’elion commanded the channeler to reach out and take what it needed, and just as it had siphoned from Phalomir, it now stretched its tendrils outward and sucked energy from ShaRhylla and Rykounagin. Draining them both to exhaustion, it fed that new power into the Nar Kelba.

Bits of black flesh began to flake and peel from the Master, joining the whirlwind until the winds about him swam in darkness. Finally, in a blinding explosion, a ball of wind, blackness, and fire emanated outwards. The force knocked Roan to his back, and the walls of the Tower trembled and then began to fall around all – the fallen Roan, the nearly unconscious ShaRhylla, and the drained Rykounagin.

All about them black walls fell to the ground in rubble, items and objects buried in blackness. Smoke billowed forth from the rubble, and the sound was deafening.

Her legs would not respond to her commands. Worse, neither did that beautiful power she was endowed with at birth. Whether or not this inability was permanent was something she did not know, she only knew that she was in the dark, being slowly crushed, and could do absolutely nothing to extricate herself.

Choking back tears of anger at her helplessness, she tried now to move her arms, to push back at the enormous weight that pinned her. Unlike her legs, her arms yet worked, but could scarcely move as they too were pinned. She could only lay where she was, weakened and frightened, and as much as she hated it, hope for rescue to arrive.

Suddenly from within there came strangeness: images in utterly crystal clarity burst forth from some hidden place in her brain, bringing with the the knowledge that once she was Queen here, consort to Evil, welcomed and cherished like a choice possession. Image after image scrolled through her mind, danced mockingly on her lids, laughed at her for how easily she had been taken up and used, and so easily let go. For when her mother had appeared to force the blackness from the spirit of Darth Wicked and return her to the realm of the living, she had not the strength within her to fight back.

Or perhaps... it had been something else entirely. Not an inability, but an unwillingness. A bit of her true self screaming out for recognition through the cloying miasma that had filled her being, placed there by the blackness then going by the name of Entaris.

Entaris...

She shuddered now at the mere thought of him, stark memories flooding her, laughing at her, revealing to her a reality she could not bear to accept. Daughter of Roan she was, and continued to be: selfish, haughty, prideful, but not evil. That had been due to the skillful manipulations of the darkness, the sheer evil emanating from this place.

Which, with its sudden departure, now left a gaping hole in her psyche, one aching to be filled.

Tears of the closest thing to remorse the young halfling would allow herself to feel flooded her eyes, mixing with leftover bits of the destroyed Black Tower to rime her eyes with goo. She blinked fiercely, reaching yet more deeply within herself, striving to touch that portion of her essence that indeed was ShaRhylla, daughter of Roan and Graysith, and to then hold onto it like a lifeline. Instead she found another image: that of Rykounagin, standing fearlessly before the sneering Master, Evictus pointed at his boot.

That would do ever so much better.

Roan burst through the cloying web of nonthinking, unfeeling that had grasped him, and back into full awareness of the realm he now inhabited, once more fully connected to it. He sat up with a roar, throwing rubble from his warrior's frame by the sheer impetus of that movement, the Finger of R'lous still clutched within one clawed hand. Snorting the last of the encroaching dark from his nostrils, he cast his gaze upon the device, frowning as he considering it.

It lay in his grasp, cold and dark, the Nar Kelba cracked and lifeless. Immediately he sensed the emptiness within the device, and lifted his arm to toss it amidst the rest of the rubble when he stopped. Indeed, the Nar Kelba, one of three he had commissioned to be created, had joined its predecessor, but there was yet another one he had hidden skillfully away.

This device could yet be useful, he thought to himself as he clambered to his feet, thrusting the silent Finger of R'lous into his belt, covering it's presence with his robes. Then he began making his way through the remnants of the destroyed Tower, calling out to Rykounagin and ShaRhylla as he searched.

Probing with the little energy left within my mind, I sought my love, and soon had located her. I hobbled in her direction as fast as I could, and came to find her trapped under a section of the wall. It was large, and she was fortunate it had not crushed her.

"Sharhylla!" I exclaimed, quickly going to the rubble. "Push!" I commanded, wrapping my fingertips under the rubble, and with already screaming muscles, lifted it very slowly; just barely enough for her to get out.

"R-Rykounagin!" she panted as with a grimace she forced herself over onto her stomach. From this position she was able to dig in her elbows and fingertips, wriggling along the eerie non-floor, her legs dragging uselessly behind her, until at long last she managed to break free from her confinement entirely.

She let out another gasp and rolled onto her back.

"Rykounagin--"

Honestly? I was surprised that I was able to keep going, having been beaten, bruised, struck, drained, and then nearly crushed a dozen times over. But still, for my love, I could do anything.

I encountered my father soon enough, and gave an exhausted sigh.

"Father... she is injured... exhausted... please return us to the material plane so that I may treat her. I fear this place will do no good for the well being of her healing. "

I bowed my head slightly at this, respect for his accomplishment here great.

The Tower's death throes...

That thought erased completely the grim lines from his face. His nostrils curled in victory.

He had done it... and now the way was open for his plan to be put into action.

"Yes, my Son," he finally spoke as he kicked his way over to Rykounagin. There he stopped to stare down upon them a moment: his half-comatose daughter and adopted Heir.

Such a fine pair they make, he thought to himself, for a brief moment wishing that the daughter had been of Kreesha's blood. This he soon dismissed as being borderline ridiculous, for a child by the love of his life would merely be pure Sith. In exchange for the purity of the blood, this offspring brought with her the innate ability to use the All.

A more than equitable exchange indeed.

"Return to K'eel Doba with her, my lad," he went on as he reached out a hand in preparation of creating a Portal.

"Tend to her injuries, and remember: not all that she bears are physical in nature."

Saying no more he twisted his hand, tearing open a rift between dimensions, opening the doorway that the pair could rejoin the living once again.

There is pain…

The Master woke with a start, gasping in air. He felt the weight of rubble all about him, pinning his body. The pain was great, but he nearly relished it, feeling it at last after so long. He felt different – free, unchained, clean, alive. He felt his own feelings, his own heartbeat, and in a moment he realized that was free from it.

He lifted, but the weight was too great. He felt for the power of the darkness, but it was not there. A brief moment of despair was mixed with elation, for even though that power had made him a prisoner, it was all he knew for countless years. He paused, then reach inside for his knowledge of the All. He reached into the rubble that held him, using his talent to change its molecular structure. It loosened, then melted around him until he lay in a dissipating pool of blackness.

He stood weakly, his leg throbbing in pain. The rubble about him was piled high, the tower itself had collapsed and the devastation rained over many square meters. He could see shapes moving in the distance, vulturous imps coming to pick through the ruins.

Roan was nowhere to be seen, as likewise the Daughter and the boy were gone. Either buried in the rubble or escaped, he could not say, but until the imps from the fringes dare approach, he was for the moment alone.

Suddenly a thought filled his head, and he began to search the surrounding rubble. He hobbled from pile to pile, overturning black stones and ancient bones, moving them with the All. His search grew more and more frantic as he could not find his quarry, and his eagerness turned to despair as he realized his powers were too drained to continue.

He sat on a stone, resting, when the gibbering of imps came to his ear. He looked out and saw several of them drawing nearer to the rubble, bold enough to approach the remains of the tower which held fear over them for eons. He swore under his breath and stood again, continuing his search by physical means. The pain in his leg grew worse.

Finally, under a mound of black and gray bones, he found Graysith. Her spirit still slumbered, but it was no longer protected by the powers of the Tower. He sat next to her and sighed a breath of relief.

“Roan did not know you were here,” he said quietly. “But that will not last. I am sorry, so very sorry. But now is not the time for repenting, now is the time to escape.”

He waved his hand before him, in an attempt to open a portal. He was too drained, however, and the air merely shimmered. He stared blankly.

“Phalomir,” he whispered. “He will help, he must.”

The Master reached inwards, following the connection he once felt with his son. It was still there, even after the coming of the Darkness. Even after the deals with the Darker Realms that brought about this entire incident. Back in the days when all he cared about was preparing for the invasion. For that was his gift, and his curse, to see visions of the future. It was this vision that led him to desperation, and in turn led him to strike bargains with the darkness of this realm, not knowing at the time that it was evil he was dealing with.

But now he found that link once more, and called out to his son. Over dimensions, over space, and over all existence.

But there was nothing.

The Master despaired, fearing his son was now dead. He lowered his head, staring at Jharmeen’s spirit.

“Wait…” he said. He touched her spirit, reaching into her own feelings. There, at the forefront, were several links and feelings that were very strong. One, of her Adept, was very strong indeed. This could possibly be a link he could follow, for even though his All powers were weak for the moment, he felt his own Sith magick surging. He grasped it, established himself as part of the link, and followed it, pouring his own abilities into that attempt. Soon he felt her, then saw her, and knew he could communicate to her.

He saw her, sitting in the grass on a warm day. Her hair flowed in the breeze, and her eyes widened at the sight of him. But it was not all correct… she was not as he remembered her, she was very small, a mere child! His powers were in such flux that his own strange knowledge of time had interfered! But he had to do this, there was no time to try again, and his powers may fail completely.

“Shayla,” he called out. “Do not be afraid, child. In time, you will know me. Forces in your time shall prevent you from knowing these words, for the evil will know. But I will hide this in your dreams, and when the evil is gone you shall remember. Jharmeen holds you dear, for it is through her I found you. I have done terrible things, I have allowed myself to be used… but it is gone, the evil, and I-- I need you. She needs you! When you remember this, you will know. Come to us, now, before it is too late!”

He inhaled, the strain of this effort draining him further.

“Roan has the Finger”, he wheezed. “He has destroyed the Tower… my powers, too weak. Use your link with her, you have the ability! I can feel it in you. Forget what you think you know, you have to realize your true potential! Come!”

From somewhere deep within her spirit, that which is Jharmeen Jhin'Dar Q'utaro shies back in horror, as that which is known as the Beast rears upright in victory. It's flat, pewter eyes flash into blood red, and it howls its glee as it spews forth a particularly tarry mass from its maw.

Lying on the bier where she had been placed, the Chosen Daughter of the Sith twitched, moaned...

...and faded into an oblivion so deep it would take something momentous to find her. Then with a suddenness that took the hovering Aelomir quite by surprise, she sat upright, her violet eyes open and searching, the Glyph shining upon her forehead.

"Where am I?" she queried softly, painfully, and oh so very skillfully.

Clinging to Terrin like the line to Life and sanity that he was, I took a look about myself. Nothing much had changed from the last time I had been in this foul and deathly place: it was still black, it still echoed with the distant gibbers of nameless things which inhabited it, and the ground beneath my feet still felt like...

Well, what exactly it felt like I shied away from like a nervous ikopi. Shaking off a shudder I looked ahead, unaware that Terrin's fingers were turning white in my grasp.

"There's Shayla and Darra and Lord Aelvedaar," I pointed out, whispering without really being conscious of it.

"Let's go."

I took a step forward, then stopped in my tracks. For Darra had shifted her stance, revealing to my line of sight a vision that was almost flabbergasting it was so unexpected:

Rubble. Tons and tons of rubble. So much rubble that to tell Khaandon's truth about it, I was surprised I hadn't noticed it right away.

"Another day, another bad feeling," he then quipped, albeit rather darkly. And then he followed Matt into the portal...

...and found himself stepping into something that looked worse than his room as a child.

Which was saying quite alot. His jaw hit the non-ground of the Darker Realms, and he found it hard to pick up. But as per his usual, Jasyn managed.

"Kriffing hell, it looks like a sandstorm hit. We'd better find who we are looking for and get the bloody hell out of here, cause I don't wanna be around when whatever it was hits again."

Mentally preparing himself for the utter darkeness he knew he was about to be surrounded with, Shawn stepped into the portal...

...and stepped once more into a realm that probably no other Jedi knew existed. As he did so, he arrived in time to hear Jasyn Lancaster's comments.

"Indeed," he replied with deceptive Jedi calm. "If this is the handiwork of the Finger, as has been implicated, I'd hate to know what the device might do to anything else..."

Jedi or not, a hint of darkness was easily readable in this observation.

Thoran stopped as he walked through the portal, staring at the devastation in disbelief. He stood motionless, gaping, until Panthar stepped through and walked into him.

Thoran looked at Panthar, disbelief in his eyes.

“The Tower,” he forced. “It’s gone. Destroyed…” His eyes widened, and he turned back to the rubble.

Shayla's greeny-blue eyes snapped open in shock. "Something is not right," she whispered, uncertain as to the orgins of the darkness which had slammed into her.

Gently, so as not to alarm whoever it was that had brushed up against her being, she pushed against the tendril, guiding not so much as rejecting it until it was out of her body altogether. A quick inner perusal affirmed she was clear of the oddity; she was not naive enough to believe it was a passing thing.

Her inward smile was as black as the oiliness now filling her as, the effort occuring with studious calm, she erected a mental and emotional barrier, skillfully weaving it with thoughts and feelings she found lurking within this neuron or that, until she was assured that if any further tendrils should come questing they would find nothing but what they were expecting to find:

Jharmeen Jhinn'Dar Q'utaro, the Chosen Daughter of the Sith.

Now she raised a soft and tremulous voice to Aelomir.

"This is too easy," he stated aloud. "Not that I don't believe the vision, but please recall we were plotting how to kill this same Master about 5 standard minutes ago. While Jharmeen could very well be out there with him, as he stated, the Master could be using this as a rather convenient trap. We should be more cautious."

Erik paused at this, turning to Aelveedaar before he stepped out to follow behind his wife. "Is there anything we can do to brace ourselves, should the Master be using our quest to save Jharmeen to his advantage? He's already nearly gotten his claws into some of us once..."

...Shayla included...

"...and I'd like to take any steps possible towards preventing him from doing so again."

"Of course it's too easy!" I burst out, exasperation worming up through the terror that still tried to freeze me in my tracks.

"And for a very good reason; look!"

I waved at the expansive rubble we had now come upon, pausing at the fringes to decide what in Hell's Seven Circles we would do next.

"I mean, isn't it obvious that the Thing is dead? Destroyed? Down for the count, deep-sixed, shelved, lost to limbo--"

I bit off the remaining string of allegories, collected myself, shoved down the niggle of utter fright that used that moment to try to poke its nasty lil ol head out, and went on.

"Look, I remember what Phal told me about this place. This is an evil thing, this Tower; it isn't just a place, it's a thing. And I'd say it's pretty much toast now, wouldn't you?

"Besides, if there was any leftover in my sister, wouldn't you be sensing it, Shayla? Wouldn't someone be noticing something? We sure managed to wiggle it out of Panthar; can't see why this would be any different."

I ground to a halt and moved forward, now beginning to pick my way amidst the foul ruins.

"C'mon, Jharmeen has to be in here somewhere, right? Panthar? Lord Aelvedaar? I mean, wouldn't this be the logical place that Phal's dear ol' daddy would have taken her?

"I'm sure glad she's a spirit, or she would've gotten crunched, that's as sure as there's Treasure on Roon!"

Working my mouth a little wryly at the incongruity of those final words, I continued to pick my way along, forcing myself to pick up bits and pieces of something that wasn't stone, something which moved uncomfortably beneath my fingers, as I put away the last of my terror and began searching for my sister.

"Now is not the time for further, and of greater concern, time-consuming bickering," I state as with those words I send out a seeker tendril of my own. Indeed, the blasphemous Tower had been -- is yet immense; difficult it is to find that which I seek. But what I do manage to unravel is a particular emptiness.

Sensing only the normal abnormality of this dreary place, I now turn my focus upon Shayla, and with seeming ease reach out with my talents to lift a partial wall from where it lies in ruins. With some effort I attempt to keep the tonnage I now bear from shaping my features; it would serve no purpose other than to create yet more worry should the others discover that in this place of Death and Deathlessness, my own All strengths in many ways are somewhat paled.

It is because I yet live--

"Quickly, Adept!" I bark a sharp command.

"Put your link with your Teacher to good use, and find her quickly. For I would not waste my strength moving every last bit of rubble from before us."

All the while, there comes about us a sweeping light, on and off, on and off, as the watching eye of this place thrashes in its throes of death.

“You are awake,” he said. “That is… fortunate.”

Even though the protective powers of the tower were gone from about her, there was still enough of his own powers still active to keep her suspended. But he no longer sensed it, and in fact its absence was very noticeable. Had he really lost that much energy? Something seemed not quite right, but he was too weak to concern himself greatly with it.

“I brought you here to keep you safe from dark powers that would do you harm,” he said. “To keep you safe from him. But he had something, he had a device of some sort, possibly – but no, it couldn’t have been…”

Yes, it must have been…

“But that it is not important. The Tower is dead, and I am free from its dark grasp. And you… you must be returned to your life.”

He looked back into the distance. He felt the prickling of a familiar sense, as if something were touching him lightly from afar. He smiled slightly, then tried to send out his own energies back along that line. He was too weak to establish a link, but he hoped he at least sent along a message of where they were, and of his good intentions.

He closed his eyes. “Believe me,” he said. “You have a much better life waiting for you than being forever trapped as a spirit in this realm.”

What was it he was sensing?

And the sense, along with that of Jharmeen's essence, was getting closer. They were making progress.

Although this thought should have been a silver lining in the cloud of darkness about her, Shayla couldn't help but frown at an accompanying thought. For while the darkness of the Tower had been destroyed, something yet remained. Her frown deepened as she continued to work.

"With his destruction of the Tower and seperation from the Master," Shayla observed, "Roan must have other connections to the living realm in place," she stated in seeming randomness. "Where is he...?" she then said quietly, darkly.

The thought of him prompted her into even more action, and she focused every last bit of energy she had on getting to those whom they sought within the remenants of the Tower, every movement of rubble bringing them closer and closer...

“Over here!” he called out, seeing a head bobbing behind a large black slab. He rushed forward as best he could, finally resting on his knees next to the Master and Graysith in the clearing the Master had created.

“You...” he started, surprised to see the Master in his natural state. “You survived. I’m, um… I’m glad?”

“Roan,” he said. “He used a device, something to enhance the Finger of R’lous. It destroyed the spirit of the tower. It’s gone, the evil and its embodiment in the tower.”

Or released it… but for now that is not our concern.

“Thoran,” the Master continued. “Thoran, the darkness, the influence of the tower, it is gone from me as well. I – I must get back to my son. We must take her back to him, and back to her flesh.”

It is the only way to save her.

Thoran helped the Master stand, and by the time the others arrived he was balancing on his own. The Master stared sadly at Aelvedaar, not knowing what to say. Finally he turned to Shayla and smiled.

“You did it,” he said. “You remembered me.”

He saw the doubt in everyone’s eyes and he closed his own for a moment.

“I will explain everything, I promise you. But at this time we are grave danger the longer we stay here. Thoran, you must help, the only way we can transport a spirit out of this realm is by –“

Thoran held his hand up to stop the Master.

“My dear, this may all seem strange to you, but Thoran has the ability to place your spirit temporarily into your adept’s mind. It shall be a very short period of time, but it is the only way for us to transport you from this horrid place and restore you.”

He nodded to Thoran, who lowered his head and placed his hand on Shayla’s shoulder.

“Be ready,” the Master whispered.

...but then, she was stronger than that. Something within her born of love and determination took the upper hand and lent her strength. She stretched to the Force for her strength as well, and closed her eyes a moment, still supported by someone.

“Then let’s get out of here, please,” he said. “The evil or whatever may be gone, but this place has plenty of darkness on its own, and whose to say there isn’t some other kind of evil lurking about? I still have the willies.”

He glanced at the Master, then turned to Aelvedaar.

“And maybe we should not go to her body just yet, but jump somewhere else first?”

"Indeed," I state grimly, reaching out with no further ado and wresting from the fabric from which all is designed a Portal back into the realms of light and life and normalcy.

"I shall send you to a more unobtrusive destination, one removed from the place where the body of my Chosen One lies. I shall go thence, alone, and rendezvous with her material body at the place I send you, where it might be reunited safely."

I pause a moment, turning to the Adept, in whose essence dwells the spirit of Jharmeen Jhin'Dar Q'utaro.

"Take great care of this one in the meanwhile," I state to the others.

"For I too believe there is more afoot than the soul of that foul blasphemy of a Tower, a soul now thankfully destroyed."

I stop at this, not mentioning the fact that there is only one thing which to my knowledge has the power to destroy a soul. That it has somehow been applied to a use far beyond its normal intent, that of killing the soul of those called Jedi, is worrisome to me indeed.

A myriad possibilities as to what my dear brother Roan plans to do with this Nar Kelba raises ugly speculations in my mind; I force the thoughts away, knowing that once we depart from this realm he will be hard put to reach us.

Although the feat is not an impossible one.

"Go now," I state, waving the others into the Rift, through which billowing sands and mewling dewbacks and the soft glow of twin suns setting reflect a modicum of Life upon this bleak and deathly realm. They speak no more, but step through the Portal, which I then let close with a final schllpt.

I take a final glance about. I reach out, sensing...

The Tower is indeed dead, the hideous soul of that which inhabited it gone. But there was yet a portion held in stasis back on Dagobah, a little matter I must attend to when retrieving the body of Graysith.

I nod in satisfaction, send one more wary glance about. Then I clamber back through the immense rubble, move well away from the remnants of the Tower of Dark, open a Portal through the dimensions...

...and step through, letting it close immediately in my wake.

((OOC: Follow Lord Aelvedaar back to The Web of Life in the "CSWU" forums, thank you. The others return to Tattooine, the thread to be announced later, thank you.))

I could hear water running somewhere nearby, which I assumed must have been the black river, which passed through this land. I had walked alongside its banks on my first ever visit here, and had marveled at it then. Now, it only served as a nostalgic landmark on my passing towards my father.

I had called out his name a few times, recieving no reply save for the whisperings of Demons upon the edges of my vision. They to, however, seemed to be avoiding my passing, merely watching. The devlish spectators as they were.

Soon things will be set right though, soon enough.

And a Portal ripped itself open scant feet alongside the sauntering Rykounagin. From its impossible depths there spilled forth a noisome shade, misty and surreal, its pupilless eyes glittering like twin rubies in the night, its long and poison-dripping tail pushing it from the opening it had created. Blinking, gibbering, its mouth dripping saliva and nonsense syllables, it flowed in sinuous circles about the lad, who had come to a sudden halt. Ethereal, its body holding no more substance than a mere thought, it finally came to a halt and reared itself upright that it could pin an insane gaze upon Rykounagin.

"And what is it that brings you here, boy?" it gibbered, drool hanging in great gobbets from its snarling lips.

"Have you tired of life so soon?"

"One, you will call me by my title, that being lord. Two, if you threaten me again, I will be sure to my father fashion a rather small pair of boots out of your flesh. Three, you will remove yourself from my company unless you have matters of import."

I was warry now however, for it seemed all demons in this realm called to the power of those more powerful than themselves.

"Oh-hh-hhh, a Lord now, is it?" it chortled, managing to send little droplets of spit into Rykounagin's face even though it was in its incorporeal form.

"Does it think it has sway over those who live here? Does it think it has the power to order around the familiar of Roan?"

Maladius reached out a skeletal hand as if to swipe Rykounagin's face with his daggered claws. Being no more corporeal than a passing thought, however, his forepaw simply passed completely thorough the boy without touching him.

This didn't faze him in the slightest. His eyes glittering a particularly bloody red, he once more threw back his head, spewed forth a long stream of saliva-bespotted nonsense, then began to circle Rykounagin once more.

It took a moment or two longer for the imp to find its footing, or at least appear to; then at last satisfied that it was at least close to mimicking reality in another existence, it finally spoke up. Its voice was high and hoarse.

"Oh dear, cannot find its way, can it?" it croaked, weeping alligator tears. They oozed from its eyes like drops of blood, to dribble down its reptilian face and fall through the strangely spongy ground.

"But yes, take you to Him I can--"

A brief pause as it turned away from the boy, tensing in preparation of leaving. His head half-cocked over his shoulder, he cast half an eye Rykounagin's way.

"If you insist..."

Letting out a loud cackle, Maladius then darted off, heading over non-rock and non-hill, following the noisome black river which gurgled obscenely beside them. Keeping to this course, it headed toward something that rose upright in the distance, like a dark and foreboding spire. Still cackling, he scooted directly toward this spire, came to a halt in front of it.

He waved a clawed hand toward the being in white which stood before the entrance in obvious guardianship over it.

"Inside he is, the Lord of this paltry being, and happy indeed shall he be to see what I have brought for him to play with!"

The guardian regarded the boy. It’s brilliant armor reflected the tiniest of light that dared shine within the Darker Realms, sending a glare that threatened to blind the lad that now stood before it.

A thick gravel of a sound came forth from the alabaster helmet, sending a shiver into the very soul of all who would dare listen. In an instant that horrific grinding transformed into a deep rasp of a voice.

“Life purveys love
Love purveys hate
Health and Plague
Chance and Fate
Peace and War
Stand and Fall
But what thing is the Key to All?”

The Guardian lowered its huge pike, glowing white in the non-light of the Realms, and stood ready.

Life... love... love... to hate. Well that's the story of MY life isn't it? But I don't think "me" is the answer. Health and plague? Chance and Fate? Peace and War?

I continued to think hard, my gaze not leaving the sentinel. What do they all have on common? Nothing. Absolute noth-

Suddenly something began to form in my mind. Health and plagues are opposites... Chance and fate? Well... You could call those opposites. Peace and war? Definate opposites. So does that mean...?

I swollowed, remembering one of the key principals my father had taught me in regards to the ALL, when he still masquaraded as Aelvedaar. I opened my mouth, and started to speak.

No it was to quiet, my voice a whisper. I cleared my throat, and spoke. If I was right or wrong, damn me if I was going to die with a tremble in my voice.

The front of the Dark Hall trembled slightly, as if in protest of the simplicity of the question. Yet it complied with the laws of the Darkness, and a small opening groaned to life from the very wall behind the Guardian.

The gravel once more sounded from the helm.

"Yes-ss-sss!" he screamed insanely as he came to a landing, only to leap up once more.

"Balance! That is the key, you silly thing! Balance, balance, balance!

"See--? Maladius knows balance!"

Curling his tail beneath him he carefully centered his body over it, and slowly began to rock.

"Balance balance balance," he repeated, starting to chew on his fingers once again. Then he stopped, and got down on all fours. Low to the ground and blindingly fast, he scurried to the side of the Guardian, where he performed his insane little ritual once again.

"Lords and Lords and again Lords!" he spit, waggling his brows and lashing his tail.

"What meaning have Lords here? They not of this place!

"Silly, silly Guardian!"

With that he ceased rocking altogether and once again hunkered on all fours. One forepaw lifted, and a Portal ripped open directly in front of him.

"Maladius goes where He desires, where He has always desired!" he stated emphatically before he darted inside, letting the opening snap abruptly closed in his wake.

Within the noxious maze that was the Dark Hall it was easy enough to follow the scent of life Rykounagin's presence laid down so transparently. It didn't take him long to find him, either.

Scuttling up beside him, he came to a crouching halt at his side, letting his tail whip about in front of him to then grab with both of his dextrous and evilly clawed hands. Hunkered thus, he peered intently at the door which stood in obstinate silence in front of them both.

"Afraid are you, to see what is inside?" he ventured at length, sliding his eye slyly up to stare at Rykounagin's determined-looking profile. One hand let go of his tail; he waved it at the door.

"If Lord you are indeed, as you say, why...

"Go right on in!"

This needs to be resolved... Graysith... ShaRhylla... and one more very important thing.

In an instant the imp was passed from his wraith form into that of the real. Firm and solid, he once again curled his tail beneath him, rocked back upon it to gain momentum...

...and then pushing off with all of his surprisingly not inconsiderable strength, planted all four of his clawed appendages upon Rykounagin's back and rear. Grunting, he followed through, and pushed the lad completely through the door.

It slammed closed before could rock back and return to incorporeality, in spite of how blindingly fast he could be.

Blinking, he let out a soft and sinister guffaw. Then he hunkered down once again.

His eyes, once brilliant turquoise, now shone dull and tarnished, stared unseeing out into the middle space ahead of him as if seeking an answer to why he was there.

Or perhaps, from someone, a pardon.

A door opened, a distant gibber slowly came into his ears. He stirred slightly, his wrists chafing against the irons which bound him there.

Then once again, he was still.

Every impulse in me screamed at me to run to him and unchain him, to free him, but something gave me pause. Who could have done this though? To what purpose?

I took a slow, tentative step forwards, a hand very slightly raised before me, as though reaching out to feel something that was not there. Who has the power to defeat my father? To leave him so... helpless?

A faint shiver of fear ran through my body at the very thought, and I took another step towards him. "Father? Are you... there?" I asked quietly, eyes watching him for any more signs of life. I don't think he's dead... surely not... he moved...

I bit my lip. "Father... I've come to see you but..." I couldn't bring myself to move any closer just yet, something still held me back.

"I do believe I'm getting better at this, don't you?" the identical and altogether brimming with health Dark Lord commented, his brilliant turquoise eyes darkening as something black and hideous oiled within them.

The smile upon his imposing visage one that fairly radiated death, he waved a clawed hand almost daintily toward the broken body hanging upon the wall.

"It really is rather nice to be freed of the shackles of his flesh every now and again, wouldn't you agree--

"Who are you?" I demanded, feeling this was all to familiar. Had the same thing not occured when I had discovered that Roan, not Aelvedaar, was my father?

What seemed most disconcerting of all things, was that he looked every bit like my father, save that in this case, he radiated the evil of the realm, as my father did not. Was that the feeling of raw evil? Or raw power that seemed to waft from him with every empowered breath that he took?

"Why, my dear boy, wherever do you get such ideas?" he crooned, the oil glimmering like all the black stars in the universe, all the dark matter which in reality did bind it all into one immense wonder.

Once again he waved a hand toward the shackled Sith.

"Lord, or should I say... ex-Lord Roan has been my... guest here for quite some time."

He paused to tap a claw speculatively against his fang.

"Let's see, now let me think, when was it, when was it... ahh, yes."

He leaned closer to Rykounagin, hunkering down, placing his gut directly against the boy's outstretched hand, he then reached round behind him to grasp the trembling point of the Evictus, which he placed against his own torso.

"I believe it was something along the lines of--

"Four thousand years ago.

"Your time, of course."

Standing there with oil oozing from his eyes, he then folded his arms across his broad chest, just above the razored edge of Rykounagin's sword.

"Go ahead, lad. Push it in; try to kill me if you wish to murder your own adoptive father...

"Tsk-tsk, what would the neighbors think?"

His smile grew even more sweet, more dark, as he pressed a touch harder against the point of the blade.

I pressed the blade pointedly now, the tip just barely starting to pierce the flesh, making sure the hand upon his chest was equally firm. People always seem more eager to die in the darker realms... best not to let him throw himself on it just yet.

Keeping his unblinking eyes pinned directly into Rykounagin's own pair, he pushed the sword up to it's hilt into his body. Then reaching around with one hand, he grasped the raw edge and drew the sword in even further. The hilt twirled around in place as he stopped the action, twisting the blade once, twice, before giving a final yank and pulling the sword free.

Still smiling sweetly, he handed the bloodless blade back to Rykounagin.

"I am your father, and you--"

He paused a moment, now letting his eyes drop to the blackened Tattoo yet enscribed upon the young man's wrist.

I pulled the sword back and let it go, fading from existance, scowling. "Not so simple. First off, your beloved ex-lover is alive, which makes this a rather difficult thing to accomplish, as she, unlike you, seems to have a tendancy to return from the dead."

I paced back across the room, looking at the shell of my father now. "Secondly... your daughter needs to be put out of the way. She's only getting in the way and complicating things."

Then I looked back at my "Father", who watched me still, listening in silence. "The final point being, that I'm out of my league right now. Every single major player in this game has one thing that I cannot compete with. The All. It is hard to appease a simpering spoiled brat, when, at the flick of an emotion she flies into a rage, and can turn your body into nothing."

I growled and struck the "Stone" next to the shell of his body, the stone bending around my hand, forming an imprint which slowy filled its way back to a smooth state.

"I know there are ways to bind it... is there a way to shield from it at least? Some sort of artefact? I cannot continue to compete when your own daughter has my head set as high on the chopping block as her mother's. For that matter..." I turned to face him now. "... she has renounced you."

Or some... thing.

Then, the movement swift and viper-sharp, his hand shot out and gathered up a fistful of Rykounagin. Before the young man really knew what was happening, he was pulled up nose to nose against the Dark Lord's face.

"What paltry offenses the Daughter of Roan has committed against you are inconsequential, boy!"

The words were black thunder in Rykounagin's ears.

"She has done her part two time, once again is she needed. Three there have always been, three to stand up against three.

"Not all is as it seems, my fine naive lad. And even that wonderful thing you call All does not stand aloof in the Grand Scheme of existence."

He paused a moment, breathing heavily, then flung Rykounagin from him. The young man flew against the wall where the shell of the former Dark Lord hung, then slid to the non-floor with a sickening squishing sound.

Roan watched him with a mixture of pity and contempt.

"Even as powerful as the All is, it too must be balanced. It is... what is, my boy, and here--"

He waved a hand once again.

"Is what is not."

Somewhere deep within the shadows of the Tower, a great and glowing pair of scarlet eyes watched, blinked, and grew still...

I felt bruises starting form on my body from the impact of both the demons forceful push, and this most recent "toss", and inwardly, I was starting to get sick of it. "You ask me to do things, but keep leaving me in the dark. Then when I come back, you rage at me, and tell me things and show me things that, had I known before, could have had the entire business done!"

"There must be a third child, a third product of the realm!

"For the Darkness yet resides within her; she has already birthed two Daughters of Dread.

"The Sith are the Key to the All, and she is the Key to the Sith and the Balance.

"Three there must be, for three others now exist. Balance must be maintained, boy; is this task too difficult for you? Have you not the ability to woo a lady, to take a bride, to sire the Third? That through them--"

I blinked, the ideal of the later disgusting to even my low moral standards; brutal, violent, and practically abhorrent. "She desires only power, and only a "pure sith line". Last I checked, I had neither of the qualifications. Thus I do request that you give me some sort of aid."

"If the task is beyond your capabilities, boy, then begone from these realms! There are many who would gladly take up the challenge, many who in winning the child, in siring the Third, would be placed in a position of such power..."

He trailed, cocked his head to one side, the fires of hell dancing in his eyes.

"You are brave enough to stand up against me here, although truly I do not believe you know what it is that is now before you. Yet you have not the courage to accomplish what I ask; I find this strange indeed. Perhaps I have chosen poorly at that."

His eyes darkened then as, the motion swift and sudden, he reached out and grasped Rykounagin's hand in his own. Turning it palm up, he let his other hand hover over his wrist, directly over the black Tattoo of Entitlement.

"Shall I remove it, then?"

I looked back with a cold smile. "When this is over... when you have what you need. I want the privilege of removing the obstacles for you... I will not fail."

I straightened myself. "I think by now your daughter will have found some way around protections I have placed to keep her in place. I suppose the first part of my task is to find her. That always did seem the easier part of the two evils... but father... if I cannot... well, win her back... must I?"

The way my father had spoken left no further room for error. The task had to be done, with haste. I was aware of the difficulties I would face in having to make her fall in love with me. Again. If I were to fail and run out of time...

By the small bits of humanity remaining in my soul, do not make me.

"Why, all the time that is left before you, of course..."

With that he ripped open a portal between the dimensions, opening up a rift between the Dark Tower and the cave from which Rykounagin had entered.

"Remember, there are three others... but three not yet truly united. And of those three, why my boy, the path upon which one of them must tread is entirely up to you.

I darted from the cave beyond the reach of his very short temper, and began my scale down the cliff, muttering to myself as I did so.

"As if I wouldn't notice...."

(((OOC: Rykounagin returns to "The Saving of a Soul" int his forum. Thankyou.)))

The ship passed through the portal and into the Darker Realms.
Thoran released his hold and the portal schlicked shut behind the ship. He turned to Yaoksi, surprised that he was still standing. He had never opened a portal that large before.

"These are all of my brushes, the sani-steam is the middle door on that wall," she pointed to the only wall without furnature in front of it.

"Depends on what your trying to shoot... little critters easy, stormtroopers... they shoot back. I guess the greater question is have you ever killed anyone."

Satisfied my fur was properly clensed I removed my head from the sani-steam and used the towel to dry it off. I was about to use the brush to straighten my fur when I saw the view out the porthole had changed. I quickly dropped the towel and the brush to draw my blaster, making sure it was on kill... best to be safe. I motioned my blaster at the porthole for Thea to show the changed view.

As we continued on towards the bridge while maintaining one hand on my blaster I reached into my vest and pulled out a small vibro-blade. I usualy used it to cut wires and break into security pannels, but Thea might find it more useful at the moment then I do.

"Thanks, I will. We're here."

Thea opened the door to the bridge and quietly surveyed the room before stepping into it.

"It's just us, guys. How are we doing?"

"I hope his estimate on the time he'll be out was accurate," Aaron couldn't help but observe aloud as Thea and Cel then entered the cabin and asked how things were going.

Aaron tried his best not to frown at the question, reminding himself that Thea was a kid. Still, being a Jedi padawan...

Aaron shook himself from his thoughts, and looked up towards Thea to then answer her. "We've made it to the Darker Realms, but Thoran is out cold," he explained, then thinking of something. "It would be a big help if you could go to the galley and get him some water. Hopefully he'll be coming back around soon."

Eyeing his wrist chrono at that, Aaron unconsciously counted the seconds. He looked back at Thoran, waiting.

“Oh darn,” he groaned, “I was hoping I’d wake up next to good looking lady with a big pair of—“

Thoran noticed Thea standing next to Aaron, water in her hand.

“—eyes.”

Thoran tried to stand but couldn’t quite manage it yet. He sat up and held out his hand to Thea.

"This place lives up to its name," Aaron observed then, unable to fully supress the shiver which crawled up his spine as he momentarily gazed at the viewport before averting his eyes entirely. "I mean, I don't even have to be Force-sensitive to somehow sense it..."

He trailed then, his eyes wandering to Thea, who stood still trying to catch her breath. "I'm surprised that you hadn't already sensed it before you came here to the deck," he commented to Thea. "After all, you are wanting to be a Jedi."

At first I thought the lack of any sensory pickup was due to some sort of computer error; one thought of my Verpine buddy promptly laid that improbability to a definite rest. Which therefore meant--

"Hey guys, cut the chatter; I can't concentrate up here!" I hollered over my shoulder as I punched the control to raise my blast shields. They rolled upward, or at least I think they did, for what was revealed was just as dark as the back of the shields themselves.

I shivered, and immediately slowed our progress through this eerie realm. All I could see was blackness; I couldn't tell up from down, port from starboard, fore from aft. All that existed was simple, velvety darkness, without so much as a glitter of light anywhere.

Sheesh, where's the ground?! I sweated to myself, damning whatever it was that nulled my sensors.

How in blazes am I supposed to fly, and to where--?

"Thoran, now would be a good time to make that other Portal, pal!" I hollered over my shoulder.

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this..."

I shouldn't have said it, sure as there are womprats on Tatooine. For no sooner had the words left my mouth when we struck--

Something.

Hell if I know what it was: tangible black against otherness, who in blazes knew. All I did know was that aboard Devil things flashed from relative quiet into chaos; only my pilot's reflexes kept me in my seat as she upended twenty degrees to fore and starboard, sending everything and everyone else into a turmoil of arms and legs and cups of caff and who the hell knew what else.

Devil then groaned, and settled to an even keel on...

Something.

And promptly went dark.

I had a moment of absolute terror before the auxilliary kicked in, bathing us all in red back-up light. After several futile attempts to get my ship airborne I gave up, whirled from my seat and headed aft.

"K'kihl!" I hollered as I ran.

"Get yer carapace up here, pal! We just hit something, and I'm not getting any power--"

The groans and mutters and rising panic in the others went unheeded as I headed to where I found the Verpine on his belly, deep into an engineering access cubby. He slid out as I came up to him, stared up at me and shrugged; then, hydro-spanner in hand he returned to his work.

Hearing various and sundry thuds and groans as the Devil settled herself then momentarily went black before switching to emergency power, Aaron tried to establish just where the hell everyone was and if they were allright as Yaoksi tended to the ship. It appeared everyone had slid to approximately the same area of the cabin, for everyone was in one tangled heap...

...on top of Aaron. And the bulkhead at his back, along with the weight on his body, pretty much eliminated Aaron from moving a milimeter at that moment.

"Thoran!" Aaron groaned, trying to free himself from his entanglement with the large Sith regardless, "Thea, Cel, you gals alright?" he then queried, feeling some fur to his left.

"Hello, dinner!" he drooled as, after quickly clambering up and around to the forward port, he clamped himself to the ship, hanging there upside down to peer at those inside with his lethal gaze. Another noisome burst of insane laughter erupted from him; he could quite easily make a portal into the ship, but it was just so much better to terrorize them all first.

Especially when his friends came along to join the party...

Peal after peal of psychotic yowling pelted the otherness of the Darker Realms then, as nearly fifty more of the demonic little imps appeared at Maladius's side to dance and cavort right along with him, climbing all over Devil in a terrible parody of ants seeking forage.

I tried to reach out to the closest pannel with my right hand, when I put some weight on it I felt the pain and pulled it back.

"I think I broke my right arm, but other then that I'm alright."

I transfered my blaster from my left hand to my right and used my left arm and tail to grb onto the closest pannel to pull me up.

I couldn't help dripping as much sarcasm as possible into those retorted words, for truth be told I was scared spitless. But hell if I could let the kids see that; limping along--

When the hell did my ankle go wonkers?

--I hastened back to where the others were disentangling themselves, coming to a halt by the starboard viewport. There I paused, the majority of my weight on my good leg, hands on my hips.

"We're not going anywhere friend; there's no kriffing power! K'kihl's doing the best he--

"AAUUGGHHH!!!"

The latter was in direct response to the leering visage from hell which suddenly made itself known outside the duraglass. I leapt across the wardroom where all had gathered-- literally-- only to come to a crashing halt against the newly arisen Cel.

Down we went in a tangle of fur; I winced hearing her groan... a groan which bit off into a repressed scream when I grabbed her arm to help her back up to her feet again.

"Oh, hell!" I muttered, demons put aside for the merest of moments as I cast around for the nearest medikit. Snatching one up, I turned back to her, avoiding the viewport like the plague.

"All right, Cel, it's time to be a--" and before I even finished the sentence I grabbed her shoulder and forearm and yank/twisted it just so. Beads of sweat immediately popped up on her brow, but bless her heart she was a trooper indeed, not making another sound as I then applied a fast and temporary cast to her arm.

"There, one small dilemma resolved," I muttered, turning back to the others.

"Which only leaves the bigger one. Wha--"

Again my words were cut off as the ship suddenly rocked violently under the pounding it was receiving from those imps from Hell.

Thoran struck the air with his clawed hand, ripping a tear in the space before him. As it grew, Thoran turned and shouted to the others.

“Through the portal NOW!” he commanded. “I can come back here later, Yaoksi, maybe they’ll leave when we’re gone.”

Thoran heard the welcoming sounds of voices and clinking glasses come from the other side of the portal, in the lounge within the Temple of Warriors. He grabbed the nearest person, which happened to be Thea, and shoved her through. Motioning for Aaron to go, he looked at Yaoksi and Cel.

He came up on those remaining in the wardroom, slavering and dripping poison and drool.

"No, you no go! You no leaving Maladius; Maladius hungry!!"

With that he sprang, claws extended, landing upon Aaron and knocking him sprawling to the deck. Behind him, two or three others made a bee-line to the Portal Thoran had opened into K'eel Doba.

And he'd seen them before, and knew what this guy could do. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to scramble and kick for all he was worth; in fact, that just made it more urgent to do precisely that.

"Thoran, get everyone out of here, now!" he yelled, feeling the Thing's claws ripping into him despite his struggle to get it off.

Quite literally.

Frantic, I whirled around, seeking any weapon that I could use against this thing. For well I knew that a blaster was about as good against it as a cream puff.

"K'kihl, get yer hiney UP HERE!" I roared, and was soon rewarded by the questioning scrabble of hastening feet. The Verpine stopped in what I could only interpret as being shock; I didn't have time to discuss proceedings in a committee, however.

"Gimme this!"

With no further ado I snatched the hydro-spanner that was dangling limply from one of his pincers; whirling then, I rushed to Aaron's aid and began trying to beat the Devil to death.

A hard enough task, for the damned little thing kept going translucent on me, only to pop back into corporeality once more and take another slice out of Aaron.

"THORAN!!! YOU'RE A SITH, DO SOMETHING!!" I screamed as I continued with my futile battle with the demon, dodging his lashing tail and trying like hell to push aside the rising images of what he had done to friends of mine in the past.

Not sure of what else to do, Thoran raised the tail above his head, bloody end to the side, and shouted like a mad rancor and standing between the imps and the portal.

“Yaoksi, go now or never!” he shouted. “3…2…”

Hoping Yaoksi understood, and hearing the struggles of Aaron behind him, he threw the tail into the imps and turned to the others. The imps, now behind him, screamed and gibbered and cursed, struggling to regain their footing on the blood-slickened metal of the deck.

“GO NOW!”, he cried, diving for the demon on Aaron. Catching it a solid state, he knocked it to the side and began pummeling, for what little good it would do.

With that I dropped the hydrospanner, snatched up the entirely too pale Aaron, slung him over my shoulders with a strength inspired by pure terror, and shot to the Portal.

"K'kihl!!" I roared en route, and then everything went black and greeny-gold and suddenly there was--

Thoran dove for the portal himself, and in mid-air was stunned by a sudden and ferociously painful stab in his leg. Without hesitation he closed the portal, the angry cries of the other imp swallowed in the muffling schlick of space and time returning together.

The cold stones felt welcoming, more so than the pain he felt in his leg.

She stood in ominous silence, deep within the underbelly of the towering spire of black non-stone, staring with oiled eyes upon the pitiable form hanging suspended before her.

His shredded body was held in place by myriad iron hooks that pierced his flesh, making great rents in his skin that constantly bled and wept. Heavy iron chains were attached to the hooks, pulled tautly to hold him flush against the moist, non-stone of the noisome wall at his back. His head dangled upon his chest, blood and bodily fluids leaking from his de-fanged mouth, seeping from where his proud horns had been pulled out by their roots, his skin hanging in tattered shreds, exposing raw nerve endings to the shrieking cold, thanks to the tender auspices of the demonic imps of this dark and dismal realm.

She coughed slightly, then took a step forward and with her talents sent a brilliant bolt of Sith lightning directly into the deepest of his many wounds. A broad and eager smile came to her face then, as the figure groaned, unable to die, unable to seek surcease of his pain, and lifted turquoise eyes bright with agony and madness, blinking out against this new torment.

"And you would have called yourself King!" she spat in derision, reaching even deeper into the wound to find a vital organ, into which she thrust her nails. Her reward was yet another groan; however, even the most demonic of beings can grow bored when their prey has become too apathetic, too helpless.

No chase, no hunt, no fun.

She removed her hand, gave it a fling to send bits of gore and ichor upon his trembling body. Then after raking his form with her eyes for a final time, she turned and quietly departed from the former Lord Ankrist Roan, seeking out his doppleganger whom she knew held fast his part of control over this place, the Darker Realms of which she was ever becoming more and more a part.

Somewhere deep within her, a flame-haired, violet-eyed image reached out a trembling hand, and momentarily ignored by the encompassing oiliness in which she had become ensnared, snatched up a small kernel. This she raised swiftly to her breast, cupping it with both hands, huddling over it, sobbing in despair, rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...

The Master sighed and grabbed Phalomir by the robe. He then stepped through the portal, visualizing the Tower in his mind. This did not thrill him, as the last time he saw the Tower it lay in ruins.

The sound of gibbering and maniacal laughter came floating over the strange air. He turned to see Shayla step delicately through the portal, then he waved his hand to close it.

A group of imps were approaching from the left, viscous drool flying from their mouths as they clamored towards the three intruders. There were six of the vile creatures, all spitting hatred and death at the Sith and the human. The leader of the group screeched a horrible howl as it sprang forward, claws and fangs bared and tail poised to strike into the Master’s heart. As it flew through the air, the Master raised his free hand and sent forth a hot blast of energy that incinerated the creature’s chest. The legs flew to either side of the Master, barely missing Phalomir’s still form, and the head rolled to a stop at the Master’s feet. It bore a very surprised look, and the mouth moved as if trying to spit words of pure hatred, but without the aid of lungs to push the air no sound came out.

The Master looked at the pitiful head at his feet and stomped down upon it, crushing it. He then looked at the group of remaining imps and waited. They stopped, looked at each other, then turned to run in the direction from which they had come. The Master dropped the unconscious Phalomir and raised both hands towards the imps. He let loose with a barrage of energy blasts that left only a smoldering heap of dissolving goo where the imps had been.

He then turned to Shayla, gathered up Phalomir once again, and scowled a look of disgust.

She poaused then, her lips curling into a most unpleasant little smile. "I'd hate for you to linger here and find that you do not hold as much power here as you seem to think."

Her eyes locked with his. "They are but small, demonic imps."

Falling silent then, Shayla, or rather, the Not-Shayla reached out and locked onto the pull of the tower, drawing also upon its stregth to shield her from any attack of the demonic horde as she would be recognized as one with them.

"There is no Light without Darkness," she responded cryptically.

Then she began to move on, once more sensing the Tower as she did so...

...and sensing someone familiar as well. At first the part of her that was still herself...

...a very small part...

...reached out, sensing something very distant and very small in the connection. But then the darkness within took over, and oiled out in connection.

My sister, I have brought a gift, she thought through that Link.

Then she turned once more to the Master. "We have a ways yet before we reach the Tower," she stated. Then, before the Master could have predicted it, the Not-Shayla connected fully with the Darkness of the Darker Realms, and with the Tower, sending its message that what they had been waiting for had arrived. Once that message was delivered, something of the Darkness locked onto both her and Phalomir, sending forth a blast of Darkness as demons began to gibber and drool in anticipation. And for a moment, the darkness of the Darker Realms turned pitch black, and not one could see even their own hand in front of their face. A blast rocked the entire area, sending all, evne the demons, off their feet.

Before her the imps yowled and cavorted, ripping and tearing into each other, chewing bits and pieces of whatever or whoever happened to come in contact with them; she smiled, her eyes like stagnant pools, watching them work at their play. Then behind her the very fabric of this interdimension ripped, exploded, and spewed out a lusciously familiar form.

What fun will be had with that one, later...

The Darkness oiled and writhed, panting with an anticipation no more painful than that of the demons. For the bodies it now inhabited were simply that: bodies, to do with what It pleased when It had achieved It's goal.

She turned, a black smile showing blacker teeth, oily eyes gleaming to see one goal at least was fulfilled.

"Very good, my Ssisster.." she hissed as she let her dead eyes fall on the silent form at Shayla's feet.

Somewhere deep within, that part of herself still relatively aware raised dull eyes and peeped fearfully through the oil. A familiar form; she gasped... then withdrew all emotion, all feeling, letting the Dark know only that she had seen, and she had gasped.

Phalomir opened groggy eyes and rolled slowly into a sitting position. He glanced from side to side, awareness thundering its way into his head, and his eyes filled with horror at the steady realization of where he was and what was happening.

He stood quickly, nearly stumbling backwards.

“Jharmeen!” he called out, his voice frantic and crackled. “My love, I have come for you, into the heart of Hell, as I promised!” He paused then, waiting, falling victim to a powerful fear that washed over him and permeated his very soul.

The Darkness bubbled more intensely, and Jharmeen’s head lowered to stare blankly into Phalomir’s eyes. Her hands extended upwards, driven by the power within her, and she stepped forward with short jerks. Her hands trembled – vibrated – as they reached upwards towards the now fear-frozen Phalomir. Her mouth opened, her eyes shut, and a sudden stream of blackness shot forth simultaneously from the mouths of Graysith and Shayla and into that of the terror-stricken Phalomir.

The Darkness, now void of the female bodies, allowed them to crumple to the black ground. Heedless of the faint signs of life within them, it now had what it had longed for.

Phalomir stood straight, the last dots of black sinking into his skin. The robe he wore fell away as if eaten by an acid bath, leaving nothing to cover him. His skin now pulsed and throbbed with a darkness beyond night, highlighted here and there by tiny rivulets of red, giving him the appearance of a walking volcano.

He threw back his head and laughed, a deep bellow that echoed through the stillness of the Darker Realms. Indeed, it was a moment to celebrate, to throw back the shroud of deception, and take pride in a job well done.

Time, such a simple dimension for some to conquer, was untouchable to the Darkness. It was forbidden to tamper with the lines of time. But there were others who could abuse the lines of time, others who could be easily convinced to deliver the ultimate vessel, once properly prepared. Yes, this indeed was that vessel. This was the convergence of the Sith, plucked away at the moment of death, and given the ability to wield all that mortal beings could.

Now the balance of existence would tip, now the never-ending game could be won. Now, at last, could there be and end to all things.

Her eyes cut briefly to the gloating mimic of the one she loved, then shuddered quickly away, squinching momentarily shut against the mere sight of the horrific being. When they opened again, it was to rest upon the now-stirring Shayla, who was making feeble attempts to raise herself, pale fingers clawing at the non-ground upon which the two of them lay.

"No--" she whispered, scarcely louder than a puff of air, scarcely daring to move, to release the air from her lungs to voice the word. Then memory returned in a rush, and she recalled all she had seen and done, and what had gone before. Her eyes closed in pain at her treatment of Dark Lord Roan, whom although he knew her not, was worthy of respect simply for the title he once carried proudly, yet evinced by the ragged bits of tattoo-work she remembered seeing peeping out from the open wounds on his face. They closed even more tightly against the raucous laughter booming from the Dark Phalomir as recollection of what her own daughter had gone through by another aspect of that very foulness now ran through her mind.

Beside her, Shayla whimpered... and she then remembered who she was.

"No-!" she said, her voice stronger now as she raised her head again and opened her eyes, staring now with grim determination out upon the sea of ravening imps who gibbered and yowled around them. Summoning the last fading remnants of strength, grasping courage which threatened to flee, she rose to her feet and moved to stand close beside Shayla even as that foulness, ignoring the pair of them as if they were bugs, thankfully disappeared.

"No," she said, this time with quiet determination, drawing in a deep breath even as she reached down deeply into herself, drawing upon the once suppressed but now strengthening All, touching it and feeling the comfort of it alive and pulsing in her very soul.

Not yet recovered enough to escape the dismal realm, standing guard over her dear, adopted sister, she turned to the demon horde and waited for the onslaught.

The All. That wonderful power, that which bound everything, the glue that held the very universe together...

Even as the slavering demons grew nearer she could feel its strength growing within her; at length she cast a look down at Shayla, who was valiantly trying to regain her own strength and composure.

"Come, my dear Sister," she said softly, for the moment disregarding the darkness and dreariness and danger all about her.

"We need consultation with others far wiser than us."

With that, even as the first demon leaped toward them, fangs and claws extended, she ripped open a portal through the All, and reaching down with both hands grasped Shayla by the arm and physically dragged her through the doorway she had opened to the Great Temple of the Sorcerers on Khar Delba. The doorway closed with a peculiar schlippt even as she did so.

((OOC: Follow Graysith and Shayla into the thread Silence of the Lambs in the "Jedi/Sith" forums, thank you.))

Without waiting for questions, and without waiting for his courage to give way, Thoran turned away from RhoHalla and slit the air with his finger. A small crack in existence formed before him, shimmering along the edges and then opening like an elongated tear in a wind-blown sheet. He took a deep breath and stepped quickly through.

Thoran glanced around quickly at the desolate black landscape. There were no demons in the immediate vicinity, but he could hear the sickening chattering and howling in the not-to-distant distance. Dark shadows moved across the horizon, and he turned his eyes away to close the portal. He wished he could keep two portals open at once, but it was beyond his ability. In fact, just opening one took a great deal of energy. His ability to move in and out of the Darker Realms was granted to him by the virtue of his servitude to the Master, and now that the bond had been severed he could feel that power fading. But there was still something within that connected him to this land, and this also concerned him.

He turned his body and raised his hand to open the portal back to Sorben’s cell. He hesitated, seeing the Black Tower in all of its ominous glory. He had guessed correctly that there would be very few demons in this locale, but the sight of this monstrous construction made him shiver. He followed the dark skull shaped walls upwards and inhaled the rank air deeply. A figure moved in the shadows behind one of the huge empty eye sockets. Thoran let his hand fall to slice the air once more. A shimmering tear appeared before him, leading into Tarnus’s cell. As it widened he could see the human standing on the other side, eyes wide.

“Hurry!” he hissed.

I blinked, then blinked again.

I never knew Hell truly did exist.

“We’re in the Darker Realms,” he said, more calmly than he expected. “You’re standing near the Black Tower, a place I never want to set foot anywhere near again. That up there,” said Thoran, turning to point at the top of the skull-shaped construct, “is where bad dreams are born. Basically, we’re in Hell.”

Thoran turned back to face Sorben, his eyes shining nervously in the dark light.

“And I’m ready to get the hell out of it,” he said. He raked the air with his hand, making a light whooshing sound. He paused, an eyebrow instinctively raising in curiosity. He bit his lower lip and repeated the motion. A small sprinkling of light danced a thin line in the air before dissipating.

“Uh, yeah,” whispered Thoran. “I think I might need a moment or two to collect my energy again. We should hide.” Thoran looked around, even more nervously now, at the surrounding landscape. His eyes came back around to the Tower, and again he scanned upwards to the empty eye socket.

Thoran’s eyes grew wide as he saw a very tall figure move to the end of the high balcony, and his jaw dropped as recognition swept across him.

“Phalomir…?” he said.

I never felt so vulnerable in my life, and for a guy with a history like mine, that's saying a lot.

Then my eyes hit upon the image of the shadowy Sith, but not one too shadowed that I didn't recognize him. It was the one who had promised to help me find Darra.

“You, Thoran, are afflicted with an ailment caused by one of these creatures, no? Surely the pain must be unbearable, as even now you perspire with the intense sting of the wound. You must feel at times it would be better to lose the leg than face such agony day after day, minute upon minute.

“And you, General Sorben Tarnus of the new galactic Empire, surely you must feel crippled and naked without the might of your fleet and the rigid armor that conceals your fears. And what of the woman whose powers decimated your vast blockade with but a thought. Surely that must make you feel powerless and vulnerable? Well, as it stands, I can help you both.

The last glimmer of fright immediately evaporated with the realization that, well...

I was nothing if a logical man, and while I didn't like to think about it, was fully capable of facing my own existence in what someone I knew entirely too well of was wont to term The Grand Scheme of Things.

I crossed my arms upon my chest, widened my stance, and stared the tarbag straight in his bleary, beady little eyes.

"You may presume all you like, but the Empire does not find itself in the market for bargaining with those who--"

My arms uncrossed to let one hand wave in a nonchalant manner.

"--who live secreted away from reality in places like this."

For that was the truth. I knew deep in my heart that this place was indeed separate, at least for the most part, from the reality in which I lived. And I was damned positive how to make it remain that way.

All I had to do was get out of it...

I paused a moment longer, contemplating, then continued.

"I might ask why you are here, who and whatever you are--" For certainly this was not the Sith I had spoken with who had promised to assist me in the search for my daughter.

"--and why you imply such a desire to 'make a deal' with the Empire? For if you are here of your own volition, certainly your power is greater than ours; why you have not utilized it against us is a question I must ask myself.

"Yet on the other hand, if not here on your own volition then one must presume you to be dead; in either case, I do question why you needed to bargain with those forces that I represent."

The dark being then gave a broad smile and backed away a step. The gibbering in the surrounding countryside grew louder and more frenzied. The dark Phalomir paused and called over his shoulder.

Why in all the known universe was this...thing so direly wishing to negotiate with me?

What Thoran might have to offer it was seriously beyond me, for by this time I had mentally delegated him into the category of failure. To me, it made no sense whatsoever that this tarbag would want to deal with him, and thus was more than likely using him in a ploy to "share the spotlight," so to speak. ie: Misdirection.

That it wanted to deal with me, however, and the Empire which I led -- presumably, that is, since Actar and Swatzi seemed to have backed out of the picture of late -- was obvious.

That it had to deal with me told me that, no matter how horrible it might appear, it most certainly needed some kind of assistance getting into our reality. It could not do it on its own.

Which in turn told me something of its powers. I peered more closely at it, then cut a quick glance to the quivering Thoran.

"Hey pal, a little assist would be nice. I want to know, and I want to know now why that thing out there looks like Phalomir." For now I had indeed recalled the name of the Sith with whom I had once made arrangements to find Darra.

A dangerous thought was beginning to creep into the corners of my mind, one I didn't like in the least. And so, to stave off what might quickly spiral into impending doom, I called back to the Sticky Goober:

Thoran looked around at the hills surrounding them. The ground itself seemed to move, a bobbing up and down of hideous forms that brought the memory of recent events and a sharp stabbing pain to his leg. He gritted his teeth and looked back a Sorben.

Not to mention how close they were to being actually substantiated.

Cocking my head to one side, I contemplated the war going on between what my senses were telling me... and what my gut was. At length I lifted my head and, uncrossing my arms shot a pointing finger out toward the dark being, jabbing the weird stuff passing as breathable air as if to poke it in its chest.

"No need for all the orchestrations, my friend," I sent him a smile I knew it knew was false.

"I didn't come here because I wanted to; suffice it to say that this was the only means to start my own little war against those you seem so anxious to have me battle. Believe me, I hold them no great love, nor does the Empire; I don't need you to tell me to fight against them."

I stopped, remembering what Galen had told me of history, and let my smile become genuine.

"I think the Empire can handle things on its own, thank you for the offer. So if you'd be so kind as to send me back, I'll get started eradicating the damned Sith from the universe. We'll all live happily ever after then, won't we?"

I paused to let that sink in, then nodded sideways to Thoran, never letting my eyes leave the obnoxious form ahead.

"As for this guy-- no thanks. As I said, the Empire didn't rise to where it is due to forming and maintaining alliances of any kind; we got where we are on our own two feet, and I see no reason why we can't continue along in the same manner to which we dedicate ourselves. Believe me, there's no surprises the Sith can pop off at me any more, nossir; I know what they are capable of, and I know what I am capable of as well.

"We'll go it alone, thanks. Without him."

My pointing finger shot to Thoran, and out of the corner of my mouth I murmured, "Hope you're ready, pal."

“Yeah, thanks for the support, there,” he said, quietly. “Hope you know a way out of here. I may be a screw-up, but at least I tried to help you.”

Thoran, now feeling anger wash over him, struck at the air with his hand. A small shimmer of light sparked in front of him, but no portal opened. He repeated this motion, and another sparkle appeared and fizzled out. Again he tried, again the same result. The laughter of the dark Phalomir flowed to his ears, sending more anger through Thoran. He threw his head up and stared sharply at the dark volcanic figure.

“You’ll not destroy the Sith! Niether of you!” he cried out. He struck the air again, with no result. Again and again he tried, the laughter of the dark being growing louder and louder, and the gibbering around them seemingly growing closer, the sound now like screams around them.

But then Thoran realized that sounds he now heard were screams. They echoed through the gibbering mass, and he turned his head to the left to see flashes of red light cutting through the mass of imps that had begun the stream down the valley. The dark Phalomir continued to laugh, and Thoran flicked his eyes to Tarnus, who apparently had also caught sight of the imps. Suddenly a bright blue light appeared in place of the red flashes, almost at the same instant as a bright shimmering light appeared at the base of the Tower, transforming into the welcomed sight of a portal.

Thoran’s eyes lit up, and he immediately broke and ran for the portal. The dark Phalomir had stopped laughing, and was turning to see what had happened. Thoran was halfway there when a tall Sith stepped through the opening. Covered in violet blood that seeped from uncounted cuts and wounds, clothing in shreds, and an eye hanging from it’s socket, Thoran did not immediately recognize the Sith, but it did not take long.

The dark Phalomir paused, then broke into laughter once again. He lifted a hand and shot a brilliant yellow spark from his palm, sending the Master flying backwards.

The Master growled deeply and stood to one knee, blasting out with a red flash that hit the dark Phalomir squarely in the chest. The being was caught off guard, and although not hurt was knocked back a bit. The Master fell back to the ground, exhausted and nearing collapse.

“Follow me, fast!” he cried out, breaking into a run. He then dove for the still open portal, knowing that if the Master went out then it would close and their chance to escape would be lost. He had no idea where the portal truly led, but it had to be better than here!

Literally.

Before I knew it, ol Tarface was down, if momentarily, and Thoran was making dust, heading toward another one of those weird rips in the spacetime-interdimensional-whatever continuum. He didn't have to say a word to me; gulping whatever passed for air I let my feet fly, and soon passed Thoran. I barreled by something red and hideous with one eye, and dove head-first into the rip...

(((OOC: Follow Thoran into Round and Round and Round She Goes… in the “CSWU” forum. Thanks!)))

The Dark Phalomir, newly born into the ways of the Realms, yet full of the knowledge and power that had been promised, sat glowering upon the heaped bodies of imps. The Tower loomed behind him, a white spire offset by the blackness that consumed this existence. His temper had been squelched for the moment, his rage fed into the slaughter of imp after imp, then fully spent with the mutilation of the one who had brought him life.

And now he, Dark Phalomir, clone of the Dark Lord of Armorers, now consumed with the Darkness that had been promised to bring about a new beginning for both the Light and Dark Realms, regarded the Master back from his throne of bodies.

“She still holds the connection,” the Master croaked. “She will still yet believe.”

The Dark One raised his head slightly, then waved his hand at the Master. A long streak of crackling energy blasted forth from the palm of that hand, striking full into the Master’s chest. The Master screamed and sailed backwards into a large rock. His already broken body smacked into the non-material and cracked in a few more places.

After a moment of silence he stirred and rolled his head to the side to again look at the clone of his son. The red skin of the Sith had been darkened into a volcanic mix of black and crimson, and the eyes that once shown brightly now pierced outward with black centers.

“Try…” the Master growled. “She is the only one who can hear you. Just try…”

The Dark One scowled once more, and began to raise his hand again. But then he paused, regarding the Master as if in deep thought. His hand came down, and his eyes closed. The memories of He Who Was, the darkest one, came to him. He who would be Lord, He who would have been sitting here… But nothing is for certain in this realm, and the powers that be are never certain.

“Dark Heart,” said the Dark One, calling forth into the blackness. The connection was weak, almost non-existent at first. But through his closed eyes he saw flickers of a room. From the memories implanted from his days as Phalomir, the Dark One recognized it. It was her, but she was not alone. The image faded, then flickered again.

Again he called, again the connection flickered.

“She is there,” he said out loud. “I will yet find her.”

He concentrated once more, this time holding the image a moment longer. “Speak to me,” he said. “Bring comfort to me, the comfort that only death can feed.”

(((Refer to the appropriately named thread A Creep of Shadow in this forum for another perspective of this.)))

The reply from the dark child came knifing though the cloudy quagmire, penetrating the distorting curtain of oily rain that tried to separate the Darker Realms from that of light. But she had heard the call, and had now answered it.

The Master cocked a bloody eyebrow at the sounds of her thoughts as they echoed through the black air. He lay motionless, however, and waited for the events to unfold.

Dark Phalomir’s mouth creased very slightly, forming what could be taken as a smile.

The darkness roiled inside of Dark Phalomir. A cavernous, sinister anger swelled deep within. Swelled, rose, then boiled over out of the very soul of the being that sat on the stone.

Anger flew from the Dark Phalomir, manifesting itself as blue streaks of raw power that flew from his fingers. Imps cowered in the non-ness of the rocks, but their cover was nowhere near enough to hide them from the rage of the Darkness.

“You CANNOT?!”

He stomped and bellowed, kicking rocks and blasting imps into nothingness. Finally he paused, panting, sweat and smoke falling from his ashed face.

“Dark tidings and destruction to That Which Keeps Us Apart. It cannot separate us for long, my Dark Heart. I shall taste of your flesh, and you shall feel the love that only darkness and pain can bring. Stay with me, my Dark Heart, and tell to me all that happens. Until I find a way to bring you to me, be my ears as well as my heart.”

Dark Phalomir’s eyes flicked to the broken form of the Master, lying still yet seeming to chuckle.

“Take care of those who possess the connection with the All,” he said. “They may be the key, perhaps we can use them.”

"Yes-ss-sss..." she thought back, reaching beyond the necessity of something so mundane as a Portal through the dimensions and into the rest of herself.

But this was a hope of much more sinister intent.

He recalled how the Sith Thoran, the servant given to the Master to aid in his promised delivery, had escaped with the human Sorben Tarnus. Yes, the Dark Phalomir knew who this human had been, even in the brief encounter they had. This was the human who held the strings of the Empire, and although that realm held little interest in the past, recent events lent more significance to this trivial band of self-importance mercenaries.

And now a pair had been captured on a Sith world that matched the loose description of these very two. Yet one claimed to have information regarding the blockage with the All.

"Yes-sss...

"Perhaps there will be gain from hearing what feeble words they spout; there might even be krayt dragon pearls to be found among bantha poodoo.

And he could not help but seize it.

“The greater good?” he sent forth. “The perfect, natural order of life and death?”

Fond memories twinkled inside of the newly formed mind of the Dark Phalomir. For even though a genetic copy of the true Phalomir, the Darkness was meant for the original. This mind was not truly prepared – not filled with holes, with dark desires and secrets, not set with a hidden streak of pure black evil set in balance with the purest of love – no, this mind was still raw. The Darkness had a difficult time tuning with this mind, but it was beginning to form once more and congeal into the perfect manifestation of what it represented.

And with that came the memories.

Standing high above the desolate oceans of non-ness, watching imps and demons wash across the plains at flotsam on a black sea, and beside him stood ShaRhylla. Long claws caressed her cheek, then dug deeply into her eye socket as he spun head to face his. He flicked his tongue across her lip and lapped the blood which streamed down between her cheek and nose, then kissed her – no, sucked her mouth into his own, shredding her gums with his voracious teeth.

And she held him tighter and tighter.

The smile widened on the vessel which was Dark Phalomir, as more and more memories coalesced. She was him, he was she, and in all things dark, they were one. And what of this natural order, this greater good? Bah, it was a humbug notion set in motion by the weak. Existence was as one could make it, and the strongest were those who made it their own. Only the fools who played the Game could care of such things, and The Darkness cared not for such diversion.

All of this he sent to ShaRhylla.

This, and a promise of pain so rich and gratifying, the sorts of which only true lovers could know.

And a thought then crossed his forming mind. A recollection.

I know that the Master is stuck in the Darker Realms, and that he thinks he has Phalomir with him...

What did she mean by this? Phalomir was lured here to the Darker Realms, his body given over to the Darkness so the disembodied powers that be could now walk with the dead and the living. Something still tried to thwart his entry into the realms of light, but they did not count upon his ace in the hole – ShaRylla.

But Shayla, once a host to the Darkness herself, now hinted at something rather disturbing.

...and what he intends to do and in fact he has already done with a mere clone. You could destroy the true Phalomir before the Master realizes his error...

What proof could she have of this? She lied, trying to gain favor and inspire conspiracy. A clone could possess the powers that he required. A clone could not complete the balance needed to unlock the secrets of That Which Is, to win the game.

But he would watch, and learn of her true intentions.

At length he sent a brief message to his other, his true heart, she who was as much a part of him as was the Realm itself, for in reality, was it not all one?

She seeks personal gain as one of the Three Ladies, and references that which she does not understand. Her ambition is admirable, but her information is false.

But something bothered him, which in itself was enough to send him into a fury. But he controlled his temper, choosing instead to raise a finger at distant imp and incinerate it into oblivion. He then focused his thoughts into a calm, thoughtful state.

She reached inward, that strange duality which characterized her being now splitting, as that which was herself before reached over to that which was herself now:

The Dark Phalomir sat glumly, watching the events take place before him but not completely immersed. He was troubled, and this in itself troubled him more. Why had Shayla not been able to divulge more information about these clones? What was their purpose? Who had made them?

And why was there a clone of himself gallivanting across the corporeal realm, unchecked and blasphemous?

This is what troubled him.

But his concentration upon his current problem was stripped when the single plea of his most beloved – no, not his, not yet, no; the most beloved of what was, and what still lived within the heart of the Darker Realms itself – what she seemed to ask directly of him.

And he had not been paying total attention.

This sent chills of rage spiraling around him, freezing the imps who had dare to come within range in place and shattering them into millions of fragments. Behind a stone, the Master groaned as he scraped his battered body across the non-ground. But Dark Phalomir quickly recovered, she must never know his concern over these clones.

She must never suspect there was any weakness at all. The bond between them would grow stronger and stronger, but until the doorways between the realms was restored completely, she could still be affected and influenced by those in the realm of light.

So he would trust her judgment, trust her actions.

“Yes,” he said. To what he did not know. “Our link is dim, and until I can complete it you must act upon your own accord. You know what we are, you know what is imperative.”

But then he noticed Panthar, the Sith who was not a Sith. He could see the many fingers of darkness spreading within this being, even through the hazy fog of the weak link it was apparent. But this was not the pure darkness that had come to deliver the Realm, this was the strange generation of the Master’s rule. Unpure.

“You feel the tendrils of darkness spreading within the being before you,” he added. “But take care, it is prone to rebellion. You shall work mastery over it, I have no doubt. He shall be an agent unto us. I must concentrate on our link, do what you will.”

Then another thought: “Use it, find this clone -- and destroy it.”

...but at this point he was so hungry the taste or its potential quality mattered little. After he finished eating, a tray with something wet was shoved through the slot as well. This he was forced to lean over and lap up like an animal.

Matt really had no idea how long he had been in this dismal place, for he frequently fell in and out of conciousness due to overwhelming fatique and pain due to his precarious positioning. He wondered why he was being kept alive at all, and was beginning to believe that someone was gaining a great deal of delight from the manner in which he was being treated. At first, he had worried about the fates of the Sith who had been with him, and had called out to see if anyone was surrounding him. He attempted this several times, and was rewarded with lashes delivered by one strapping Sith warrior or another, all who semed to take great glee in having the opportunity to beat their prisoner. He cursed himself mentally for not backing out of the situation when he could have for quite a while as well.

But at length he was in such agony that, even as alert as he was, he could not think clearly, at least not for any great amount of time. He had just regained some modicum of alertness long enough to eat and drink what was provided via the slot, ignoring the lurch of disgust in his stomach at the sour taste of both, and was beginning to drift once more when something of his normal alertness kept him awake. He once more considered calling out again, but quickly remembered the end result, wincing as a minimally healed beating wound seemed to throb in reminder. His muscles ached, every last one of them, and he yearned for relief from the strange way in which he'd been chained to the wall. He shifted as if doing so would somehow give him some release, and instead felt an uprush of pain. He involuntarily cried out in agony despite his determination to not draw the attention of guards that had to be lingering nearby...

...and the chains that held him remained secure.

But...

For another unusual moment of mental clarity, an idea began to form in Matt's fatiqued mind.

((OOC: For story continuity I am moving this (and any other Matt posts in this thread) into A Creep of Shadow in the "Jedi/Sith" forums, thank you.))

But then the boy arrived. At first the anger swelled, but he maintained control and coaxed his bride to slay this whelp. But then something happened – the most unexpected thing that he could not have even imagined – feelings surfaced. Strong feelings from this young human, feelings which should not even have existed, emanated and overpowered the brutish connection they had shared.

He was forced to retreat and reconnect the link, quickly, into the remnants of the dark that existed within the buffoon they called Panthar. But even that was too much effort, and now his hold over the Sith giant was ended. He now focused all of his will to maintain the weak, weak signal with ShaRhylla.

He could hear her voice, read choppy fragments of her thoughts.
It speaks to me...

She spoke this to the boy. Why? Why was she beyond control?

Dark Phalomir growled as the answer came to him.

“Take care, my love,” he whispered. “Your human emotions have come to life. You are shedding your cocoon, perhaps even experiencing a rebirth. You are mortal.”

But how? Again he growled as the answer struck him in the face.

“Once again, the game has changed.”

He closed his eyes and focused, sending with all of his might.

Tell him nothing, he hissed. He must be sacrificed.

“It is as I thought,” he said, casting an angry look to the pile of rocks where he left the battered form of the Master. “She is losing her way, becoming...” His face twisted in disgust. “Human.”

Listen to me, my love. Your thoughts are clouded, twisted by the chemicals your body is releasing. It is only this. Do not stray from the path, you shall be lost forever and not allowed to return to the Realms which you hold dear. Come back to us, my love.

He stood, kicking stones and imps from his field of view.

“She will return to us,” he said, walking closer to the pile of stones. One more kick to the broken body would make him feel right again.

You are not Entaris, she had said. I am the daughter of Roan! she snarled. NO ONE COMMANDS ME!

And with sudden rush of emotion, the link was snapped.

The Dark One fell to his knees, reeling from the recoil. He grasped his head tightly in his hands, clenching his eyes tightly shut. When at length he reopened them a dark violet pool of blood lay on the ground before him, shrouded in dark tendrils that swam within it. These tendrils swirled and snaked their way from the blood and across the ground, climbing onto his skin and absorbing back into his body.

The dark one rose to one knee, breathing heavily of the damp inky air. He looked upwards then, with great reverence.

Something had happened. Something wonderful.

And the dark one moved quickly to command those below him to take advantage of this miracle. She was out there, he knew it. And the miracle in the dark sky gave wind to the sails of his new plan.

He could see the miracle, far in the distance, and he knew what it was. And he thanked his lord for providing such a gateway, for there was only one possible answer to what lay on the other side. But even he could not simply jump into the air and float through this gate.

Then another answer was placed before him like an enemy’s head on a silver plate. An imp, emboldened by the apparently good mood the dark one suddenly was found to be in, made mention of a ship. The imp’s neck was snapped for its boldness, but the message was not wasted.

The ship was conveniently reparable, holes in the hull that could be patched with the strange metals of the Realms. The imps’ initial attack had left the engines undamaged so all it took now was a pilot. Fortunately, he himself could fit this role.

He smiled as he boarded the ship and regarded the name emblazoned on the hull. It was so aptly named that he no longer doubted his fate, and that everything happened for a reason.

And now he sat in the pilot’s seat, the hold loaded with Imps and bow pointed towards the miracle in the distant sky.

That which some have come to think of as Which Was reared its wonderful one-ness back into the omnipotent non-ness of what it was/wasn't; cradled its quite unique non-ness into the accepting arms of the all-encompassing one-ness and let go a little, virtual smile. It took a look about its non-self, taking in the grandeur of ALL there was, the ALL of which some little portions of it were now being allowed to awaken to the fact that their gradually progressing perceptions of it were on the right track.

There was a time Man thought HE was the center of it all. In response to that silliness time was given; Man then thought his little celestial body was. Then his little stellar; oh, such wonderful beings those stellars. Perhaps one day their language would finally be deciphered by the other pieces at play.

He/she/it shook a figurative head, smiled more smugly at the Progression Of Things, which albeit slow was at least on an accurate track.

One day those little motes awoke to the fact that there was more, oh indeed quite more; their tunneled little view expanded its paradigms and took a leap of faith.

Stellars existed, vast quantities of them in wonderful pin-wheeling units. At first only each individual one was recognized by the motes inhabiting it, but slowly, bit by bit, in a manner yet evolving, each little bit grew cognizant of the fact that there were more, there were hundreds, millions, billions of those units, each in turn encompassing billions of stellar brothers.

That the stellars were the true Life of the Universe was not yet understood by the little motes dwelling in the All-ness; it was enough that they now looked out toward a universe with tiny eyes that were gradually opening in recognition of the fact that perhaps the better term was in fact Universes...

"Hey, unfair move! That's partiality!" The cry from him/her/itself came from behind him/her/itself.

That-Which-Was took up some stuff of what is, coalesed it into the brilliant ultraviolet-and-chrome Eyes of which he/she/it had become quite fond, and cast them behind his/her/itself.

A figurative sigh was heaved.

"We hoped we wouldn't have noticed..." it non-said, then muttered in further rejoinder, "But a fair move had been made."

Nothing back but a snort; he/she/it sighed, and then waved a figurative hand.

The fabric of Stuff which wove together existence of both forms, be it living or non, rippled, gathered into an immensely tiny little bunch, and exploded outward in the virtual equivalent of a Big Bang.

Here and there certain motes began waking up, some in surprise, some with regret, but one by one those certain few began to wake up as if from a deep slumber.

The Other still wasn't satisfied. "We're not just giving it away!" it protested, the non-words loud and born in total effrontery.

That-Which-Was merely snorted.

"Of course not. Balance must be maintained; it must always be maintained. We know that, and some of us still know it at different degrees, at different levels than others.

"We'll see now..."

The Other muttered beneath its non-breath. "We still think you're making up the Rules as you go along! But we'll wait.

Things that by all logic he should have been killed for knowing.

So he wondered again why the kriffing hell he was still alive. His muscles ached at the very thought, and he shifted as much as he could in his restricted position, stabs of sharp pain shooting up and down his legs, spine, and arms. Matt gritted his teeth and forced down an unvoluntary groan as much as he could, cursing the chains that held him. He had been trying for quite some time--and pretty much in vain--to twist and turn them until something snapped free from the wall. He hadn't been successful yet, but he wasn't ready to give up either. At the very least, his action did remind the Sith guards that he was there, for every once in a while his work had created enough of a stir that they had come in to remind him that they were there as well via quick but painful lashings. Something about it all reminded Matt of the Embrace of Pain the Vong were so notorious for...a biological something-or-other that held a person in place so that they were in just enough pain to not fight back but still be cognizant of the agony. Matt had even read of how some people were hung upside down to make the experience even more disorienting.

The very thought made him thankful his situation wasn't any worse. After all, the Sith were down the magicks that the usually relied upon, as was everyone else. Matt took a few shuddery deep breaths then to prepare himself for the effort he was about to make. Then, putting all his strength into moving his arms and legs and torso while striving to do so as quietly as possible, Matt began to twist and turn the chains that bond him in his cell once more.

It was as though these Sith knew he and his commrades had worked their way out of many impossible situations in the past...

...but then again, they had been lead to believe he was someone else.

Reality dawned then on Matt, who was thinking more clearly than was currently usual.

That was perhaps the only reason he was still alive...