Keenava Dira

“… make haste. Opportunity is in abundance…” What does that mean I wonder? The swollen mass of sandstone that sat before her, gracefully pierced the sky with its brilliant peak. It was accompanied by a series of other pyramid structures, each one as a magnificent as the last. But her eyes fell on the gate as she scaled the majestic entryway. Her admission was silent and without quarrel, so she approached quickly and unassuming. Hiding was considered, but the effort seemed wasted on a planet where other Sith were commonplace. Additionally, hiding might bid some measure of aggression, which was welcome, but needless. As a precaution, however, she didn’t remove her hood. Keenava approached the temple with her blackened leather dulling the visibility of her figure. The spark of freedom sat on her hip and her knives were obscured in their black leather sheaths, temptation beckoning the steel to action, but there was nothing to kill. There was nothing to do at present, so her tempers and emotions were quieted. The spark was muted and sleeping. Kana and the others were relatively silent too. Her thoughts were the most audible force in her mind. And viable though they may have been, Keenava's thoughts entertained her like pyres of pointless luminescent clouds. They milled about aimlessly. Their consistency was logical and pragmatic, but they were ultimately shiny flashes of little substance; useless jetsam tied to her brain that cluttered her consciousness. With a careful guiding hand, they fled and puffed out. Steel focus replaced the chaotic rambling of her mind and Keenava entered the entranceway to the praxeum with a serene emptiness. Her will was tempered by the wise admonition of Urik and her strength was held at bay through active suppression -- the more cards she held to her chest, were more cards she held to attack others or defend herself should the need arise. Stone eyes, the eyes of her master, looked down upon her from his likeness as she continued her procession. She could feel his granite glare descend with indifferent derision and felt that his judgment was ironically lacking in substance. The history they shared, even as small as it was, made his judgment here, into a show that defied her initial impression and every gesture since. But the most immediate concern that remained, niggling in the back of her head, was the reason for her summons. What did Exodus need? Why did he need her? Was her training pausing here and resuming later? The nagging briefly resurfaced before Keenava quashed the rabid inquiry and stepped into the praxeum proper. The guide of Sheog’s attentive staff and the smell of food led her further in. And when she entered the feast-hall, she stepped to the side and watched the proceedings attentively. The Twi’lek nodded to her master and stood to the side by a pillar. She was, technically, not invited to eat with Sheog and did not wish to impose any more than she already had. It was nice to see him again, but Exodus had business for her. It seemed others were summoned or similarly imposing, but that didn’t really justify intervention. If Keenava knew anything, it was to respect those you liked, and respect those that were more powerful than you. Otherwise, who knew what might happen. Her heartbeat accelerated a little at the site of more powerful force users. Her eyes flicked to the exits and she unconsciously took stock of every escape route she could find. She measured each new face with equal parts suspicion and curiosity. Until proven otherwise, they couldn’t be trusted. Such was the Sith way.

Silence fell. The pilot - not alive, nor dead - held orbit of the shuttle right above Korriban’s atmosphere. It made no attempt to broach the perimeter of Sith defenses, nor did it take any offensive strides. It was an inert rock that floated along the elliptical until it gave the requisite codes and asked to land on the planet’s surface. Shadow lurked in the shuttle cabin. The rose rest gently on the plinth of cloth beneath its verdant stem. The thorns of her wicked dance lay upon her chest and the echoes of effort and exertion stood upon her brow. Deep breaths kept her level and her dreams were filled with uncertainty. The art of killing was never kind. It took the innocent, the cruel, the careless, the careful, the oblivious, the aware, the meaningless and the meaningful; nothing was free of its wicked grasp. Yet, those who stood on the edge – the ones holding the paintbrush and committing their gruesome art to practice – were judged ever more. If you killed for good, you were a hero. If you killed mercilessly, callously or without good cause, you were viewed as a monster. But whose cause was just and whose wasn’t? Who made the moral implications? Rumo’s words hung over her head. And she felt her saber warm at her hip -- the pinnacle of both freedom and indecision. The frame of its cylindrical design was excellently chosen. The shackles and rags of her slavery were used to manifest a weapon that would win her enduring freedom. But, in the same vein, she was a slave to her art, her master, and her order. She would act against them at her own risk. Wasn’t that some level of mental imprisonment? It spat in the face of the freedom that she fought for and was anathema to the very code she was ordered to live by. The heart of her saber’s design was built of her heartstone and the stone of a fallen Jedi. Which made for a tumultuous but apropos concept. Her heartstone sung with the energy she had as a young girl living on Ryloth and the fallen Jedi was a significant choice made in an insignificant environment. Had her lot been different, Keenava would have been a simple girl with little ambition. Had her lot been different, she would never have met Furion or Jzora or Exodus. She would have lived in mundane silence and stagnated. It was the horror of her life that illuminated her path and dragged her down. It was the torment that she felt that pulled her forward and pushed her into a life of death and subterfuge. Would she choose something different? Would she choose to be a kind person instead of a ‘monster?’ Would she have been doomed to fall regardless? Those choices echoed in her mind as exhaustion wore upon her body. And ultimately, they withered away, unanswered. Her mind muddled and clouded. The dust of uncertainty threatened to confuse and congest the sepals of the rose as it lay, tearing at its vibrant crimson petals. But she fought, the rose’s thorns tore through the congealed obscurity and surfaced from slumber with more sweat on her brow than before. Her head hung low, the leather armor obscuring her lekku and face. She looked at the dark of the shuttle cabin and let the cold of the still air wash over her. While those questions bore a significant incongruence to her path, Keenava wasn’t uncertain. A nightmare of her past, that feared the lack of certainty, conjured abscesses of thought in attempts to terrify and bewilder her. But that didn’t work. Whatever view the moral righteous ones would take; whatever attempts they made to change or push her out of her path, would fall on deaf ears. She was set on her path. Killing was more a part of her now than living a normal life. The exhilaration of running through shadow. The exciting temptation of steel at the threshold of mortality. The undying joy that came with muscular excellence and acrobatic mastery. The joy at ending a soul that deserved it and the indifference that came with ending others. Like breathing, it was second nature. Aimless ones would say she was a monster. Those on the precipice of hubris would call her despicable. But those same moral giants would come to call on the artist when their commission was due. They needed the corrupt to do what they couldn’t. It was nature. It was inevitable. With a subtle nod of her head, Keenava shifted from her spot on the side bench and appeared by the shuttle intercom. She signaled the pilot to give the requisite codes and tell Exodus that his ‘Nightshade,’ had arrived. She added a greeting to Sheog, if he was there, but didn't know if he would get her message.

Something was off. Keenava listened to the feeling of the room. The vents and rumbling of the exhaust systems were rattling as usual. That wasn’t it. Keenava sniffed at the air and adjusted her position to catch the disturbance, but nothing seemed to work. She unwrapped the sandwich in her hands, peeled back the mask from her face and bit into the fluffy bread. The crust-less frame gave way to a picture of sublime flavor and despite her composure, Keenava’s eyes widened with delight. Keenava had never had deli meat before. And the craft of the ingredients together reminded her of medium-rare ronto steaks. She devoured the sandwich in seconds and considered going for another, but decided against it. The odd feeling she felt before, intensified, and her lekku twitched a little under her hood. Rumo’s usual optimism waned, considering something else. Keenava was a little vague on the why, but she could see that his bright expression was muted and she was starting to understand where her awkward feeling was coming from. His gesture of kindness took her off guard and she considered a flightier response, but she was in control of her impulses. His lips touched her hand without challenge and Keenava’s confusion grew. Wasn’t this the man that dumped her out of a ship? Wasn’t this the man that spoke with the voice of Exodus? Why was he showing this much care? Did he truly care? Whirling thoughts consumed Keenava’s head before she stood, surprising herself, and crossed to Rumo. She smiled under her mask and looked at the man. He fidgeted as she drew near and retreated a little, but Keenava brooked no contention. Her eyes found him and he stopped. “Thank you,” Keenava said. It was a simple consolation, but something that she felt was appropriate. “I appreciate the sandwich and I appreciate what you have done. And, Exodus permitting, I will surely visit.” Rumo smiled, although his face was a still a little pale from her closeness. He reached his hand up to brush hair out of his face and tried to bow, but caught himself before the gesture carried on too far. “It was no problem Lady Keenava. Now, I have been informed that you are to meet Exodus on Korriban. You may visit other places, briefly, but you must arrive on Korriban soon. Exodus will be waiting.” … … And that was the last thing Keenava remembered before waking up in space. The Twi’lek awoke, slightly groggy, in an unmarked cargo vessel that was bound for Coruscant. She couldn’t remember why she was on a vessel headed for Coruscant. But her bag was there, so it was a good place to start. She took a moment or two to check and see that everything was still where it should be and then found an empty seat nearby to plop down on. Exhaustion and weariness were still walking hand in hand with her and she needed to recoup before getting down to business. She sighed as she sat and turned her head to look out a nearby viewport. And when she did, a small plate caught her eye. It was on a side table near the chair she sat on. The plate was covered in sandwiches. _________________________ _________________________ A few days passed. Keenava was somewhat satisfied with her work. She really wanted to get her piercings back and she wanted to find someone that could duplicate or improve upon her tattoo design, but she hadn’t gotten far. She narrowly avoided running into her sister when she retrieved her saber on Talus and put a rain check on their reunion until after she completed what Exodus wanted her to do. She grabbed her bag from the Last Call and saw that it was looking for someone to pledge for ownership. Keenava threw her hat in as a long-time employee and friend to Kheldar, but she figured that idea was a longshot. Still, she felt she was as ready as she could be. She had her saber and all her things. It was time to get to Korriban and check in.

The familiar bump of Rumo’s ship as it hummed through the skies was starting to grow on her. It was a quiet comfort, even amidst the pilot’s whimsical prattling. And, like most small things, it gave her some measure of peace; although peace wasn’t the right word. Because, even with her thoughts dwelling on better or more gruesome things, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. The words, '…you can’t trust anyone…' kept playing over and over in her mind. In fact, that was the primary reason she didn’t leap up to grab a sandwich when the confection was offered, even though she was physically and mentally stretched. Despite not actually moving an inch, Keenava felt like she’d fought for hours. Her mind and body were worn and she couldn’t shake the images of the dead from her mind. It was a valuable teaching experience, but she would have to wrestle with the existential implications for quite some time. She held Exodus’ Holocron in her gloved right hand, but the magic from before seemed to be absent. She looked over the cool edges of the metal and put it a little closer to her eye, before hiding it away in a pouch at her belt. Keenava smiled a little under the fresh leather mask that now sat over her face. Rumo’s banter was amusing even if it did grate on her a little. “Yes, Rumo. Rumors.” Keenava said with a knowing gleam in her eyes. Oddly, her voice didn’t come out muffled. The mask obscured her voice a little and added an ethereal quality to it. It was almost like she spoke with a ghostly echo. The vocal quality was clear, but the modulation caught her off guard. “Soon, you will have to leave this place, my Lady, our Dark Lord calls for you. They will come, they will put you to sleep, and you will wake up elsewhere. You could give it all up and remain here, in the sanctuary, what do you say? Keenava’s eyes glittered for a second and three other women stepped out from where she sat. They took places adjacent to her and sat if they were able. “What do you say, ladies?” Keenava asked, chuckling inward a little at how ridiculous the spectacle may have seemed. Kava smiled fiendishly at Keenava’s left side. Her carapace-like body shifted as she moved through the cabin a little and gauged the escape and capture capabilities of the vessel. “I think we’re already a bit too far to be doubting ourselves or our direction.” Kara, who didn’t have a place to sit and instead sat on the open floor, grunted. Her eyes were aflame with crimson. “I think, I want more.” Kana, who made her way up to Rumo and started eyeing him with a wicked grin set on her predatory face, looked back to Keenava. Her eyes said: 'can I keep him?' Keenava’s eyes said: 'no. He belongs to Exodus.' Kana pouted and went back to her seat beside Keenava before answering the question: “I see no reason not to continue.” Keenava turned to look at them all and then let their images fade back into her head. “It seems my minds are made up. I will stay. I promised I would stick this out and I intend to see it through. No matter what end that decision leads me to.” With her decision made, Keenava got up from her seat and grabbed a sandwich.

Adrenaline surged through her skin. Fire and Ice warred against each other in her decisive maneuver. Her focus suffused her movements and her will drove her final strike. She could feel the steel rubbing the calluses of her palms as she dove into Urik and drove her blade into his pallid flesh. But, before she could revel in the conclusion of her movement – the satisfaction of his blood upon her hands – she was left standing in the exact place she’d been before. The scene in her mind faded away like sand in an hourglass. And Keenava was left staring at the back of Urik’s head with the vestiges of adrenaline hanging off her clenched fists. The holocron’s glow shuddered and Keenava realized that her entire fight was an illusion. The victory, the failures, the oblivious and callous nature she took with her movements at times; they were fake. But she could feel every moment, like an echo in her muscles. She retained the knowledge, pain, and experience, but the damage didn’t carry over. The black twi’lek looked with curious eyes toward Urik. The sands were serene and his position was relatively unchanged from when they first met. It was oddly disorienting. She had been milliseconds from rending one of this man’s jugular veins, and here he was, sitting peacefully as if nothing had happened. His focus was insanely powerful. It was almost enough to renew Keenava’s fighting impulses, but Keenava could tell that she was still out of her league. And, she had grown to respect Urik; in a weird sense. Instead, she listened to Urik as he talked of the blades and picked them up off the ground when he finished. Their weight was similar; so, she hadn’t imagined their wieldy capabilities. It was when Urik said ‘whip,’ that Keenava’s mind did a double take. Did someone say whip? A familiar voice said, emerging from the mental silence that took hold after the illusion was broken. Yes, Kana, Urik did. Keenava responded. Also, nice of you to join us. Her tone was playful, yet sincere. Kana smiled lasciviously, it was obvious you didn’t need my help. Plus, I had my hands full with Exodus while you were gone. You didn’t! What? What was I supposed to do while you were off fighting… Twiddle my thumbs? You created the mental image of him. I was just, taking advantage of it; nothing sinister. I promise. Yes, but what will Exodus think if he goes poking around my head again? Lucky me? God, you're incorrigible. Hey, don’t blame me for being a creature of impulse. I’ll be over here. Keenava inwardly facepalmed. Her face blushed – for values of blushing – and she sighed with a small smirk to show her amusement. In the meantime, while she wrestled with the perplexity of what amounted to mental masturbation, a moderately sized suit of blackened leather armor was revealed in the sand a few feet from where she stood. Keenava closed the distance without pause and lifted the armor to get a closer look. The first thing she noticed, was that all of the pieces were amazingly well crafted: the seams were flawless, the tanning was superb and the strength of the hide was very nice; it would be extremely reliable. Keenava set to work donning her new uniform and when she was ready, she proceeded to the ship that made its way to Urik’s position. A familiar hyperactive face greeted her. And despite her discomfort at seeing the man who threw her out of a moving vehicle, she waved back. Before she made to leave completely, Keenava turned back to Urik with her armor on and blades in her hands. She bowed to the master and then turned and walked toward her destination. “Thank you, master Urik”

Keenava saw the waning strength of the slug deflate like a balloon. The ‘sun’ dried his skin and aided with his exsanguination. It was pitiful. But Keenava was training. This was what she was made to do; killing was her destiny; killing was her art; killing was her life; the irony of her creation stood testament to the viciousness of the Sith. She would show no mercy when she begged for it as a child. She would show no hesitation when nervous feelings plagued her earliest memories. Her life would bring more death. This was how it would always be. Even a childish diversion such as this would brook no dissension in her craft. Assassination was her role and the galaxy would come to fear the shadow. Keenava’s red eyes climbed the massive Hutt’s body and traced the path of her final strike. Kara was called and answered with more fire. The Twi’lek’s right blade glowed white and her eyes blossomed with crimson fire. When her path was clear and her determination cemented, Keenava shot from her position and hit the Hutt with massive force, drawing a line from the tip of his tail until it met her previous cut at his neck. Viscera and blood exploded from the massive creature and caked the battlefield in gore. I told you. You attack me, you die. ((3))

Keenava felt the slime riddled body of her assailant just micrometers from her own as she stood on the creature’s back. The material of her cloth shoes was not enough of a membrane to shelter her from the disgust she felt deep in her mind. She had never once touched a Hutt this closely before. Even Sheog, who had been kind to her, never pressed his body this close. It was a necessary evil. But… blech! And the surface of his body brought her nothing but an upset stomach. The Twi’lek looked for a way out. She wanted to jump to the sand and rid herself of the weird feeling she felt. It wasn’t so much a physical incapability, but a strong revulsion that kept her rooted in place. She got her wish though; not in a way that she would have liked, but beggars can’t be choosers. His hand piled into her and she was propelled off the bloated worm with alacrity. She was dazed for a moment and had to leap to avoid the Hutt’s ambitious advance. His breathing was heavy and the damage to his cranial cavity was severe. The murky blood that covered his face was thick. But his smile begat his intuition. The cogs in his brain were obvious and although Hutts were generally hard to read, Keenava had no difficulty reading his body language. The obsidian assassin bent lower toward the sand and waited until the worm threw his punch. Then, when his back was open, Keenava shot forward with impossible speed and sidestepped his massive skull. She spun around and sliced deftly from the crown of the Hutt’s head to the middle of his neck. The belching sound of goop as it fell from his skin was enough to threaten vomit once more, but Keenava could not afford diversion. Her momentum hit the sand with a tumble on the Hutt’s opposite side, and she sprinted away, eager for another shot. ((2))

The arid heat set into her skin. Her cuticles had finished their cry. Her face was hardened and dry. The sand was ubiquitous. At this point, her body had grown accustomed to the rough grains that played havoc in the crevices of her skin. It was just another layer of skin. The dead played about like ravenous dancers, enraptured by the beat of Urik’s torrid drum. And their hunger drove them into oblivious lust. The jealous desire that led their sinews, refused to see the truth as shadows played before their eyes. At the last breath of her failed strike, Kava’s attentive will, sung to Keenava’s feet. The Twi'lek, mired in the depths of her newfound focus and strength, reacted instantly. She disappeared. Her graceful egress caught the pallid fingers of dead hands in her wake and left a trail of glass behind her. But the evidence of her expeditious retreat was quickly buried by the rushing waves of sand that pushed at where she previously made her stand. And, her image remained; Keenava’s form roared in defiance of Urik’s instinctive reaction. The phantom took the brunt of the telekinetic attack that Urik attempted to levy. And the intent of its defiance saw that the wall of animated earth that Urik hastily constructed, collapsed to the ground without purpose. It was more sand in the air. The dead, who rose to catch the usurper, and who were now missing several fingers, were buried underneath their master's telekinetic marvel. But Urik wasn't stupid. He would know she would come again. Keenava understood this. Kava understood this. Darkness, Kava scoffed. Exodus is Darkness. This man wouldn’t know darkness if someone threw a blanket over his head. Death is peace; solace; the gentle embrace of mortality that releases all pain and weakness. These husks aren't darkness. The sand isn't darkness. Darkness is looking for a light and seeing only pain. Darkness is the cold shadow that watches over moments that would make even the strongest constitution shudder. Darkness is knowing that no matter how hard you try, you will never find peace. Darkness is to struggle. To be one with Darkness is to fight every day of your life... Urik; you let scraps do your dirty work for you. Kava’s words echoed in Keenava's mind as she scattered flash images across the battlefield. Ten shadowy specters of Keenava's form appeared all around the field of battle and assumed different attack positions as they went. Then, when all the illusions were set, they all rushed in at him, refusing Urik any purchase. Each image was marred by the sand and by the hundreds of bodies that warred to the surface. But they blended excellently with the mayhem. The real Keenava masked her surge of power to blend with her images and used the last second to unleash a series of precisely angled cuts. Major arteries and nerve clusters. She would kill him, or disable him. One way or another, she would win. The searing fire of her steel and the icy chill of her wrath would clash together in a beautiful display of art and murder. Once more, her strikes were decisive and powerful. She could not afford to let up. Her tactician was on alert, but anything could happen. She could hear her master's words pounding in her head. She would be a weapon and would kill without hesitation. This, she swore.

“Alright, Urik! You asked-" Keenava said, fire in her eyes. And it was at that moment that Keenava realized that she wasn’t on Arachnakorr anymore. And yet, she was still being covered with sand. So, I couldn’t possibly have gone somewhere that didn’t have sand? As if in answer, a large wad of sand popped her in the mouth. Yuck, gee. Thanks. She could feel the warm fire building in her heart. The need for action was strong. It was almost like she was needed somewhere else and this entire place was just a diversion. But she had no idea where she was. Diversion or no, she had to do something quickly or she’d never hear the end of it. If Exodus found out that she somehow left Arachnakorr before her training was done. Keenava’s could feel gooseflesh cover the length of her back and intensify at the nape of her neck. I don’t even want to think about that. What do I do though? And where am I? Keenava looked down to the blades in her hands. They were still buzzing with activity. One of them burned with the fire of Kara, her inner rage demon. And the other, cracked with the icy chill of Kava, her inner demon of logic and practicality. She still had her weapons. Wherever this place was, she still needed her blades? Keenava found more questions than answers. Frustration replaced focus for a moment and she tried to slam a vengeful hand at the air. But, a large shadowy figure erupted from the sand and Keenava’s attention shifted. What is that?! Blubbery flesh arced in a furious wave toward Keenava’s head and she had to use the force to adequately dodge. She rolled to the right and came to her feet, blades ready. She took a moment of silent analysis and then shot to the figure with grace and dexterity. The arc of red fire, that stood in her hand, sliced across the figures back. And the stroke of blue ice, held tightly in her other hand, stabbed into the mysterious figure’s face. Nobody attacks me and lives. ((1))

Reviled sons and daughters, lost to time, stood legion in front of her. Her motions were lost to a sea of flaking dead flesh. Each strike tightened into the next one. And, with repetition, her skill built upon itself. Layer by layer she found more nuance in each new curve of the blade. Every arc was essential. Every crest was a marked improvement over the next. But waves of mottled decay rose to meet her blade. Ceaseless mountains of the dead rose with cries of envious rage and wept over the plain with little discretion. Covered by murky blood, Keenava stood stolidly amidst the tempest. Their cries ebbed at her focus, but the cacophony proved insufficient. Their language was ill chosen. Fear didn’t fit her well. It held very little potency in her mind; however, the other emotions that accompanied their song, the grinding of sand on her exposed sinews, the biting of grit at her eyes, the fatigue that lingered on the edges of her mind, and her blood that continued to spill onto the arid plain, lent to more vulnerability than their cries alone. Dehydration fed hallucinations into her mind, causing her to second guess her intuition. The resulting consequences bit at her body, but she continued without regard to the pain. If she stopped, she would die. If she lost herself, she would die. Her mortal frailty fought against the strength of her will. And yet, she planted her feet and spat crimson into the face of an onslaught, continuing to commit their sentence. Urik was buried in the bodies. His intentions were clear. And although Keenava felt confident, her abilities were fading. She needed to preempt her decline. She needed to open the floodgates of her defenses before they broke of their own accord. Taking the span of a breath, her metaphysical form approached the figurative gate that stood between her and the others. A familiar figure blocked passage to the gate. His form was a crude facsimile, but it was as accurate as Keenava could manage with short notice. He looked her up and down, examining the damage to her form, and shrugged. What is it you want, apprentice? He said, his tone closed and indelible. I want Kava and Kara. Keenava retorted. Her voice was steady. Her tone was fixed. She looked at the clone of her master with determination and inclined her head as a gesture of respect for the personage he represented. Exodus’ face tested a half-smile before nodding in agreement. It seems you know what you’re doing. Don’t lose control. Urik is not to be trusted. And this will not be easy. I know… Keenava let the scene unfold around her once more and was greeted with something out of a child’s nightmare. Urik was wrangling cyclones of sand that filled the stormy air with more granules than before. Meaty projectiles fell from the sky with no grace at all and Keenava had to keep her eyes peeled for every single movement, careful not to miss even the slightest motion. As the moments waned, her mind started to wander. It took effort to pull back. The familiar presence of Kava filled her mind with a soothing balm, and the fury of Kara rested inside her weary body. Their curiosity and anger, fueled by the recent history of their renewed incarceration, was easily quelled. Their mind was one. When all of them reconnected, their memories and experiences poured into one another and they pulled into defensive stances, awaiting orders. Keenava’s strength re-doubled and her focus hardened. She smiled; a tease to the Sith Master that tested her. Envy; his mind was suffused by it. It clouded his judgment and wove his control over the dead. They rose to his bidding on the strings of his insatiable envy. It matched theirs. They were a mirror. Even Urik’s life, the beating of his cold heart, could not separate itself from the desire it shared with the cadavers that he summoned from the depths. This crude bludgeon would be his downfall. Kava’s words echoed in her mind. Silent breaths of wisdom that lingered as Keenava gathered her thoughts. No mistakes. No missteps. Bide your time. Kill the puppet master. Not the puppets. Kava, take the left blade, help me find a path. Kara, take the right blade and lend me your speed. The steel beneath her hands quaked to life. The left blade began to crack as thick motes of ice covered the surface. The right blade began to glow with a dull orange hue. Steam rose from the right blade as it cut through expired flesh. Alright you two, let’s carve our way in. Keenava’s face blossomed into a cloud of red and blue flame. Her light was a small blip in an ocean of gray. Her lekku hovered in the air for the space of a millisecond. Her eyes seared with a furious heterochromia. And inexplicably, she disappeared. Or, that is how it seemed, to the ravenous horde that encroached upon her. Her vulnerable skin didn’t sit long enough to be touched. She moved with the speed of a lightning bolt through the throngs of bodies and cut massive swaths of destruction as she went. Loping among the restless, Kava looked out to the side for signs of Urik’s body. It was hard, amidst the throngs of wailing. But, with one lap, Keenava closed the distance on Urik and shot toward him. Kava lent a careful pressure to Keenava’s gait, leading her into a feint. Keenava’s new trajectory took her an inch or so wide of Urik’s position. Then, as the bolt of her momentum crossed his path, Keenava slashed her right blade toward his throat. One shot. One kill. It was a naïve sentiment. But Keenava had to strike with surety. If not, the effort was meaningless. Kava looked to alternatives, while the others struck with vengeful determination.

The wind whipped, howling a slew of lamentations. The crust of existence washed over her. Sand that was once glass; dust, that was once life. For we are all dust in the wind, doomed to be forgotten by time. Irritation marred Urik’s pallid face. He stood, a ballast amidst the raging storm, and hesitated. His power was unquestionable. His force was undeniable. But he seemed to waver for a moment. Considerations filled his mind. They were beyond Keenava’s reach, but she could see his contemplation. It wasn’t long. It took him only a second or two before he spat at her feet; a crude gesture. Normally such a gesture would evoke some form of retaliation. But the lack of recalcitrance had more to do with Keenava’s current mental state, than her denial of what lay before her. The severe clarity of Keenava’s mind, antithetical to its previous design, allotted an abundance of space to consider each moment as it passed by. The passing of breath between her lips, that barely registered to her brain before, was now thunderous. Her pulse that, even now, stood as a powerful metronome, was a driving beat in her cavernous consciousness. Each grain of sand that plowed into her face was a millisecond scraping at her cheek. Time flurried and whipped, immersed in the virulent tempest that befell the two of them; fingers that fruitlessly grasped at her frame, slipping toward the ground. The normal chaotic dirge that played havoc on her brain was quiet. It left a cold vacuum where anything could grow. Each new sensation coaxed anew, the potential energy building inside, but she managed to maintain her focus and control. She kept still. Her footing remained consistent and her body language mocked that of her new teacher. His movements were fascinating. She watched Urik craft his fire. His artful gestures manipulated the air around him and carved a heat source from the atmosphere itself. It was a romantic notion. The heat of the desolate, used to fabricate amber life. But his intentions were aggressive. His purpose was lethal. And it was all written in the cold malice of his eyes. Gripping the harsh steel in her fresh unspoiled hands, Keenava reached out to the flames as they crossed the distance. The new stimuli was almost overwhelming to the emptiness of her mind, but she managed to push out the distraction. Her newfound discipline weeded out the excess of her impulsive reaction, allowing her to control every facet of her movement. One thought and the violent flame was brought to bear in her steel. The searing energy swam around the blades and rest there, just as the ground burst to life. Envy made flesh, the dead were beginning to rise and strike back at the living. Meaty disease-filled arms struggled to the surface and attempted to grab at the Twi’lek. But she stood, eyes closed. Her figure was a monolith in a sea of decay. The more you take, the more you leave behind… What am I? Well… A moment of thought was concussive in the spartan void of her mind. Flashbacks of her history pooled in answer to her query, waiting to be drawn, waiting to be recollected. Each event carried its own significance and with every step further into the future, her past swelled in size and significance. She thought to masters of her past and beasts that haunted her. She drew from her experience and knowledge and found herself at odds. Indecision was a queer half-cousin to the way it felt before, but it still rankled her progress toward a singular answer. It seems clear that a demonstration is in order. Keenava took a step forward. She centered herself and tightened her grip. She tensed the muscles in each leg and just when she felt the touch of death upon her own tender flesh, her eyes opened in a blazing red fire. The conflagration of each blade intensified and Keenava became a whirling dervish of destruction. Her body spun with deliberation. She rotated her frame and struck out at her assailants in a series of low and high blows. Each strike was measured. Each strike was planned. And even with rapid motion, Keenava took care to regulate her form. She was a ball of fire, and as more husks were destroyed, more littered the ground. As more assailants were removed from the field, the more her footing improved. As more steps were taken, more steps were left in her wake. Occasional hits were scored on her body, but the blood did not cease her procession. Like her master before her, she continued her macabre momentum, determined to succeed. The blades split flesh like moldy butter. And waste, mingled with bile, littered the dunes around her. But this was her stage. There was nothing in her mind to hold her back, and she would stop at nothing until the dead were inert once more.

The sand continued whipping rough against her shield. She felt the pressure build in her mind, but her will refused to abate. Another brush of her leg filled her thoughts with anxious possibility, but they were distractions and easily mitigated in the breadth of her mind’s newfound clarity. Master Urik stirred. He was her purpose here and his words were her mission. Keenava apologized to Master Urik for her miscalculation and documented his warning for future interactions, which was easier with an open mind. Thoughts were clearer. Ideas were concrete. She could feel the icy signals crawling through her nerves and to every part of her body. It was startling and vivid. It was mystifying and curious. But Keenava didn’t dwell on it. She bowed gently and stood, staring out into the vast sea of dunes. The visible force started to melt off her image. She answered without thinking and her imprint seemed to fade with the wind as if it were a mirage. Urik’s words hung in the air before her, tugging at her right hand, and pulling the tips of her fingers apart until her palm was open and facing the meditating Sith Master. Before Keenava thought to resist, a small star floated into her hand and blossomed like a plume of fire. She looked down at her palm for a moment – as if to deny the force that struck her – and saw the small pyramid-like device. It hummed with the spirit of her master. His will was a force deep in the oblique metal and the synergistic connection she felt, grew in strength. But, as the metal sparked to life in her hand, the shape morphed to the contours, and it abducted the lucidity of her eyesight. With a blink, her sight shifted from the sand to a damning nightmare and back again. Husks of desperation clung to her form and tried to pull her down. But in the breath of her panic, she was back on the sand. The wretched flailing of grotesque limbs filled her mind, probing the depths of her perception with callused fingers. Arms afflicted by varying amounts decomposition, swam through the vague clarity, threatening to shatter her mind and send her into a bout of terrifying wails. It was too much. The poeticism wasn’t lost, but the nature of the gesture was disgusting and horrific. When her vision finally cleared, and she could see the form of her master amidst the decaying flesh, she did what she could to avert her eyes from the grasping hands. She afforded every allowance possible to avoid giving them any reception or ground. And her master, different than she saw him before, went about carving through the menagerie like they were nothing. He suffered some cosmetic damage, but he was an artist of craft and killing. The paintbrush illuminated the field of battle with strokes of deliberate and devastating efficiency… "Apprentice, be wary of Urik. There are seven Masters of Sin, some of which I've shown you. He is that of Envy. Stay alerted, they live beneath the sands." At the chill of her master’s warning, Keenava’s mind returned to the sand and the Holocron returned to normal. Blades sat at her feet, splayed out, and Master Urik was still meditating. Her will was recoiling from the harsh adaptation that it had to endure. The hands were still specters, climbing up and down her exposed skin and like phantom insects, probing every inch of her body. She fought to maintain the emptiness in her mind. And, although the war was rough, she vanquished the morbid flashbacks with minimal mental sparring. Beneath the sand… Hmmm. Keenava was standing on the sand. Was that what those brushes were? Were those the hands? The Twi’lek bent over to pick up the blades and put one in each hand. The familiar weight of metal in her palms helped her derive some comfort. But she was still lingering in the chaos of the sandstorm. Her mind was clear and her will was hardened. Her shield was passive but moved with the storm as its whirling motion continued to spin in circles around her. It pushed her, pulled her, tugged her, and spun her. Her mind was a fleeting echo of those movements, but it embraced the simplicity of emptiness within the confines of her personal storm. Master Urik offered her a seat, but she politely declined. “Master Urik. I do not feel sitting upon the dead is wise. If I must sit, I will. But I do not wish to tempt the spirits around me.” As she spoke, she made another motion to abate her force imprint until it was nothing but an echo. She saw their hunger. The dead that clung mercilessly to life, envious of the power and vitality that those living held so easily.

Powerful sand enveloped her. Keenava’s world became a dreary blob of brown that shifted and fluctuated in no particular pattern. It was harsh and unrelenting. It whipped at her shield without mercy, attempting to pry away any defense she had. And yet, her shield held against the persistent onslaught, saving her skin from the detriment that awaited. But, amidst the roar, she couldn’t hear. The chaos erupted into a plethora of particles that violently pounded away at her body. She couldn’t focus. Every step in the sand was another trial and every maneuver she made was another obstacle. She couldn’t find stable footing. The entire ordeal seemed asinine, but Keenava was determined. She was determined to prove that she was strong. She was determined to prove her potential to her master. Your aura is loud, I would quiet that if I were you. Keenava heard a voice over the din. Just barely. It was like a whisper above the roar of a wild animal. And just when she tried to make out the words, a strong presence brushed by her feet, sending a surge of adrenaline into her distracted brain. My aura? What does he mean? Keenava struggled with panic and tried to call out to the voice, to ask it what it meant by aura, but she couldn’t open her mouth more than a sliver. She shifted her focus and tried to focus on her energy, but the power of her shield trembled and the sand threatened to crumple her form to the ground. ...Apprentice. I am the blade to cut the folds of who you think you are away, use it... His voice came to her. It was a cold presence amidst the warm cacophony and it stood in stark clarity to the cloud of chaos that consumed her. She clung to it, and spent some mental energy in trying to dissect the meaning. This was easier somehow. The answer was easier to find. Who do I think I am? Images of a domestic life spun through her mind. Images filled with conquest and murder sped through the cracks and a plethora of different personas stood in her mind as pretenders. Lallu, Ullana, Lallu – the domestic housewife, and many other iterations thereof just flittered away. Even her own alter egos, held at bay by a conjured force of structure that mocked her current master, started to drift from the surface of her consciousness. They still rest in the depth of her mind, but they yielded control to her and let her mind empty. The false imagery faded from her mind and left her thinking about one thing. Who. am. I? I am Keenava Ootunavi, apprentice to Dark Lord Exodus, Assassin of the Sith Order, and Sith Lord under Furion. I am a weapon in the dark. I am lethal. I am deadly. I am a knife. I am the final movement in the dance of death. Her mind cleared slowly, and the depth of focus she gained was unparalleled by previous efforts. She could see the path forward and held power to ward the sand. She kept her shield but narrowed the front of her shield to a point, letting the sand peel off the side at her procession. When she reached the source of the voice, she found a man, meditating. She bowed deeply and took a deep breath to spite the growing tempest surrounding her. “I was sent to find you, Asmodeus. Show me where I shall direct my blade.”

Keenava was dismally aware that she was the sole person responsible for her mental repair. That wasn’t news. And considering her history, it was a certainty. Only I can fix the mess, because only I can truly see it. Others may have been the cause, but only I can fix my interpretation of their deeds or fix who I am because of them. Her proximity to the problem posed some difficulty in decoding what was required, but she did well in the past and was committed to finding answers in that regard. Though his initial impression was annoying and frustrating, his open mind and careful speech were a welcome catharsis to her wandering thoughts. She listened patiently to the rest of his speech to pay respect to his words and felt that, even though his compliment was out of place, it was pleasant all the same. She smiled a little in response to the blissful tragedy. There was still a scarlet ball gown hanging in her bedroom on Talus. She might even wear it again someday. The rose – petals gone – sat regretting the nature of inevitability. The demeanor of her compatriot changed – as she thought it might – into something more confident: Keenava heard the timbre of his voice change. His posture adjusted slightly. He slowed the pace with which he spoke. And his tone was less frivolous. It was a subtle shift, but the hints were there if you bothered to look. Before she could interrogate his tonal shift, however, a wave of terrible force hit the side of their shuttle. Sand, as far as the eye could see, spread out beneath them. Keenava was so focused on the mystery of her guide that she hadn’t paid any attention to her surroundings. Rookie mistake. There were still blue skies above, but the rage of the storm shook her from conversation and demanded her attention. “.. Stay alive, Lady Keenava. Until we meet again.” "What?" Keenava asked, rapidly switching her attention back to her guide to question his cryptic omen. There was too much to say; too much to ask. She attempted to open her mouth to speak and found that she was no longer in the shuttle. KRriiiiiffffff!!! She yelled, as her form, body and seat, sailed into the massive storm of sand. Her lekku whipped around wildly and Keenava did her best to make herself as little as possible. The ironically gleeful wave of the tour guide was lost as the Twi’lek sailed into the void. She couldn’t see the ground. She couldn’t see anything in the waves of particles that surged around her. It was a massive cloud of brown that piled into her with the force of a raging typhoon. She tried to take a breath, but sand built in the opening and it became difficult to inhale. The sediment assaulted her skin like thousands of microscopic bugs piling into her. Her head was a whirl to mock the storm. And her thoughts were like a bucket of rats trying to climb atop each other, wrestling desperately to the front of her mind. It was all noise. Keenava had to find something to hold onto. She had to find an anchor and work from that. It was her only hope. Her alter egos tried to seize control, but they were chaos. She respected their power, but her guide’s words echoed in her ear nubs. This was something she needed to do on her own. She just needed… something. One thing to stabilize her. One thing to catalyze her. One thing to help her. One… Fire. One-what? The fire inside her. It was the constant in her life; the immovable rock that kept her alive since the beginning. It wasn’t loud and she’d never consciously touched it before. But embraced with cacophony and pain, her fire stood as a constant beating in her ears. In the heart of the storm – even when the rage of sand crashed down all around her – it was the loudest force in her entire body. An odd clarity filled her addled mind. The realization helped her cope with madness. And when she touched it, it sang with scarlet notes of drive and determination. The fire of her will solidified and it filled her with the presence of mind that she desperately needed. What would a Sith be if not for themselves? Being a Sith was sefish. Never forget who you are. This was what she needed. It wasn’t everything, but it was a start. The Twi’lek used her brief respite to focus amidst the torrent. The chair was bent on rolling without her, so she used that to her advantage. She harnessed the momentum of the chair and the tumult of her surroundings to create a bubble of air. Then, she took a deep breath, cut the restraints that held her in place, and dove toward the ground, padding her forward momentum with the force. It was simple, when she could formulate simple thoughts. She hit the ground with a pluff! and walked away with only minimal concussive damage to her small frame. She maintained what she could of the bubble to prevent the storm from sweeping her away again. But now she had a different problem. Where would she go next? Anywhere. You choose. The words leapt to mind without effort. This wasn’t the end. She had come far in understanding herself, but she needed more.

The breath of air on her ebony cheeks was refreshing. It was a welcome improvement, regarding the cloying stench of death and decay that hung in the dry temple; its stark walls that held murals and carvings of events she couldn’t place; its open cavernous halls that seemed virtually monolithic in size and scope; and its dark overbearing presence that clawed at you with every waking moment. It was a very dark place. And it reminded her of the Sith in every way. Outside the temple, however, it was very different. When you left the border of the temple, the scenery changed dramatically. Keenava looked out to the bright untouched blue skies and the vibrant landscape that spread out before her. She tapped the well of power within her and extended her senses beyond the mundane. She looked out to admire the vast palette of colors used in the landscape. And although she heard it, she barely registered the subtle howl that lingered on the horizon. It was a whisper to her gaping mouth as she beheld a lovely world that seemed antithesis to everything she thought about the surface while she walked in the subterranean temple. She assumed it might be volcanic or filled with crags or canyons. She assumed everything would be dark and heavy. But this, this landscape was beatific. It shone with a confusing light. It was mystic and it utterly baffled her. Where am I? As if in answer to her question, an extremely giddy individual greeted her from the open shuttle. Keenava’s hands immediately went to her sides in a futile attempt to draw knives that weren’t there. It looked a little silly considering the fact she was unarmed. But that didn’t stop her mind from tensing at the altercation. His expression was nothing but cheery. But this was Exodus’ realm of power. How did she know his eagerness was on the level? And even if it was, would it do her any good to let him catch her with her guard down? Keenava locked eyes on him, refusing to move them anywhere else. She looked at him from head to toe. And although she couldn’t find anything obvious about him, she was still a little skeptical. She was reticent to advance, but if she didn’t, it might be perceived as a slight and she knew Exodus would be watching. So, following his simple instructions, she passed the threshold and buckled herself into the shuttle before they picked off and set off to places unknown. The man seemed incredibly needy. It was an odd thing. It wasn’t something that Keenava was very experienced with. Yet, at first, it seemed endearing to have someone so willing to disclose things about themselves and everything around them. That sentiment lasted for about a minute. Soon his words became too much and Keenava quickly became impatient. Then her impatience escalated to full-blown frustration when she realized that she had to spend hours flying around with him. She tried to make herself small to avoid attention, but the man kept talking at her and she couldn’t avoid it. It was infuriating. Her eyes started to pulse with warning hues of red flame when a curious question emerged from the deluge of words that poured from his mouth. “…Why do you want to be a Sith?...” Keenava stopped. Her mind wandered and she didn’t know how to answer. Her suspicions about this man were warranted, considering she knew nothing of him. But what did she have to lose, offering him this information? "At first, I don’t think I did." Keenava said, her tone soft and curiously hoarse, considering she hadn’t been the one talking for the last half hour. She thought about a grand ballroom; fancy dresses, fancy decorations, and glittering adornments that made the occasion into a spectacle that rivaled the stars. Keenava began again, a little louder than before. “But after he found me and challenged me to fight for myself. After he came and called for me to survive and join him, I found myself clinging to his strength and idealism. That strength provided my life with the structure it lacked. And from there, I realized that there was no going back. I made my choice and was open to live with the consequences. My life was royally kriffed from its inception, so I rode what I could until I found something stable. No amount of fluffy clouds and forgetting would erase the scars of my past. Even my newborn skin still trembles with echoes. I can still feel the lash of the whip on my shoulders. I can still feel calloused hands rubbing against me. I can still feel the invasive thoughts, pulling at my mind and tearing their way through the fabric of what little confidence I had. I’m broken. You can try to put the pieces back together. You can try and hang that pretty little painting on a wall. But that painting will never be the same. I became a Sith to work with the painting I have. I became a Sith to use my pieces and make something new in the only way I thought possible. I could never be an arbiter of peace in the galaxy. But I could be a warrior for vengeance. I could strike out against those that did this to me and all others that would do this to anyone else. That is why I am Sith. I fight for power, the power to destroy my enemies and protect what little is left.”

Deep breath Keenava. You’re just, in a big place that you have no knowledge of, surrounded by people you don’t know and being guided by a big scary man that you also know nothing about. Well, almost nothing. No pressure. Convincing. If a glare could be conceived purely by thought, Keenava was glaring at Kana with daggers in her eyes. What? Just trying to ease the tension. Go back to your inner monologue, I’ll just busy myself over here. Thank you. Keenava blended with the milling gapers. Their hoods were drawn so low that she couldn’t see faces beneath them. But she didn’t need to. They were pawns of the master just as she was. They had their goal just as she did. Their identities were inconsequential; just as hers was. She didn’t really know where she was going. The temple wasn’t laid out in a pattern that she could follow. There was apparently a ship waiting for her somewhere and she was supposed to meet an invoker. It was all very mysterious and wherever that was, was anyone’s guess. She turned to ask someone, but their heads were trained to the floor and they refused to answer. It was a dismal predicament. She guessed it may have been part of the challenge and pressed on, determined to find something to indicate where she should go. After a few moments of aimless searching, there was a warmth in the floor that seemed to indicate her path, or a path. She wasn’t sure it was wise trust idle feelings in a place that was full of darkness. Her survival instincts begged her to avoid it, because the signs seemed to point to an obvious result. But, it was her only lead so she shifted her pace accordingly. With her path chosen, Keenava looked around the temple to gather more information. There weren’t any exits that she could see. The walls and ceilings were massive in style and scope. And as she walked, feeling the cold stone beneath her feet, she took careful observation of the stonework, brushing her fingers along the carvings and admiring the craftsmanship. This was clearly meant as a place of worship or practice. The priests or supplicants that she could see pacing about were a good indicator. When she came to a fork in the road and lost the warmth at her feet, Keenava stopped looking at the temple's construction and started to gauge her surroundings. She doubted her intuition and began to see faults in her navigational skills. She was determined to continue regardless of misdirection, when a voice came from behind her. “Apprentice, the door is here.” The voice was without body. A chill ran down her spine at the thought. But, sure enough, when she walked over to where the voice came from, she found a metal wall with a hatch that led to the surface. And from there, she was still lost. She could see a ship waiting for her not too far from where she emerged. But where was she? Where was this? Where was everything she knew? Keenava took a moment to herself, steeling her thoughts and imagining what small measure of peace she could in this world of mystery and abstraction. It was all she could do to avoid over stimulation at this point. She lost her way. She lost her identity. And she lost everything that she knew up to this point. She was starting to regain everything. But it would take time. Sound tickled her ears. Whispers from the dark slithered into her mind and she looked at a large sphere that was hanging not too far from where she stood. It called out to her. It was almost alive, and it called out to her, wanting her to enter its amorphous shape. It found her questions and was willing to give answers. She would find herself if she entered the sphere. She would find out where she was, if she entered the sphere. All it would take was a leap of faith and trust. In that moment of subversion, Keenava was gifted with ironic clarity. Trust was not something Keenava had an abundance of; especially here. She couldn’t pretend that this sphere was anything other than a construct of the dark side, threatening to tempt her and draw her away from her mission. With hardened resolve, she forced her face toward the ship that she presumed was her ride, and ran to board it, eager to begin the rest of her journey.

"Yes, Master Exodus" The words slid slowly out of her mouth with practiced intonation. It was a common phrase – different masters, but the same method of address. It was a phrase that colored the darkest moments of her history; and the brightest. It was an ironic dichotomy for a phrase that seemed so matter-of-fact. But Keenava understood. She had knelt and prostrated herself to another who longed for power; to another beast that had their own grand ambitions. Granted, Keenava had been at peace with her servitude to Furion. But their association seemed to fulfill some perverse payment that she felt she owed him. Any attachment she felt for him developed after that. It seemed she would always be a slave after all. No. This had to stop. This would be her last master. This would be her last slaveholder. This would be the last time that Keenava Ootunavi allowed herself to fall into the same pattern that she started over twenty years ago. She would work until she had the power to be her own master. She would work until she could be the best Sith she could be. She would prove to them all that she had it in her to succeed. It was her movement after all. Her last dance was coming. And she had to prove that she didn’t need a lead. Keenava stood and turned to the others. They were still connected to her and they could all feel the strong conviction in her passionate heart. But she still felt that she needed to elaborate. “Alright. Speech time.” The others nodded silently and looked at her patiently, eagerly waiting. “First, I am sorry. I am sorry that I feared change. I am sorry that I feared change so much that I assumed your actions and felt that I needed to destroy myself to get through to you all.” Keenava started. She noted that Kara and the others tensed a little, but they didn’t interrupt. “Second, I don’t know the fullest extent of our abilities, but I want to work with all of you. When we put our heads together, amazing things can happen. I mean, technically, it’s all just one head. But you know what I mean. Finally, I want to promise here and now, that we stick together. I want to promise right now that, no matter how crazy this gets, no matter what comes our way, and no matter how hard these challenges are, we don’t give up. Because, without any one of us, the whole inevitably fails.” Keenava waited for her speech to linger in the silent stone room. “You with me?” The other three took turns looking at each other and silently deliberated. When they were finished, they looked to Keenava and smiled. Kava’s smile was cunning, Kara’s was crazy, and Kana’s was mischievous. “For now, and forever. Keenava.” They said in unison. “Now! Let’s go kill something!” Kara said, her bestial voice echoing on the stone. “Oh boy, here she goes again.” Kava said, placing her hand on her head, shaking it wearily. Keenava looked at them all with half a smile. “Later Kara. In the meantime, let’s get set up and ready to go. I have no idea what he has in store for us, so keep your eyes peeled.” The other three slowly coalesced into forms of pure energy and melded back into Keenava as the Twi’lek left the room and ventured down the corridors. She didn’t know exactly where she was going. But she could feel certainty in her steps and trusted that she would find her way, one way or another.

Why didn’t he strike me down? What part of him cares about me? Keenava stood. Small particles of sediment built in her shoes and began to rub at her toes. The air started to ripple with pressure. It started to push in all around her. Exodus’ features stiffened, growing sharper. The play of cat and mouse had escalated. The mouse took her move, notes of silence slipping through her careful gestures. The cat. The cat was balking at the mouse. The cat saw the mouse attempt what it thought was an act of aggression. But the mouse was silent, watching the cat. Her mind was open to the majestic ethereal weave of creation that surrounded her and the whole of Arachnakkorr and was greeted by the monster held aloft behind Exodus’ mortal frame. Her companions stood, transfixed, in her wake, guarding the wings of her stubborn insolence; which, although foolish, held some air of truth. The four of them watched the potential energy building in their opponent like an opulent flame. The emotion bubbled. The power erupted and the body seethed. They could see it all. Like a technicolor masterpiece that blossomed into reality, it roared into brilliant chromatic hues. Strong reds were persistent but all hues were present. The other three retreated a step or two behind Keenava. But she didn’t move. Inside and outside… Keenava stood. She could see him now. Everything he was, shone in his eyes and in her mind, or everything he let her see; a portion of his power, but all of his intention. Even in portion, however, he was a fierce presence that threatened to break her with every thought. Keenava could feel pounding against her mind as the force rushed in. She could feel flooding power peeling against her metaphysical skin. But she would not move. She watched his power cut out like the wink of a small fire, but Keenava didn’t move. The voices in her head urged her to action. Kava urged her to back away. Kara was eager but cautious. And Kana acknowledged the threat imminent in Exodus’ presence. But Keenava would. Not. Move. Her eyes considered the scarlet presence that lingered in her prospective master’s opened eyes. His steps echoed off the stone. The cold stone that seeped through her shoes. Her breathing accelerated. Her muscles clenched. And her fight or flight response pushed to the bumps covering her skin. But her mind was a wellspring of iron. She sent silence to her muscles and took deep breaths. She quieted the furious thoughts. And still… Keenava stood. “You wish to teach me instead Twi'lek? You wish to show me that I am a fool, that I cannot smell the difference in my kill?” The words spat, as blaster fire would melt skin His words splashed on her mind, attempting to burn. She simply stared at him, pulling against every other impulse and whim that chorused like a raucous symphony just within the threshold of her control. He circled her and kept a slow methodical pace. It was predatory. It was lethal. Keenava listened to his words but refused to move. She watched out of the corner of her eye and let the others guard her flank. Her obeisance was silence. But capitulation was not his aim. A predator through and through, his mind raked across hers. Phantom fingers played across her skin, probing for weakness and playing with the cold sensation that met their touch. But she stayed her hand. She stilled her muscles. And… Keenava stood “Your mouth wishes to prove what your body can not. Kee-nava Ooh-two-nah-vee of Ryloth, you have seen but a hint of pain, you know nothing from this day forward. All you will know is that I am the harbinger of torment and that you are weak.” Keenava nodded solemnly. A silent admission. But his point was not made. He plunged deep into her mind to prove his power and control. He printed a macabre picture on the surface of her consciousness and tried to make her understand what true pain meant. But, compared to the real thing, everything seemed: hollow. The bacta sensation bathed her mind and she felt the stimuli she was meant to feel. But everything came to her as if through a thick cushion. Death, torture, and pain; ending with a vision of her father, holding her by the neck. Then the words. She knew the words well. And with little effort, they rang in her ear nubs. “You are what I say you are.” Clarity resumed and Keenava’s expression hadn't changed. She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t flinched. The others in her mind reacted as expected, and emotional stimuli were still rattling through her brain like a nuna on caf, but she hadn't and wouldn't move. His game was to throw power in her face; a cudgel to snuff a candle. But she knew what her past was: she saw her mother die. She felt her father take advantage of her innocence. She saw her sister with fresh excrement riddled across her miserable body. She felt the muscular flesh of Blakkus, gripping her throat as his subordinates took turns with her broken frame. She felt Scythin’s right arm, wrestling her lekku as he and two others forced her to the ground. She felt a slew of others line up in her memory as very real and terrible phantoms. Phantoms she knew. Phantoms that she saw, processed, and rallied against. His presence was a cold hand that dipped into her mind, forcing her to see what her past could look like. But the reality was much worse. All of it was a blur of pain and suffering. His facsimile was a mockery; an insult to her pain. But that’s what he wanted. He wanted to provoke her. He wanted submission. He was a predator and she was his prey. And like all predator’s, he desired the chase. So… Keenava stood. "..Out of the four of you, who requires a lesson in respect first? Do not be shy. The memories are the least of your worries." Just like Furion, he’s afraid to care. Only, more so. Keenava stood, but turned slightly, to look at where Exodus had stopped. Her eyes were still, but beneath them, a pool of emotion sat. Silent tears curled across her ebony cheeks as she relived the pain of her past, ignoring the figurative flash powder he shoved in her face. She stared into his scarlet tinged emerald eyes and waited for him to cease his monolog. Slowly drawing her power, taking care not to move or act too quickly, and stealing her resolve, the Twi’lek remained, staring at Exodus. Her arms stayed by her side and her legs relaxed. The turmoil localized to her mind and the brand on the back of her neck lit up. Fiery pulses of green, blue, and red, seared her flesh, and glittering strands of hot saline, tickled the corners of her eyes, like diamonds in the night sky. When silence filled the room, their slow steps echoed on the stone. Three physical bodies stepped from Keenava’s place and filled the circle that Exodus made. They were of different size and appearance, but their presence was unmistakable. Each of them, Keenava included, stood, looking at Exodus and not making a single move. “Teach.” They said in unison. More words would not avail her. More insolence, although prudent in drawing him out, was not going to end in a practical outcome. This was her only option. He was in charge. His control mattered. It was important for him to know he had control. A small child in charge of its own sand castle; endlessly destructive and stubbornly insistent. It was important to him. So Keenava gave him what he wanted. She didn’t know what she was thinking before. The Lallu part of Keenava wrestled to explode in an emotional display of resistance. But Keenava knew better. Keenava knew that in a play of power, the one who held the power would always win. The only thing to do was to make it easy. The easier it was, the harder it would be. A mind freely given, is not as appealing as one you take by force. “Teach me. They are extensions. They will learn through me.” Keenava said, stepping slowly through the group of women and standing before Exodus. Beyond her steps, she stilled her mind once more. She would not move unless he willed it. She looked deep into the danger that was held before her and stared into the face of terror itself. Keenava dipped down into a kneeling position; both knees touching the cold stone.

His disregard was callous; numb. Her position was cold; grim. Keenava tested the bounds of her cloth shoes with her toes and rocked on the balls of her feet. She tensed the muscles of her leg and silently ran checks on each of her muscles and joints: quads, optimal condition; ankles, a little sore; shins, achy but manageable; glutes, capable. She maintained a working knowledge of the other muscle groups and their condition. But her legs were her priority. Her eyes wandered the stone, combing the tapestry for a clue, considering the entire room before moving. She relived moments of her battle with Stix: the heavy breathing, the beating of her heart, and the blisters that built layer upon layer on her skin. It was vivid. She could touch the clarity of her brief recollection. But that wasn’t her aim. She watched as the two of them scurried across the floor. She looked at each step and motion, gauging the size and shape of the room. There was still only one escape; and that was, behind Exodus. Keenava watched in patient silence. The hologram or force of nature, known only as ‘Ghost,’ floated away and started to illuminate pieces of the room. Light poured down and gave shape to mysterious figures. Figures that weren’t present during her battle or the moments before. They were silent and breathing; abstract but solid. A cold shiver crawled across Keenava’s ebony skin, raising small bumps at the nape of her neck that continued to spread to her arms and legs. They’re holograms… Kind of. Thank you. Kava, may I try something? Sure. Can you do a walkabout and look at them? I want to keep my eyes on the relevant one. You know he might find that insulting, right? He hasn’t kicked me out yet. Truth. Keenava felt a tickle in her mind and an itching sensation at the back of her neck. She reached her arm back to investigate, only to find that the scar she was curious about before, was burning. The topmost illustration, the vertical line, was the most virulent and throbbed a little when she probed it. Curious. Chilling air, brushed Keenava’s cheek as she stood, looking square at Exodus. She didn’t want to take time to see the others. They weren’t important. He was her priority. He was the reason she was here. He was the reason she woke up. He was the reason she wasn’t a puddle on the ground. This, man, was responsible for her rebirth. And although his cryptic reticence kept him from answering her in a more candid manner, she refused to abate her scrutiny. Her eyes looked deep into his emerald stare and tried to look for a reason. Why did he really care? What was in it for him? Sith always had ulterior motives. A fragile whisper interrupted her persistent stare, but Keenava’s features didn’t stir. This one is interesting. He seems innocent and pure, but something sinister rests within him. I do not recommend using his appearance as any indication of his talent or lethality. Keenava was given a small mental echo of how Asmodeus looked; illuminated were the shackles at his feet, like Stix. Each shackle held a green gem. Significant, please keep looking. Keenava resumed her silent repose. It was the closest thing to ‘peace’ she had in this place. The ambiance clawed at her. It bit at whatever crude warmth she could accumulate. This was not a place to be comfortable. The dark side welled deep inside this sanctuary, as she had recently discovered, and although it provided an endless font of power, it was a terrible goad. This was not a place to rest idly. But her exit was blocked and her purpose was obscured. The whisper was there again, a little stronger this time. This one is extremely obvious. You had to deal with a Gen’Dai at one point, right? What was his name? Blakkus, the unholy. Ah, right. Uncomfortable. Anyway. This behemoth seems a might too easy to predict and thus would be dangerous to underestimate as well. Kara is salivating at the thought of going toe-to-toe with this thing, which I admit is probably a bad omen. Something stirred inside Keenava, akin to a growl. Kava ignored the sentiment and continued. Silence pervaded. Keenava used it and continued to scan Exodus. His bearing seemed humanoid, but the feeling that pervaded his manner and speech suggested something else; he seemed like the mortal shell for something much bigger, like a beast. His emerald eyes filled with power, and his aura, although somewhat harder to detect at times, was pulsing with vivid hues of darkness. His dark brown hair stood as an odd mane to an otherwise typical human head. Yet, as Keenava had started to gather, Exodus was anything but typical. The last thing she noticed, before resting her eyes on his once more, were his tattoos. They glowed with an odd luminescence in the low light near the door and fluctuated as he moved and spoke. The whisper returned. The voice was cold; menacing. I put you away, you cruel, nasty little thing. One should not tolerate a being like you to exist. "Sticks and stones will break you, and those worms will eat you alive." The form of Stix’s gruesome visage played over Keenava’s mind and sent odd tingles down the length of her spine. Cute Kava, relax. It wasn’t the real Stix. This is the abhorrent wretch’s actual form. Good, I hope I get to smother that comical display. He is the manifestation of need; A disgraceful display of reckless abandon, run amok. Much like us sometimes. Kava was silent but affirming. Kava saw vengeance. But Keenava saw disgust. They were all men. All of them. Each silhouette – each figure – matched a manifestation of her past. Each of them formed a pretty picture of wrath in her mind and she couldn’t shake the veneer of fire that seared the surface of her mind. She was flesh again. She was nothing but a jumble of organs and genitalia. It was humiliating. It was disgraceful. And it was infuriating. They ‘earned’ their names. They ARE their names. Keenava’s ruby eyes illuminated with a subtle touch of brilliant crimson fire. "Twi'lek. There are four others that have earned their names. All Seven are creatures that you cannot stand toe-to-toe with, nor are there many that can. Nevermind those that parade the galaxy with the name of Sith, they are pretenders and will be hunted and killed for their treachery, one-by-one. I give you a choice now. Become my apprentice and brave the pain, or choose to remain as weak as you are and be expelled from this place forevermore. You must choose now." WEAK?! The final pin in Lallu’s sensitive bubble dropped with the grace of a durasteel sledge. Kara growled deep, with feral desire. Kava sneered with lethal derision. And Kana gazed scornfully past the monolith that was Exodus. Keenava’s muscles tensed. But she silenced the urges that fought to make her impulses a reality. Keenava’s eyes were lit with green, red and blue. The three colors moved in slow harmony across her visage and she spoke with the presence of all. “Do not be so quick to judge me. I will prove to you I am not weak. I will prove to you that I am more than the sum of my parts. I am Keenava Ootunavi of Ryloth. I have seen pain, the likes of which most men never see. More pain does not deter me. And to prove myself, I will join you. I will be your apprentice.”

The abscess of power had grown to intolerable levels. Lallu was bleeding power. Like a dam that was filled to bursting, she could not withhold the massive structure that threatened her mind. Kava was a boon, but Lallu couldn’t hold anything in. She attempted to quell the defensive countermeasure she used, to stem the tide of power. But the damage was done. The urn – temporary haven – was not an end. It was just a conduit for her brief episode; a crude respite. There, she could be alone with her thoughts. There, she could see what she needed to see and hear what she needed to hear. _____ Lallu, you need to calm down. KAVA I FEEL EVERYTHING. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Lallu’s head was throbbing. Her metaphysical form was searing with a massive aura of dark tendrils. The others gathered around her cautiously and tried to help in any way they could. None of them knew what was happening. None of them knew what to do. This type of thing had never happened before. The energy equivalent of a small, dark, nova had built deep inside her. Her body and eyes were pouring with dark side power. It was eating at her. Her newly formed skin threatened to burst. She did her best to keep the scarring and tearing at bay with the pool of healing liquid that surrounded her. I have a crazy idea! NOT NOW KANA… It doesn’t involve sex… Well… Not really. Lallu’s penetrating glance was enhanced through the fire that streamed from her eyes. It doesn’t, I swear. Everyone, come here. All the metaphysical bodies met in a circle. Now, all of us put our hands together, and focus our energies into one. WAIT, WHAT? Lallu, stop yelling, we’re right here. I CAN’T HELP IT Okay, that’s getting annoying. Anyway, I don’t know what this will do, but it remains one of two current options that I know of, and the other option is a bit extreme. So, rather than letting your power out into the urn and potentially exploding it, which seems needlessly destructive, this gives us a chance to do something new. Kana had a point. What were the risks? There were always risks. BLOODY HELL, LET’S DO IT! Kana rolled her eyes. Her exasperation was evident. But the current milieu begged no question. Together, the mental figments interlocked their hands and focused on each other. They focused hard on dispensing the power equally between all of them. For a moment, it even worked. Lallu could feel the overwhelming power leave her and then surge into another. It was a euphoric release that sent her reeling with deprivation. Yet, as the power went into another, it kept going. Like an avalanche, the effect never seemed to cease its forward momentum. Once it started, it didn’t stop. It continued to accelerate with every transfer. When it completed a full circuit, it went around again and again and again. It shot like a fireball through the ring of hands and made a circle of powerful energy that exploded, knocking the figures to the ‘ground’ of her mind. The force of the mental explosion was immense and threatened to knock Lallu’s physical form into a comatose state. Instead, a few conduits that flowed through different parts of her brain were unlocked. Sluice gates were opened in the dam of her mind to allow the power to empty to other regions of her psyche. It was a defense mechanism that helped to release the painful excess. But the absence of power left a hole behind, which fed aftereffects and echoes into her central cerebral chamber. The caustic remains of the explosion stood as a fog that Lallu’s mind couldn’t reliably pierce. The final rock was pushed. The final hurdle had been achieved. The final lock had been broken. Bonds that were tightened; bonds that had stood the test of time, broke under the weight of the explosion. Memories that were held deep inside, began to flood outward and stamp themselves onto Lallu’s vulnerable mind. A bright light preceded them. A light that took hold and pushed the fog away. It was blinding clarity and sang to the tune of one of Lallu’s oldest memories… One of Lallu’s oldest moments. A moment that she had hidden from herself for years. Veridiana Ootunavi lay across a ruffled bed of white, which was deemed an ironic badge of purity and innocence with a humorous guffaw. The hut that surrounded them was of modest design, and the midwife that had performed the delivery was nearby, making sure that everything was alright. Veridiana cradled a bundle of obsidian in her arms. The bundle squirmed incessantly and cried at the sudden light. New life resisted its place, but Veridiana smiled. It was a girl. Feenak Tokavi stood over his wife, watching as the baby was delivered. It was a miracle that everything had gone as planned. Feenak owed the Black Sun one hundred credits and had to pay it back before the end of the week. It was a difficult dependency. Still, he managed to stay afloat so far. Veridiana looked upon her newborn with a warm smile. She knew her baby would live to do amazing things. She would be an amazing person and live up to an amazing potential. But something in her wasn’t sure. Some part of her felt a cold chill creep down her back side. Some part of her could see something dark and terrible in the little one’s future. But that was a feeling for another time. For now, it was time to celebrate. She took a deep breath and considered those little ruby eyes that shone in the crude light of their little house. “I’ll call you, Keenava.” The thought was like an icepick to her brain… The question, who am I? Had never been so clearly answered. She had forgotten her own name. The memories of her family had been so far gone that she had only remembered her father’s legacy because it was marked on the vengeance she wanted to impart upon him some day. Keenava… The name rolled off her tongue like an unfamiliar tune. But there was warmth to it. “Keenava! Come back!” A little black-purple twi’lek chased after one of ebony through a small subterranean city. They were chasing a ball that had roamed too far and was causing a fuss among the locals. A few old men had stumbled over the ball as it meandered its way through the street. When the black-purple one had caught up, the ebony Twi’lek was trying to wrestle the ball away from a moderately sized animal. “Keenava! Let the rycrit have it. It’s not worth the trouble.” The black-purple Twi’lek said, trying to pry the other off the ball. “Seela! It’s our only toy. I’m not going to give it up,” the little ebony Twi’lek snarled. Her eyes glowed a little and sparked some fire on the herd animal’s shoulder, frightening it and causing it to run away. The ebony Twi’lek smiled at her success and the two of them continued to play. At least, until their father came home. Lall- or Keenava’s mind stirred. She could feel each memory returning like she was waking from a long sleep. She felt complete. Whole. She thought she was whole before. That she had completed some big piece of her. But this; this was something else. Feenak’s hands slid down her side. Keenava could feel her eyes probing him in earnest. Her mind called out to his with distressed curiosity. Daddy, why? But he was distant. His mind was numb; addled. Drugs guided his hands to dark deeds. They were alone. And every second seemed to tick by like it was a minute. Every minute, like an hour. Keenava tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let her. She tried to scream, but her mouth was covered. A stream of fresh tears lit Keenava’s face. She remembered. She remembered it all. She even remembered his face when he let her go. When the time came. “You can’t! You just can’t! How much do you owe them!?!” Veridiana said, panic in her features. “Forty-thousand credits,” Feenak said, trying desperately to move the conversation. “What?! How do you owe them forty-thousand credits?” Veridiana continued, pitching her voice into a scream. “That’s not important! Give me the girl!” Feenak said with fiendish desperation. Seela screamed incessantly. She tried to free herself from her father’s grasp, but she failed miserably. She was six years old, covered in tears, and her lekku were still growing in. Keenava stepped up to the three of them and looked her father square in the eye. She knew what was happening. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to bite into him and watch him bleed. But she wanted her sister to live a normal life. She didn’t want her sister to suffer force only knows because her father couldn’t control his gambling debt. How bad could it be, right? “I’ll go.”Condemning herself to a life of slavery. Two words was all it took. Feenak looked back at Keenava and shook his head. His eyes suggested their bond and the twisted weight it carried. But Keenava didn’t relent. Her eyes said, if you don’t take me, I will tell them. I will let them know everything you’ve done and I will show them all your secrets. Feenak sighed and released Seela. He looked at Keenava with an expression that seemed a crude second cousin to remorse. His mind was tainted by need and he couldn’t see his daughters. He could only see marketable assets. Lallu wake up! Her metaphysical form was being shaken and although she hadn’t meant to do so, she had briefly fallen unconscious. Kana was shaking her. And the others were standing around her. What happened? Keenava asked. Well, after the explosion we all had to gather our bearings. It appears that the explosion had a huge impact on your mind. Kava said, a matter-of-fact tone to her voice. Yeah, Lal- Kana started and then her expression changed. The others noticed it too. Your name isn’t Lallu. She said, after a moment or two of silence. No. Keenava answered. It isn’t. And I am only just now realizing it. Wow… That was quite an experience then. Glad I thought of it. Kana said, smiling and taking credit for something that was clearly an accident. Keenava shook her head and smiled. Something felt different, though. She couldn’t quite place it. Each manifestation of her psyche was basically the same: Kana, Kava, and Kara. But they all mimicked her movement. They each channeled her actions and mocked her body language perfectly as if they were a lot closer to her than they had been before. Hey, I want to try something. Keenava reached up and popped herself in the face. As a figment, she couldn’t really feel pain, and neither could the others. But, as she watched, they all reached up and popped themselves in the face at virtually the same pace and time. Interesting. The others noticed too. Just in time for Keenava to be dragged from her inner monolog and back into the waking world. ____ Keenava was dragged from the urn, wet and cold, to face Exodus. His eyes were emeralds. His face was cold, immutable and pale. He was upset. But he held his impatience close to his chest. Kava’s words of warning echoed in her mind. But she needed little guidance to see that this figure was not to be trifled with. His words echoed with a commanding presence and he held himself regal even in this room of dark and dank. It was an interesting dichotomy, but the added ambiance brooked no trepidation. She could feel the energy pouring off him. And now that she had released her excess, she could no longer feel the energy swelling inside of her. She still had power where she willed it, but it wasn’t bleeding from her skin now. Exodus used some power of his, mixed with the liquid she was soaking in, to tend her wounds. The welts, blisters, and scrapes were mending and sealing back up to how they were before the fight. She could feel it happening with sickening awareness. And, in the end, everything was fine. Except... When she had regained motor control, Keenava could feel scars on the center of her back right below her neck. After careful examination, she realized that the scars were recent and that they weren’t going to heal. There were three of them: the top scar was in the shape of a straight vertical line, the second scar was in the shape of a ‘V’, and the third scar was in the shape of three slashed lines angled to the right. What? She continued to listen to Exodus, refusing to focus on the scars, but putting them on a back-burner somewhere to be considered later. “First. I will burn the brain inside of that skull if you ever lose your control again. I will kill you where you stand, and erase them forever.” The tension never left and was alive more than ever. Where have I heard that before? Keenava wondered rhetorically. She could hear the inner thoughts of her former master echoing, ‘strike her down’ in her head. The thought of death had hardly coaxed her into anything. “You have a Gift. The three of them. Each of them are pieces of you, this you know. Yet, it will do you no good to rely on them, they cannot fight your battles for you. Use them, nourish them, but control them with an iron fist. You will fight, and they will be your weapons. As he spoke, his hand displayed the mess all around them, reiterating what her weapons could move her to do rather than have them do it in her place. Sometimes it felt more like a curse. But she was beginning to understand more about them. Keenava had more familiarity with them than she did before. It was somehow, different, now. “...Her art is brilliant and efficient, the one who did this. You must invoke her, not out of fright but out of power, and that is the difference. Do you understand Twi’lek?” The word Twi’lek stung her. Names like: Lek-rat, Tenty, waste, schutta, refuse, and the like were commonly used to describe her when she was nothing but flesh. But, she had a name now. And that refusal to acknowledge her identity was deliberately spitting on everything she had achieved up to this point. Maybe that was the point, but a brief flash of Kara’s red fire illuminated her sneering eyes. She withheld immediate response and settled with grabbing the previously offered clothing from Ghost, and starting to dress. “I would ask that you call me by my name and not by what flesh I inhabit. But I feel this point is not one I can argue. As to your question, yes. I do understand. You feel the Sith Order is in decline and wish to show me how I can attain true power instead of sitting and waiting for it to happen. Such was Furion’s goal for me as well.” It seemed they did have a few things in common. Even if Exodus looked nothing like him. Keenava continued to dress in moderate silence, and when she was done, she waited for Exodus to continue. This was going to be interesting...

His retort was meaningless; childlike prattle. His thoughts were meaningless; desperate aspirations. His opinions were meaningless; gallows musings. A quagmire of sweat lay on her ebony skin. The harsh stone bit at her naked feet. Her callus-less hands, marred with blood, opened and closed impulsively. She could feel fatigue mingling with the malaise that threatened to consume her. Her resolve hadn’t faded. Lallu knew she hadn’t won yet. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t cocky. She was disappointed that her best strategy hadn’t worked. She needed to push harder. Lallu strengthened her resolve amidst nausea and pain, emboldened to try another assault. Stix, after his wrists, plopped to the ground like a frail mop. He scuttled with panicked grace like an idiotic crustacean. But his roar was a surprise that shook Lallu’s consciousness. Her mind shot white hot, with rails of pain to join the league of other sensations rallying for superiority. Razors struck through the fragile skin of her ear nubs at his shriek and the dissonant sound was cruel as it echoed evermore through her mind. It was a terrified scream; a panicked scream; a passionate scream; a scream that meant to curdle blood. It was enhanced through the force. The dark signature that lingered in the note was present throughout his intonation. In the end, it tried and succeeded in ravaging her auditory nerves. Blood dripped from her ear nubs, and the world, that ironically bloomed in a riot of color, went quiet. Lallu couldn’t hear the cackle. She didn’t catch the flailing of his hands or the panicked attempts of a foolish man as he knocked at death’s door. But she felt an arc of pain that cracked against her face. Pure streams of white light emitted from the crazy impish man’s broken hands, and although he seemed to maintain control, the arcs ran everywhere. They burst open powder, gas, fog and mist. The sheer visual and mental display were boggling. The lightning stung her haunted skin with surges of energy; scalding and scoring her complexion, accenting the welts and blisters. Lallu had prepared her body for attacking Stix. She had started draining the force from her surroundings to counteract Stix’s own draining capabilities. The lightning was too much. Overwhelming power singed her skin and set her body a whirl with potential. Pain. Anger. Suffering. Hate. Sorrow. Fear. Sickness. Need. Hunger. Passion. Everything. All her feeling and power culminated into a blanket of needles that pressed into her one inch at a time. Each step was closer to even more sensation. Each phase washed over her with waves of immense escalation. She felt so much that she couldn’t feel anything anymore. Her mind was overstimulated and she couldn’t think straight. Bugs were swarming from his mouth and streaming toward her. Their pincers evinced impending pain. And the promise of even more stimuli was enough to push her over the edge. Lallu… Lallu had to do something. Lallu. Had. To. Let. Her. Thoughts. OUT!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The shriek was loud and accented Stix’s own bellowing roar. For a moment, they even harmonized. With the fire, she disappeared. And at her disappearance, the lights burned out. Only lingering flames remained. Her body was so suffused with the dark side, that she couldn’t think. Everything leaped to her fingertips. Possibilities were endless. Lallu’s mind was a puddle. It was formless. She couldn’t put shape to any plans because she was still reeling from the consequences that she already suffered. To the mundane eye, Lallu’s body had embraced the darkness. To the force trained eye, Lallu’s body had copied itself over twenty times and the mimics stood in the lightning’s echo, all around the room. Each silhouette stood at different points where the lightning had been only moments before. Distinct; faint. The temperature began to drop… The sound of Stix’s scream was muted with passing moments. The decibel value slowly dropped as the speed of sound escaping through his lungs was slowing. Bit by bit, degree by degree. The vines that still lay verdant on the ground, wrapped around the imp’s feet, keeping him in one spot… Lashing him to the ground. A voice, cold and clear, echoed through the room from all angles. It was: breathy, misty, harsh, and slow. It spoke with a sing-song cadence and repeated over and over: “Stix and stones may break my bones, But worms will never flay me.” Blue fire speckled the pitch black and moved silently, winking out and appearing at another part of the room, inexplicably. The room dropped to freezing temperature. The flying insects that attempted their mischievous assault, began to crunch and pop in the cold. Viscera spread to the ground, freezing upon contact with the stone. Frigid air suffocated the building flames. All was velvety black now. The sound of Stix’s scream was a coarse wheeze. “Stix and stones may break bones, But worms will never flay me…” My only mistake was not killing you sooner. I won’t make that mistake again. Temperature tumbled lower than single digits, alluding to Ilum’s frigid tundra. Stix’s skin began to crack and harden. He would flail and desperately try to warm himself with the dark side. But his breath would be stiff -- his oxygen robbed from his lungs. He would have to choose: Breath, or warmth. Lallu stood on numbed feet. Her mind was consumed with plumes of shadow and she looked down on Stix with cruel eyes. His limbs started to fracture and break under the weight of his own indecision. He was desperate and irrationally wailing. His screams were mute. His eyes were flickering and his saliva shattered; ice on the ground. Still, the temperature tiptoed lower, one step at a time. “I don’t know if you heard me before. So I will say it again. YOU will die. And I WILL kill you.” Lallu said. Her eyes lit with an azure flame and her arms crashed down toward Stix’s exposed spine. The brittle bones met with harsh fists that slammed into his back like icepicks, tearing each vertebra from its resting place and rendering Stix a motionless lump on the ground. Then, with hardened hands, Lallu held the greasy back of Stix’s head and tore it from his shoulders. His neck cracked with icy resistance. His skin was frozen. His muscles were frozen. His rebellion had ended. And his body was flesh on the ground. Without a word, Lallu took his head and shattered it on the stone floor. At this point, the power bleeding through her would not reach him. His desire was coldly refused and his life cut with cruel scissors. Atropos stood at Lallu’s shoulder and held the string, cut down the middle, in her frail hands. Stix’s final moment had played. He was, no more. Lallu crossed the room. The silence was her victory. She thawed the urn with a touch and dropped herself into the healing liquid. She doused her feelings and felt herself return to some level of normalcy. Her blood filled the liquid with malaise and it shone on the surface. But she could drown the moment out. She could find some measure of peace. _____________________ “... I can see you, Kara. Will your sisters come out and play?" Exodus' voice slithered into the mind of the Twi'lek, a dreadful and mischievous tone echoed in her mind as her focus dwindled. Kana sat leisurely in the cavern of Lallu’s central control. She could see what transpired through Lallu’s eyes and was transfixed by the event. When Exodus’ voice pierced through the darkness of the chamber, Kana shot straight up from her chair and looked around. Kara stood right beside her, looking up into the shadows. She couldn’t figure out his game or why he wanted to talk to them. But his tone intrigued her. Play? “My sisters are here, mostly. Kava was summoned, but she will return. What play do you speak of?” Kara said inquisitively. Kana was curious as well, but let her thoughts remain silent for the moment.

“... I need you to be strong.” Why? Hunger… Lallu could see his face shrivel away at his captor’s touch. The man had nothing left. He had eaten, killed and destroyed everything close to him. He was nothing but a bag of flesh that scuttled behind his master. Lallu could sympathize. It wasn’t a glorious life. It wasn’t a fortunate life. It was. Life. There were compromises; compromises that could ease the suffering. Yet, in the end, hunger and need demanded sacrifice. The dark side fed this need with insatiability, thus continuing the destructive cycle. Death, resignation and expiration were inevitable. “Our friend is famished dear Lallu’. He has drunk from the well of the Dark Side deliriously and allowed it to devour his most basic functions in return.” The unchained prisoner chuckled loud and awkwardly at the sound of his own demise. “He knows no restraint. None whatsoever. He will hack the flesh from your bones and drink your fear as he does it.” Lallu felt unease at her own flesh. Like a mask that stretched over the sins of her past, it taunted her with its purity. She couldn’t escape the discomfort that her smooth skin fed into her roaming consciousness. It was almost unconscionable. But this skin was hers. It may have been abhorrent to some degree, but it wasn’t a gift she would easily shirk. Even in the torturous milieu of her environ, she clung to what comfort she could find. She would fight. Her resolve solidified. As it did, her mind started to sag. The change was almost imperceptible. Her thoughts grew in number and her body started to revolt violently. Pain receptors that were fresh, began to signal from across her body. Blisters brewed just under the surface of her obsidian. And she could feel her stomach wrench as if she were standing on a starship that suffered severe turbulence. Her balance was threatened and her head began to swim. The feelings she suffered were tremendously sensitive and the stimuli were a bit more potent than Lallu was used to. It was mentally and physically taxing to keep herself stable, but she fought to stand. She wasn’t weak. She would show them. Hot tears leapt to her face. Voices, unbidden and powerful in the dark, began to echo all around her. Her emotional defenses were pierced. Everything was magnified. Everything was new… The cloying stench of wretched desire hung in the air of the musty cell. A body was wrung on the floor, shackled to the stone. The body was open; bare; filthy. And two aliens stood about the body, fighting. Arguing… Give me a try, you fat lard! One of the aliens clawed at a tentacle protrusion from the body’s head. Pawing at it like a voracious predator, inches from its meal. This lek-rat is fresh… The larger of the two aliens, a pig-like creature, looked at the other with contempt. He wrenched the body from the ground, slapping it to the stone once more with a meaty crunch. LET ME FINISH! They give us the best scraps… Says you, I hate seconds. These schutta are barely worth five seconds. Then go away. More for me… No, they are ours and we will have our share. They deliberated. They conversed. It felt run-of the mill. Their words fell on deaf ears. They were the shadows in the dark that preyed on innocence. But such was the fate of those in this hell. This was their lot. This was their purpose. They were tools… No. They were refuse. They were waste. This one likes to scream. How do you know? Just watch. Pain; searing crimson shot through Lallu’s mind. Paranoia met suspicion and ran straight on to blaring madness. Her body trembled. Her mind shook. All that time she built everything up. But her scars were gone. Her tattoos were gone. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone. Even Furion had left. AGAIN. She was alone; terribly alone. Furion. Rose. Veridiana. Seela. Kheldar. Jzora. All of them. Lallu’s tears started to streak violently across her face. A cocktail of emotions began to wring her mind as everything rose to a cacophonous crescendo. Lallu almost felt her entire body shut down when the writhing pile of need leapt into the air and shot toward her like a frail, mutilated projectile. His scream was primal and his desire was overwhelming. Lallu could feel her entire world coming to a single point of pressure, building and drawing her near. But just as she started to doubt; just as she accepted her impending threat, the entire moment started to slow. Everything in her mind dimmed. The searing pain she felt and the misery that accented it; the malaise she felt and the gut wrenching feeling that followed that. Everything froze. Even the imp, in his foolish desires was almost unmoving, floating in the air. Everything was frozen in perfect clarity. The source wasn’t easy to discern from her position. With her emotions silenced and her body temporarily maintained, she could see the situation for what it was. The frothing imp, jumping into the fray without a second thought. It was foolish. Exactly… The voice was cold and came from all around her. What? This entire moment is foolish. Your suicide was foolish, his deeds are foolish and his needs are foolish. Said Kava. Her form, in all its terrifying beauty, grew from a nearby wall. Her head, accented with tendrils of shadow. Her eyes, hollow and glowing with a bright blue fire. Her entire visage of vague feminine lethality shone like a lucid hologram. Kava? Yes What are you doing here? How? She seemed almost insulted. I am here to save you. Or should I say, I am here to save me. I am part of you. And thus, if you expire, I must meet that unfortunate end as well. But what about the others? They lack my expertise. Her sanctimonious sneer reminded Lallu of Furion. But she disregarded the memory. It was a distraction. Alright. What is going on? Why do I feel this way? Why do you think? Lallu started to grouse at being given a question in response to her question. But figured that whatever was happening could be reversed just as quickly. So, she got to work. She looked around feverishly: she saw the plants clinging to the floor and the walls; she saw the trio of deadly men in her cell; she saw the urn that she had come out of; and she saw a faint mist that lingered in the air. That mist hadn’t been there before. Lallu looked at the floor again and noticed that, small plants at the base of Exodus’ feet, had opened up and were releasing a mist into the air. The mist! Kava nodded her head, smiling. Yes. It was designed to distract you, to preoccupy your mind. But Exodus is merely trying to gauge your abilities. Will you kill when ordered to do so? Can you think under pressure? Can you act when you need to? Even when you are under the influence of a drug? Why? He wants to see your strength and what is needed to make you stronger. Right. He said that. But did you catch it? What? His stench? What? Ugh. His power signature. It was a goad. He wanted you to marvel. Ah, Furion did something similar. Yes, he did. But did you catch the underlying tones of this man’s power? Exodus? Yes. This husk of a man is not what he once was. I would not underestimate him, because his strength will defy expectations. But the gas is intended to give him a chance. He is not intended as a true measure of power. Exodus however, is of Umbara. You sure? Yes. I was made there. I answered the call of your need. I answered when your will was very much the same as Stix’s here. There I made a stand and picked you up out of the mud. You would be there still if it weren’t for my creation. The bonfire you made of their corpses smelled like he does now. Exodus is a terrible power and not one to challenge lightly. As to the quandary at hand, we will speak of your misdeeds later. At length. For now, follow my instruction. I am here to mitigate your mental needs. Any longer, and your aggressive side would have exploded and torn the room apart with varying degrees of success and failure. But there are a few things you need to observe before flying off the handle. Kava drifted to where the imp was moving through the air and pointed to pieces of his body, using his anatomy as a visceral example for her explanation. She pointed at his neck. It was worn and frail. It was thin and stung of ages without sustenance. This, is a point of vulnerability. His shackles were only recently cut, which means the strength to his neck and wrists hasn’t yet returned. It will if you wait too long. But if you act quickly, you can cut him down before he has a chance to make you regret it. These, Kava moved her hands from the man’s neck, to his nails and teeth, you need to avoid. If they contact you, they will slash and rend. They will tear the flesh from your body. You must stay vigilant and keep moving. Either that, or cling to him and don't let him move. If you feel sick, which you will, use it to your advantage. Vomit on him, and move around. Feel sick? You felt it right, the wrenching of your stomach? I’m not quite sure what mist this is, but it is causing that. It is causing all of this. Because, despite popular opinion, you have more control of your body than this. Popular opinion? FOCUS! Right… What do I do about the visions? And the pain? It was blinding and overwhelming. Lallu. Kava’s voice changed. It held some gentle veneer over her cold pragmatism. Her cold blue eyes shone with a glint of gold and looked deeply into her mind. You have the power to channel that. You always have. It’s here. Kava pointed at Lallu’s head and heart. We are here. You are here. You have been through much. You make rash and stupid decisions, yes. But you have grown. It will show. A word to the wise however. Do not abuse the force. One who feeds on the force like he has, will likely drain whatever projection you make. Be ready… Lallu took a deep breath and pushed herself to standing. She held lightly on the balls of her feet. When reality came crashing back into cruel violent hues of red and orange, Lallu’s vision crossed in pain. She took a deep breath. She pushed her mind to ease with a cold, forceful hand, charging what power she could into her legs. Her mind was set. Her will was uncomfortably focused among the chaos of her screaming nerves. Then, with the imp drawing close - swift voracious need coloring his eyes - she snapped her leg up, and contacted the being’s neck. She made no effort to push telekinesis with the blow. She simply imbued her muscles with the energy of her pain and virulence. She channeled what she could to bring her attack to a critical conclusion. The force of her dancer muscles and her own terrible pain mixed into a gunshot of violence that collided with decent accuracy. She made no time to parade with success. This wasn’t a show. This wasn’t an exhibition. Her job was to kill. His arms would shoot out at her in attempts to grasp and defend. He was a capable fighter. This much Lallu could see. But his arms wouldn’t budge. He would try to defend against the crushing blow to his neck by grabbing onto her leg. But she had taken hold of each of his arms at the wrist. And with vice-like ferocity she held and wouldn’t release them. She made a swift snapping motion with both wrists, counting that their weakness would end in her favor. She wasn’t going to give in. She wasn’t going to fall. Not here... They wouldn’t do this to her again. She would persevere. She would push past expectation. She had made it this far. Sickness caught up to her and added fire to her efforts. But she couldn’t hold in her waste any longer. Sickly hot refuse poured from her and onto the beast’s face. Paranoid thoughts fought to the surface of her mind as the beast’s fingers clawed at her skin. She could feel his energy attempting to drain her own. But she worked in equal fervor. She used enough energy to keep herself mobile. She used enough energy to keep herself stable and did what she could to deny him purchase internally and externally. It was a struggle to push past his need. But hers was stronger. You will die… I will kill you…

Kriff! Lallu had no time. She had to improvise. She resolved to split her mental energy. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but if she wanted to overcome her current instability and keep herself afloat with her ‘host’, she needed to figure something out. Splitting her mental power stung the reaches of her mind and clung to the edges of her consciousness. It was an audible hum in her ear nubs that picked at her sanity one inch at a time. __________________ Her shield was worn and just as it crashed to the floor, Lallu’s thoughts rejoined her metaphysical haven. The beast came in for another blow and Lallu’s metaphysical avatar dropped to the floor, pushing Kana down with her. ‘bout time you showed up princess. Kana said, fear lacing her speech. She was getting restless. Well, I didn’t have a choice. Lallu retorted, with only half her usual sass. The beast sniffed as it paced. It circled; its path illusory. The arena was dark. Lallu would have to rely on what senses she could, even inside her own head, to try and fool the-DUCK! Lallu ducked again and worked in a tumble backward with a small kick at the beast’s center of mass. It was an impulsive move made on the fly. But, the beast had planned for her to duck and crashed on top of her with the full force of its body. The contact was a thunderclap. Lallu’s mind cracked in searing pain and she tried to struggle with herself to abate the wailing force that clung to her conscious thoughts. Yet, the ache was persistent. She wrestled with the beast, but at half capacity, she couldn’t budge the mass on top of her. It seemed hopeless. She couldn’t breathe here, so her lungs weren’t overly important. And her bones weren’t real, though she could hear them creaking and crunching under the beast’s unwavering girth. It was too much. _________________ Lallu reached for her head as a searing ache stabbed at her right side and scurried all the way down her trembling lekku. _________________ With a little more wriggling, Lallu found that she could move her right hand. It wasn’t a huge success, but hands were tools. With enough force, Lallu could wriggle free. She pushed with whatever phantom might she could muster and hit a very specific point on the behemoth’s body with abstract precision. The point hesitated for a moment, then responded with a violent recoil of the beasts’ central muscle systems. The beast began to curl up, allowing Lallu space to breathe and squirm her way out. Lallu smiled little. No use in enjoying the moment when the problem was still evident. The beast came to its feet and was going to retreat to the darkness. But Lallu was quicker. She followed the beast’s wake and prepared a strike. Her foot clipped a point at the beasts’ knee and she followed it with an elbow to the base of the beast’s spine. It reeled around to try and claw at her and Lallu answered, slamming her palm at the bottom of the beast’s chin, pushing with the remainder of her strength. It was all she could afford. This was it. It was either the beast would take her, or she would win. She couldn’t tell. She had to win. But that meant nothing. Luck hadn’t always been in her favor. When her palm connected, the beast’s form withered and crumbled to the ground. It tried to amble forward using its arms and the muscles in its chest wouldn’t listen. It tried to grab out at Lallu and settled merely for frustrated grumbling. Lallu’s metaphysical form almost blinked out of existence for a moment, but she was mirthful for her passing victory. Now, time to make it count. What do you want? Kara said, surly through her prone grievance. I want to apologize. Kara’s face was incredulous. She, with effort, turned her face to look at Lallu. You apologize? Why? IS THIS ANOTHER TRICK?! Lallu could see the fire building in Kara’s eyes. It was fire she knew; fire Lallu had seen countless times. It was her fire. If anything or anyone was going to relate to that fire, it was her. No. I apologize for throwing you away. I apologize for denying your existence and I apologize for keeping you in the dark. I apologize for discarding you and trying to remove you by killing myself. It wasn’t wise. It wasn’t prudent and it wasn’t the best alternative. But I was scared. I thought I had come so far and, in a way, I have. But I haven’t gone far enough… I have defeated you. Will you come back with us and try to work with me? Lallu held out her hand for the beast to accept. But there was silence. The Beast stood, a full fifteen feet tall, and looked square at Lallu. Her expression was something oblique and they stood that way for a few moments. Her hesitation stood on her face. The lack of enthusiasm was measurable, but Kara resigned in a sigh. Her eyes never left Lallu’s and she clasped the smaller hand with only slight reservation. Alright. I will join you. Relief flooded Lallu’s mind and she settled for allowing herself to return to the real world in order to resolve the more current issue building at her doorstep. __________________________ The Twi’lek watched as a disheveled prisoner was dragged into her chamber. In front of the prisoner stood a man that Lallu had never met. But his aura was palpable. She could feel his presence as he walked through the hall and it was clear that he was, if not part of this place, then very influenced by its essence or creation. He was the embodiment of a dirge. His theme sang of death and only the soft green of his eyes offered any respite; his eyes, clear and green and his body, artfully strewn with Sith history and power. But his bearing was familiar. Through the mane of dark brown hair, and the mesmerizing emerald gaze, she caught the posture of her former master. Furion’s bearing stood obviously on this figure’s mantle and something about him seemed distantly familiar. “Exodus?” Lallu gave voice to the name without thinking. It wasn’t a name she knew much of. Furion had mentioned his former master several times and there were moments that Lallu had seen a shrouded figure accompanying Julio. But she didn’t know him. He was never a part of her life and she hadn’t needed a reason to include him. Was he the one behind her revival? Was he the one that brought her here? Was Furion here? These questions were swimming near the surface of her mind, ready to be plucked out. She knew, with the energy he held, it would be child’s play. But she knew those questions weren’t what she needed. She gazed at the door and looked at the room. From the chill, she surmised that Exodus’ presence or the presence of the prisoner had changed the atmosphere of her cell. She was boxed in so there was no hope of escaping this moment. And with no other questions to ask or motions to make, she felt that her options were quite limited. She stabilized her stance and took both newcomers in her gaze. She focused on Exodus but left the prisoner in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t trust them yet. That was certain. But could she trust them at all? That had yet to be determined. Dark Lord… Hmm, maybe I should bow. Lallu bowed a little, as a formality and not a mocking gesture. She was still nude, so the gesture might have seemed a little garish. But the intention was genuine. “Dark Lord Exodus, I presume you already know my name. What is it you need from me?” There was no beating around the bush. She would not subjugate herself or beg to him. But why else would he bring her here? Why else would he bring anyone else here unless he needed them for something? Sith were notoriously self-centered. It was what Lallu came to expect.

Silence… It was serene, but it was dangerous. A lot could happen in silence. The shifting of weight, the throwing of a dagger, the hint of a saber as it cleared its sheath. Lallu was used to this. However, she wasn’t used to a large, almost fifteen-foot monster, that moved without making any discernible sound. The only sounds that came from the darkness were growling noises, with the occasional bouts of heavy breathing. But the breathing echoed. The sounds came from all around her. She couldn’t tell where the sounds even came from exactly. Just when she was about to guess, she felt a tug at her side. Lallu looked over and saw Kana, still chained, looking at her. Her eyes were wide and she looked a little scared. It was to be expected here, but she didn’t have to ham it up for her, even if Lallu did enjoy seeing it. Lallu, it appears you might need to be at the controls. Mr. Rag face wants to look into your mind. We need to stop him. Why? What will happen? Well, other than you, how many people think it's practical to run around with more than one personality in their head? Huh, astute observation. See? I’m not just T&A. Alright, I retract my statement. But there is one thing you forgot… What’s that? She heard the flowing of legs as they brushed together. Fate was coming to deliver a fatal blow. She had to be ready. Lallu winced with a focused intensity. She held all her concentration in the breadth of a moment. It was painful, but she kept going. She continued looking at Kana and slowly pushed outward with a brilliant red bubble. And the moment crimson fire bloomed into searing life, a huge figure slammed into it and collapsed to the ground. It was shocking, but Lallu had expected as much. Lallu saw the girth that Kara represented and knew that she needed some degree of preparation. Lallu winced again at the brief collision and very quickly realized that she couldn’t hold the shield in place for long. The fragility of her defenses wouldn’t last. But that didn’t stop her from delaying, so she could afford the time to fix this. Time to rejoin the waking world. __________ Lallu registered a small change in mood as she slipped back to full control. The figure she knew before, moved in a legless hover before her. She could feel the temperature drop a degree or so and heard the door latch ever so lightly in the back of her mind. The ragged apparition was moving with quick determination and accusatory remarks. His intonation suggested patronizing sardonicism, but Lallu understood. Her mistake was grave. She thought it was a means to an end, but it was a coward’s way out. She knew this. She hung her head in acknowledgment of her deed. But it was done, and there was nothing she could do to change it. Furion would be ashamed. A red gleam lit her eye and she cocked her head ever so slightly. When the specter moved closer, certain details began to click into place one after another. The door was locked and her position of stability was dwindling more and more. The ragged man offered no mercy and no purchase. Lallu was stuck; cornered. Lallu could feel a significant memory flying through her mind like a bullet ripping through her side. It came out of nowhere and crashed into her face. The ragged apparition was replaced by a grungy male zabrak. His appearance was loathsome and unkempt. His scent was unbearable and his bearing was sloppy. But Lallu was tied to the ground. She couldn’t escape the condemnation that hung from the man’s greedy eyes. He saw her black skin like another field of conquest. He saw the rose’s petals and tried to pry them from its sepal. It was too much. Anger and shame of equal measure lent fuel to her muscles and fed her chaotic desire. She felt her callus-less hands clench violently. The intoxicating surge of power that lit her flame was irresistible. It took every muscle in her body to avoid leaping at the ghost and tearing him limb from limb at the cruel sense of deja vu. Searing rage glowed in her gaze. But she resigned to growling under her breath. She looked at the clothes with contempt and her body began to dilate with reserved frustration. Her tone was scathing but reserved. This was her due and she had to live with it. “Don’t touch me apparition!” Lallu said a little louder than she intended. She looked at the ghost with stubborn and impotent fire. She figured that his form wasn’t substantial and that any attacks were meaningless, but her impulse drove desperation. She wanted to tear him apart. And yet, she was here for a reason. She had invested a substantial amount of money in coming back from the dead on Talus, so this procedure was not without purpose. The master of this apparition wanted her for… something. “I am dealing with something and I need more time. Your master may require me. I understand that his attention and time may be valuable. But I must take the time to renew this instability. Let me do so, and you can run whatever tests you need. If you do it now, I guarantee your investment will be wasted. Don’t delve where you shouldn’t or I might do something I will regret.” Lallu’s tone dropped a little. Echoes of her suicide glared at her and she felt pain for her wasted energy. There was more she could have done. But she hadn’t known. Still, she had time to fix the problem now, before it could escalate into something more serious. “If you can, please allow me some… time. I need to work something out.”

Lallu’s back tensed, and each vertebra knotted as the fever pitch of power drove further into a massive spike. The wails and cries that echoed in the chamber around her, rang with the soul of death. Their chorus of morbidity sung the hollow notes of desire and hunger. The fire of their melody was so powerful that it saturated the stone. And although enraptured, the new tones stabbed cruelly at Lallu’s sensitive, newly-developed ears. She tried to shield herself from the pain, but their discordant notes carried insatiable desire. Lallu did what she could to resist the pool of energy around her, but their cathartic harmony fed her natural tendencies and instincts. She felt her hands pushing out from her sides and clawing at the energy around her like a wild beast. And it came. The energy rushed to her like an eager wave of ice, filling her immediate response with that of resistance and recoil. But she rallied and grabbed on to her failing thoughts. She would not show vulnerability; not here. This place of unknown threat and tremendous power would bring only weakness and death if Lallu surrendered to passivity. ___________ Kana, we need to go. Lallu’s metaphysical form said. She established an autonomic control to her body before turning to face her more voluptuous Id. We don’t have too much time, but I believe time runs a little faster in my head than out of it. Kana nodded her head, but still looked puzzled. What do you mean? We need to find the others. Kana grimaced but nodded again. They won’t be happy to see you, you know that, right? Yes, but I need access to all of myself. If they block themselves off I won’t have the power I need to sustain myself here. We know nothing of the world around us. Heck, we know nothing of this room. This is true. Tis a wonder that you were born again. We’ve had those tattoos for ages. And now… Yeah. Lallu sighed as she started walking out of the metaphysical representation of her ‘brain command center’. Wait, Lallu? Kana asked as she fell in step behind Lallu. Yeah, Kana? Does this mean you’re a virgin? Lallu’s mind blanked for a moment and she had to stop her pace to process what Kana just said. WHAT? What? It’s not that strange an idea. And if everything else was restored to what it was before ink, metal, etc, was ‘everything’ really restored? Lallu took a moment to process what Kana was saying. In essence, what she said was correct. But that would be so bizarre. Everything that had happened in her li-I CAN’T THINK ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW! Lallu’s thought blurted out and her metaphysical form blushed deeply. Aww… Look at those rosy cheeks. KANA, TIME AND PLACE! This is neither. We need to focus. Okay, virgin. Kana said. Her sardonic wit, cutting like a knife. Lallu’s tone moved from bashful to threatening. Her glare at Kana was enough to set fire to her form; that is if it was within her capabilities. I swear Kana if I didn’t need you… Grrr. Wait? Why do you need me? Kana asked. I could have stayed and played pilot. No… Why not? Well, to be frank, all of you are parts of me. But you’re extreme caricatures of me. If I handed my body off to you, I would be humping everything that moved, or manipulating people and killing them with poison. I know, I saw it. Kana looked defensive. But she didn’t deny it. Instead, she stuck her tongue out and pouted for the duration of the walk. At least it shut her u- Hey, Lallu? Lallu sighed. Yes? Which one are we doing first? Kara. Kana inhaled sharply. Her eyes widened and she seemed to back down a little. Why? Kava would be easier. She might just join you, considering she is the most logical of us. Kara is the beast. She is the beast that slumbered within me all those years. If I don’t bring her back, I will regret it. Kana saw some reason in that, but her horrified look never left. Okay… I will find a place a little farther away. Sure. Lallu said. Chains appeared out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around Kana’s arms and legs. Hey, Kana said, her voice dropping in pitch and her eyes creasing. Desire dripped from her voice with every word like liquid pheromones. Are you trying to say something Lallu? No, this is payback. This is also so you don’t go back and take control of my head. Kana looked pained. Lallu knew it was a bluff, but Kana tried to make it look as sincere as she could. Why whatever do you mean? To quote one of our previous conversations, ‘we share the same mind sweetheart.’ I didn’t say, sweetheart. I know, I improvised. Cute. Kana said. She struggled a little in the chains, but she could move. Lallu walked with her as they continued further and further into the depths of Lallu’s mind. They were moving through an imagined cavern. Each step drew them closer to the base of the frontal lobe. Or, what the frontal lobe looked like in Lallu’s metaphysical imagination. Every step drew memories to Lallu. Each memory sang with pain and terror. They sang of rage, and anger. She could see herself on Trulalis, unleashing pain and power in a terrible fire. She could see herself defending Furion against a terrible construct. She could see all the pain and explosive emotions she felt whenever she let go of her emotional turmoil. It was unbearably powerful and as she drew closer, the power grew into a blinding scream. It was terrible and it was her. It was how she coped with her slavery after losing so much. She needed this. All of this was necessary. When her feet could no longer find purchase, she knew she had arrived. She could see the fiery red eyes looking at her through the dark. She had found the beast, and it was time to work. I know you want to tear me apart. Well, come and get it. ___________ The apparition that materialized was haggard and willowy. Lallu wasn’t sure he even truly existed. The dark side was so powerful here that it could just be a manifestation of its will or a figment of her imagination. But that was a guess. She didn’t know. “...Rest well?” Its voice was hollow but terrible. The power it held was immeasurable, but Lallu didn’t show fear. Her instincts drew her body into a low defensive stance. Her arms braced for any action and she turned to look up at her potential aggressor with a deep red glow in her clear eyes. Her instincts were all she had. She couldn’t show fear. Like prey in an open field, vulnerability meant death. She had to be a predator just as much as them. She couldn’t let them win. “I guess. Would you mind telling me where I am, what happened, and why?” Lallu asked. It was a default set of questions. But she couldn’t think of anything else. Her practicality won over curiosity. But, that didn’t stop her from strengthening her defensive stance and preparing for whatever happened next.