Kyrie Eleison

Kyrie kicked the torn boots from her feet, casting them carelessly down the permecrete ridge she had climbed up over the course of the last two days. The shattered stone and steel beneath her now bare feet hummed with the terror inherent in the dying world. It had been skyscraper once, full of life, but from the pain she could feel, it was the poor that had died here in the destruction of the ecumenopolis. It was nothing now but a crumbling mesa. As she walked, she left footprints of crimson upon the bare permecrete. Five days. The Jedi placed a protein cube in her mouth, washing down the gritty taste with a mouthful of rainwater. She let the metallic wrapper float away on the wind, the imperial insignia glittering in the refracted sunlight. They had been scavenged from a wreck. Looted from the rotting bodies of the mandalorians who had died on their basilisks. Their base nature had led to their deaths, and she had no reason to mourn the deaths of raiders. She was no Jedi Pacifist. A rusting steel beam jutted from the rubble, hanging haphazardly like a bridge across a ravine of wreckage to a downhill slope. The girl slowly clambered onto it, balancing herself as she made her way across. The steel coolly caressed her wounded feet, the rust grinding into the cuts and blisters. Wind swept its way across her, billowing her mudstained cowl and blinding her with her own hair. She stretched her arms out like a circus performer and calmed her galloping heart with a sharp breath. She was almost at the end, but there was something else that made the hair on her neck rise. -Snap-Crack- Permecrete shattered into dust and splinters tore at Kyrie’s face. There was another report and a hole punched its way through her cloak. The Imperial Knight let herself fall from the beam, her shoulder catching her weight as she tumbled down in a hail of stones and rust. She let her body twist and contort as it moved down the hill, distributing her kinetic force into momentum, letting the Force redirect her from being impaled on any jutting rebar. Eventually gravity gave way to the entropy of friction and she skidded to a jarring halt. The Jedi wanted to get up and fight, but there was something that gave her pause; there was a sense of friendliness nearby, vague and distorted, but there, nonetheless. Her own force signature was still disguised and diminished, but perhaps it would serve as a beacon. She pumped innocent fear and desperation into the Force. She lay as if dead, taking shallow breaths to disguise her life amongst her tangled cowl. The Imperial Knight could smell them before she sensed them, the pungency of unwashed human and alien. Four figures approached, a Rodian at the lead of two humans and a wookiee. The hard steel of a slug-thrower’s barrel bit into her back as he prodded her. One of the humans spoke behind a patchy beard that was squirming with lice. “Could have gotten her alive, Kato.” The Wookiee chortled, scratching at the mange that pockmarked his creamy coat. Kyrie held her stomach at bay as they leaned closer. The Rodian picked at her cowl, lifting it to reveal one of her legs. His rough hand stroked her bleeding foot. “Still warm though, Warg. I know how you hate when they struggle.” He slapped a hand on the Wookiee’s rump, and the crew roared with laughter. The allied presence was close. “You’ll get last turn Mak’ath, for obvious reasons.” Kyrie nudged the beastial mind. Why shouldn’t you get prime pickings? The Wookiee roared and pushed the Rodian to sprawl across the Jedi. As the weight came down upon her, The Imperial Knight slipped the E-11 from her back and put a blaster bolt through the belly of the bearded human and another that reflected off the permecrete to char the throat of the other. The Jedi slapped the trigger again to send a bolt into the Wookiee, but the gas canister misfired, slagging the rifle and nearly tearing her hand off. …Oh kriff. The Wookiee roared as the Rodian scrambled and withdrew a vibro-dagger. The girl threw the useless rifle at the Rodian with her burnt hand as she jumped to her feet. She longed to wield the force to her capabilities, but with the Sith in orbit, it would only bring a hail of turbolasers upon her head. It would be a fight like her old days in the fighting pits of Nar Shaddaa, but only now she was in a much weaker body. …Spast.

The girl slipped through the destruction, the listless throws of a dying world, listening to the voices of the dead. Her teenage form was draped in a mud-stained canvas of mottled green and brown. Its previous owner had been a much taller and broader woman. The hem was tangled and frayed, stained dark with a half meter of the putrid mud that drowned the fading world. Once a glittering gem, shattered now as it was into mud and crumbling permecrete, no longer radiated the light that had made it the pillar of civilization. Kyrie’s scavenged, military-style boots slogged through the foul mud, the leather bindings fighting against the tide of tepid sewage and runoff. She brushed the hair from her eyes with her freckled hands, sweeping the blonde tangles behind her ears. The whirling crash of a missile caused her to crouch, nearly disappearing into the sludge. The rancid odor invaded her nostrils, driving her to nearly wretch, but her empty stomach allowed her only to shudder. She drew into herself as she heard footsteps slapping through the putrid muck. The Imperial Knight let the force flow about her, steeling her body, enhancing her muscles. The aura she allowed within the force was small and weak. No more than a padawan. She pumped fear into the force, but there was no response in the footsteps. No quickening of pace or movement of the dark side. …Not a Sith then. The Jedi thought about the longhandled-lightsaber that hung from her hip, concealed in the mud, but had no desire to attract even more unwanted attention. Clarity came as she focused, allowing herself to feel her surroundings. She hadn’t tapped into the song in far too long. Kyrie tried to burrow herself deeper into the mud. Perhaps it held some protection …Two sets of footfalls. Heavy armour. Their song was of Malice and Lust. A guttural voice cut through her silence. “Ber’aka I see a girl. Cloaked in the mud.” Kyrie stood slowly, letting her blonde hair fall over her violet eyes. “Pretty little thing. Looks half starved.” She faced them slowly, her eyes taking in their armored forms. She let the force crawl over them, exploring their armor, probing for weaknesses. Somewhere in the distance she could feel more Jedi presences, but they were not of her concern now. These soldiers were Mandalorian raiders, marked as Deathwatch. Scavengers. The Jedi could feel the lust in their eyes as they looked over her teenaged form. It reviled her, but she took the anger that welled within her and let it burn away upon her soul’s flame. She began to feel strength flow into her, along with a righteous power. Her boots set themselves, her muscles tensing. The song of the force hardened before her and she raised it as a shield against their wickedness. “We can feed you, girl.” The voice was sneering at her wretchedness. The other raider spoke, a gruff laugh staining his laugh “You’ll have to work for it” He motioned to his codpiece, which Kyrie found to be an unnecessary clarification. The Exorcist brushed the hair from her eyes once more, letting them see the glowing silver fire in her eyes. “Spast!” They stumbled and fired their weapons haphazardly, but the shots fried the mud only. Before they could move further, the Jedi Master was upon them. Her long-handled lightsaber was wielded like a baton, the burnished metal hardened by the fire. With a hammer-handed strike, the pommel crushed the larynx on one raider, leaving him crumpled and choking in the mud. The other was decapitated by a quick burst of energy from her blade, one sweeping motion, a single beam of light that was extinguished almost before it was lit. She kissed the onyx rosary on her wrist, thanking Il-Andon Rorik for the blessing of his power. The Exoricist stripped the weapons from the raiders, admiring the E-11 and the scattergun, slinging the latter on her back and holding the former in her shaking hands. The two vibroblades she placed in her belt. With heavy footsteps, she began to trudge towards the force signatures, letting her own aura pulsate with the inexperience and caution of a scared padawan, hiding her strength to draw in Sith prey.

Aidan’s emerald eyes were clouded by the murkiness of doubt, Kyrie could see that, even as his body stiffened under her embrace. He felt different, more clouded. She stepped back and looked up at him. She was shorter now, and it made the whole world feel different. His words pained her, as she could feel his pain in them. It ripped into the force, unconstrained emotion. …I Felt you die… Kyrie pulled her blonde hair back, lashing it with a scrap of leather she had around her wrist. She stretched, her small muscles rippling under her pale skin. Her voice held a sorrow, but also a happiness. She spoke the code she had memorized on Ossus under Xae-Lin-Ardel “There is no death; There is the Force” She held her palms open before her, and her long-handled blade danced across the room, to settle into her grasp. It was heavier then she remembered. It crackled in its ignition, and it blended into her spirit. Her locus of control enveloped it and the silver blade became more then a tool, it held a part of her life within it. “To every soul within this galaxy, death comes soon or late.” Kyrie began to feel Aidan. Feel a deepset darkness, like a cloud of smoke obscuring the sunlight. His fire was tinged with it. She finished her poem as her violet eyes washed over him, taking in his new weapons. “And what way could I have died better, then facing fearful odds, until I was nothing but ashes out of the reach of God.” She let the blade extinguish and stepped close to her apprentice. “Your weapons bear the evil of the Sith… You will need training to overcome their influence. But don't worry, I will not take from you the trophies of war.” She was disappointed. Not in her apprentice, but in herself for being so lax in her training of him. The Force was filled with the chaos of evacuation. Children screamed, abandoned and alone. She gave Aidan a kind smile “To purify, one must know how to calm their own soul.” She indicated the evacuation about them. “Calm their wayward souls. Wipe away their tears with your spirit.” She pressed out with her presence, filling the room with a soothing calmness. A song of peace amongst the chaos. “Now you try.”

A small voice bubbled to the surface of Kyrie’s mind, floating to the surface of the confusion and mystery that surged about in her rebirth. It was a soft voice, one that matched with the smaller and kinder form into which she had been called. It was filled with a gentleness that was soothing, but also a firmness that displayed a fighting will. …Blackthorn is my name. Kyrie stepped forward into the rush of evacuating orphans and whispered her own response, the fire of the Exorcists spreading across the pale skin of her palms. She felt powerful, unrestricted by the scars and traumas of her past. Basic came readily to her tongue, unweighted by a stutter of doubt. “I am Kyrie Eleison, Revanchist, Master of the Exorcists.” A small laugh reflected a victorious spirit. …I did it then, brought a soldier of Revan to destroy the Mandalorians. Kyrie glanced about the running children, her locus of control beginning to reflect the confusion and chaos of war. It was familiar, she had felt it when the Sith had come to Ossus. She had no knowledge of a Mandalorian threat, only the Sith had been her enemy. Her fingers curled into fists. Mandalorians. “Did Moon Knight finally attack?” There was no answer, only a feeling of uncertainty. The familiar presence of her apprentice burst forth nearby, vibrant and chaotic. It was like the fragrance of the Oerkanji bloom after a spring rain. Refreshingly alive. A heartbeat of life in the bereavement of a world in upheaval. “…Master?” Kyrie’s violet eyes matched his emerald gaze, and a kind smile formed across her unscarred face. He looked older, more battle-hardened. Chaos dripped from him into the force, causing ripples that washed across her. She held out both her hands, palms up in an offering of peace, but an unnatural instinct pulled her to wrap him in an embrace. She burned with the force, her heartbeat hammering her joy into both of them with uncontrolled flame. She was not as strong, not as harsh, but she was much more alive then she had ever been. “Aiden. I’ve missed you.”

Misericordia. Emerald eyes fluttered open and a spinning nausea overtook the Exorcist. The body was not her own. Younger, less broken. No rampaging pain from shattered flesh and bone. She blinked and the world focused to a ceiling of cracked and molded plaster. Why did the Force call me here…? Kyrie’s eyes closed and she focused on her own mind, expanding the locus of control throughout her body. She could feel the rhythmic song of the Force, the sounds of the light as she had not heard since her work with Xae-Lin-Ardel. A gasping, shuddering breath brought warmth into her chest. With its release came silver fire that curled to that cracked and broken ceiling. Rebirth in Holy Fire. Why had there only been darkness? Where was the light? She slowly began to move. Her joints felt as though they were filled with lead and lubricated with sand. Another breath, a churning hiss of pained effort. The body was unnatural, a foreign form that her spirit struggled to control. The Exorcist rolled to a sitting position, closing her eyes to stop the world from its nauseating spinning. “Awenydd what the hell did you do?” It was a small girl’s voice, filled with a fusion of wonder and confusion. Kyrie could feel small hands gripping her tattered tunic and it was then that her nervous system began to take in the rush of proprioceptive information of her surroundings. She was wearing clothing, which gave her some small bit of relief. She was sitting on a lumpy bed that bore no bedclothes. The air smelled of sweat and panic. “What devilry did you spin?” Kyrie opened her eyes to stare into the young girl’s face. She had tousled, brown hair and a thin, kind face that was filled with shock. Around them both were candles and an old holopad that was displaying the history of the Revanchists. “You did it…” The girl jumped back from Kyrie’s silver-fired eyes with a yelp, stumbling over a pile of flimsiplast “You made yourself into a weapon to fight the Mandalorians…” The Force flooded her with sensation. There were familiar presences nearby. To those, she sent a greeting of Silver Flame. The Master of the Exorcists had returned. Misericordia.

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Her scream continued, driven from her smoking lips as much from the rush battle as it was forced from a body wracked by pain. It was a cry to the Force, her only friend left in the galaxy. As she screamed she could feel her heartbeat pounding an unknown rhythm in her ears. It was a death rattle, the shattered screeching of a ghost from beyond its cairn. All that was left was war. Her universe was all but gone, and all that remained was the battle in a breaking hanger. Kyrie’s arm was still caressed by fire, the heat of the blade still burning away at her nerve endings. The pain burned its way through her as she charged the Sith, delving deep into her chest. Concentration failed. The Flames died. All that remained were the screams of a broken girl. The dead came as the force fractured into a wound. A hundred grasping hands reached through the fractured metal, through the molten steel. She had opened herself to Hell. The Sin she had eaten was now being vomited forth. Her heaven, her gods, were all shattered. Words replaced her screams as the Sith took her mind. Come not to the stars. Come not with a shining sword. Come not crying over the dead. Come not with a disturbed mind. The dead shuddered around them. Kyrie’s lips moved and only a whisper emerged that only the Beast could hear. Do you hear the suffering? Do you feel their blood warm on your skin? Do you hear the endless torment? Do you smell the putrid wounds? The blackened boots lost their footing and the Exorcist fell. What she saw in the Sith’s ravaging of her mind was a mirror. A mirror of her own brokenness, of her own darkness. Her own Hell. As she saw the Beast’s journey, so he would see hers. The years of abuse as a child, always second to a much grander sister. A father as evil as a demon. Everyone thought I was cursed. I believed them, and so it came to be. Pain drove itself to her heart as a voice ripped through her vision. The Exorcist’s eyes opened, and she found herself on her knees before the forces of the Sith. Her face seemed to change every few seconds, fluttering between personalities with only one commonality: Death. If she had been a weaker person, she would have begged for her life, but she was not. Every part of her called upon the Force, but it did not answer. Her chest heaved with muted sobs of pain. There was no holy flames now, only sparks of pain and suffering. A deep sadness. Her breathing came in irregular, sharp, rasping gasps. Her lungs would not hold her breath, each exhalation brought with it curling, ashen smoke. Kyrie’s voice cracked. “You will have to kill me, because I have nothing left. No fear, no hate, no righteousness. No family.” Her face settled and a peace came then, but one born of confusion. She looked upon the Sith but did not see them. She smiled softly as duel lines of smoking blood crested across her cracked, thin lips. “Hayley, you’ve grown…” It was a conversation that did not exist anywhere but in her mind. She reached out with the smoking stump of her arm and sat back against a fallen durasteel beam. The beam was red-hot and although her skin smoked she did not feel it. Her eyes were from her childhood, of painful memories and bittersweet happiness. “When I lost you I learned the hard way to not be afraid of death…” A song began in the Force, a lament that was filled with grief. It made the burning floor about her sparkle as if she was in a dew-kissed field on a spring morning. “A life without loss is one without love.” Her eyes fluttered, silver flames sparking within them. If we turn ourselves from death, all we can see is the darkness of its shadow... The song fell away. The silver flame was replaced by emerald sheen. Tears of joy replaced the sobs of pain. Her eyes were open for but a moment longer as she looked death in the eye. At last she embraced it as a friend and left her darkness behind.

All she saw was the enemy before her. He was the embodiment of all the evil that had been inflicted upon her. His cursed nurgle-flesh a reflection of her own scars. The dualism of her own soul was represented by the calm demeanor of the Sith, a cruel mask for unstoppable corruption. He was the stain on her soul. He was her brokenness. Her lethal evil. The pommel of her longbladed lightsaber bit into her palm, the repercussions of grinding the grip into her hands as her soul split apart. The curse of her youth was tearing her apart. Her brokenness was making her useless. Every attack she had made on the Sith had been ineffective, while he had wounded her. That wound still smoked and reeked of seared flesh, filling her nostrils with the noxious fumes of her own charred body. Why do you still fight this darkness? Pain reared its head again, driving the Exorcist to her knees. It was white-hot in her chest, it felt as though her very flesh was melting away. Black corruption flowed across the girl’s arm, boiling on her alabaster skin. It was like tar, sticky and seething with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The souls of every Sith she had slain was crawling from her boiling flesh. The lightsaber pulsed in her hand. Fear raced through her as the voices laughed in their mocking pity The Darkness does not bargain. It does not reason. It is rot. IT HURTS. IT BURNS. It has taken hold It is spreading To the seat of your soul Kyrie gasped as the forces that battled within her wrenched her from her knees, sending her slamming into the closed blast door. The force of the blow made her ears ring but did not deafen the voices. There will be nothing of you left All your suffering will have been for nothing It’s just a matter of time. The lightsaber pulsed again and the Sith advanced. Kyrie did not care that the beast advanced. She stared at the humming blade as it pulsed. It was her heart. It wasn’t a black heart, but a human heart. A heart that had suffered greatly. It held her soul, as broken as it was. The Imperial Knight turned the blade towards the Sith, and stepped forward. Hayley's voice hissed in surprise and fear What are you doing? The Exorcist smiled through her pain I do not care anymore. We all die someday and once everyone has died darkness will no longer exist. One of the Sith’s lightsabers sped towards her and the fear bubbled up. The voices screamed at her. The Hanger seemed to melt around her as she advanced. Her fire was an extension of her soul and it had begun its work. No, I don’t want to die. We don’t want to die Turn back! Kyrie danced to the side and brought her blackened arm into the path of the Sith’s blade. The crimson blade tore into her flesh with a burning that was all too familiar. She had felt it when the Sith that had raped her had carved his name into her back. She had felt it on the fields of battle on Gala. She had felt it and embraced it. This was no different Stop Stop Stop Stop When the blade hit bone, Kyrie let it pass through. She could feel the heat of it pulse through her bloodstream. The nerves screeched and died as the lightsaber severed them. Their horror shook her, but did not stop her. I’m sorry. I didn’t ask you to be apart of me. I never begged you to help me. More flesh burned, and as it did she turned the world to fire. From the blade she devoured power. She sacrificed for it. For a moment she was united with the blade of the Sith and as it took away her flesh, she took away its very power. Its crystal was foreign, unmade by nature, unclaimed by its will and she shattered it. As her arm fell away the blade died. She became something truly different. She was a Sin Eater. If you won't die with me, then leave me alone. Please stop, if you go on you’ll never come back There is nothing to come back to Kyrie Eleison breathed out flame of pure white as she advanced on the Sith, her one arm holding her glowing blade. She had shattered her world, and she would shatter the Sith’s. The durasteel touched by her flame bubbled and melted away as if it had been nothing but flimsiplast. The Hanger lurched as she advanced. No please don’t leave me! Behind her, the arm melted into corruption, a stinking, boiling mess of black. True torment lay within her, in the memories she could not escape or defeat. She was freed from the voices, but she had walked into her own personal Hell, and she would bring the Sith with her. Kyrie drove through the hail of lightsabers as they had come. She had shattered their brother, and they would not harm her now. The Hanger was falling apart and the liquid, white-hot metal followed her in a rainstorm. With the screams of the exorcist, The Force obeyed and thousands of droplets of liquified durasteel rushed to destroy the Beast.

All Kyrie could hear was the song, the chorus of voices in her head from which she drew her power. The blackened and polished wood of the bowstave trembled in her hand, her arm shaking with energy and the will to fight. She could feel the power of the bow, the soft heartwood of Tython Yew, layered with the hardwood of a single Wroshyr branch from Kashyyyk. It was an ancient weapon, a holdover from the more primitive days of the galaxy, and a holy relic of the Exorcists. Her fingers played over the woven hemp soaked in nerf-fat that made up the bowstring. She could feel the nock, a small bead of firehardened clay she had made in the ruins of the old Gala Praxium. The Imperial Knight had collected the pieces of this weapon from all the significant places she had been. Kyrie slid another arrow onto the string, running her fingertip over the hammered steel that made the arrowhead. She taken the metal from dead Sith warriors, forging their accursed protection into a weapon to be used against them. The temporary high of Il-Andon’s blessing faded as the realization of the uselessness of her attack had been. Control ebbed away. Such a puny weapon Ineffective Your best effort didn’t even do anything The Exorcist gritted her teeth and let the feeling of the bow sooth her mind. Touch had such an effect on her mind, almost inexplicably so. The rough grain of the bow calmed her, but the voices of her darkness continued. She was with the force now, but she had lost the careful control she had maintained for so long. It would take a very long time to recover herself. Splitting pain washed through her from her injury, causing her to suck in air. The Sith thinks you’re weak He doesn’t want to bother himself with a nerfling Hayley’s voice now, mocking, cruel I wouldn’t even notice you, such a broken and twisted thing. Why would a Sith bother with the weak? Kyrie shrieked out through her broken mouth, sending a spew of smoking blood from her lips. SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Nothing happened, no change but a chorus of laughter from inside her mind. Do you think you can command us? You barely have a command left! The wounded Exorcist began to feel. She could feel the death and the destruction that was taking place in the hanger. Her two squads were taking casualties, and so were the rest of the Imperial troops in the hanger. So much wasted life. The deaths were under her command, and she was failing her men and women. The sound of engines whining drew her attention to a landing Sith assault ship. Her troops were rallying for a counterattack, but she could feel the danger brewing and it drove a bite of panic into her. Onboard the ship she could feel true Sith, Masters, Lords, Darths, all powerful and deadly. They’ll all die. All your people will be butchered You should flee Kyrie’s heart raced at the proposition of escape. To run. To leave all the worries and evil behind. Her eyes widened You fought for duty, you grasped at the light! Spoiled by your darkness within You fought for your dreams She drew in a breath as her eyes darted across her rallying men. They were all going to die Now there is no way to win. Kyrie slammed the tip of her bowstaff onto the permacrete with a sickening crack. It drew all attention to her. To the voices she whispered her denials. You can break me… But not my promise. Her darkness was a deep stain upon her soul. It stank worse then the seared flesh on her face. It would not allow her to retreat, not even in her doubts. It wanted her fully, to give herself over to it, to the hands of the sith. Turning to run was but an instinct of madness, but fear was not as powerful as loathing. She would fight. She whispered to the Sith with many voices. I will go into the lair of the beast. I will look it in the eye And I will go to war. The longhandled lightsaber skittered across the ground, drawn to her hand. She was panicking, but she would not let them break her. She would not let her men and women die. She projected an order through the force, slamming it into the minds of the Imperials with the force of a scream. ...Andromeda, take your men and mine. Leave this place. There is more evil nearby. I will take these evils upon myself. Live to fight another day She stared into the eyes of the beastial Sith. They were onyx, like the colour of her many braids that were now matted with blood, both hers and her enemies. Her own eyes were clouded. The stormy seas of a lost soul. The Sith’s eyes were invitingly evil and she reached out a hand. There is nothing left for me. But the hand was not pointed to him, but the landing Sith assault shuttle, filled with his reinforcements. Sith Masters and their apprentices, she could feel them humming with energy. They were filled with the rage of war, and it made her smile. They were ready for the slaughter, to claim scalps and ravage the populace. Hell was reaching deep inside of her. You are weak Pathetic The Beastial Sith would feel fingers digging in around his throat, and there was a small pause as the Imperial troops reacted to her message. The force wrenched, and the Sith Assault shuttle was crushed. She could feel the horror and terror from the Sith inside as they were ground into macerated chunks of flesh by the Force. The hulking metal abomination looked like a cheap child’s toy as it was mangled and crushed into gleaming and twisted chunks. Blood and coolant mixed into a smoking river before it was ignited into silver flame. She would need no help holding the hanger. She would die as she had lived, alone and isolated. When her time came, she would look death in the eye, as an old friend. I will not let the battle go.

Kyrie felt it then, something distractingly familier. A glimpse of her home, but a home engulfed by flames. She gasped through gritted teeth at the sudden feeling, and felt heated blood splash over her tongue. It tasted of copper and burnt meat. Her face hurt. Adrenaline had been a temporary relief, but now her nerves screamed with pain and her body felt weak. The hangerbay swam before her eyes as the Imperial Knight touched her wound with a half-gloved hand. It came away with blackened, steaming blood which coursed down her pale fingers. The droplets followed the tracks of the scars on her pale flesh to drip in rivulets down her rosary. What was that? The Exorcist moved forward as the Sith retreated behind his men, and challenged the Sith troopers that stood before her. Look out. She pirouetted around the crimson beam of light out of instinct alone. The voice was not her own, but it was female and drove an edge of panic into her. In that panic she lost her grace and slipped on a pool of coolant on the hanger floor. As her blackened leather boot slid from beneath her, she grabbed onto the disrupter rifle that had fired the shot and dragged the Sith trooper with her into the fall. Kyrie landed in a sprawl, no dignity or grace, entangled with the much larger Sith Trooper. Her lightsaber clattered on the decking and went out. The man was a giant, and his large hands were about her throat before she could react. The pressure of his grip made her choke and squirm, her hands trying to find purchase on the Sith’s face. She spat through her broken teeth Off. The Master of the Exorcists had expected the man to fly off of her into the ceiling, but the Force did not move to her command. Her silver eyes widened as they turned back to emerald. She couldn’t feel anything. No righteous fury, no judgement. Not even Il-Andon Rorik’s rosary gave her the comfort it had moments before Why... “Kriffing Imperial Scum!” Kyrie could smell the ale on the man’s breath, the rage that was in him. His eyes were piggish and wild. She had seen them before as a girl. His grip slackened for a moment as he picked her up by her neck, and she gasped in air. She had never thought she would be thankful for the acrid, recycled air of combat. He slammed her head into the decking and her vision became clouded by stars. Pain throbbed through her whole body as she wriggled and spasmed. The voices came to her again, like they had before Tython You touched the darkness, we could all see its scar in your hollow eyes. You ran from it. You ran and brought it home. Kyrie gargled an apology. The Sith trooper only squeezed harder, enjoying the feeling of her larynx beneath his fingers. The apology was not to him, but to the swarming voices in her head. The voices had been the cause of the isolation of her youth, locked away as an embarrassment by her Mandalorian father. Her mother had seen the voices and personalities that had passed over her daughter as a sign that Kyrie had been touched by the gods. It had taken her voice, and left her only song. Your gaze averted from life. You looked only on the dead. She tried to scream but she did not have the air. The voice that warned her came back You ran and brought the darkness to me. You cursed me with an endless suffering worse than death. You let it crawl into me, and now it rots me. The Imperial Knight knew the voice now, knew its pain. She gasped out a name ...Hayley… Do you still hear my screams? In this waking nightmare, my horrors came true. Your quest for justice, for righteousness, what good did it do me? Kyrie’s spasming fingers gripped onto her own leg as her other hand pried at the Sith’s armour. They’ve taken my soul. No. No. NO! Horror overcame her. Over her swollen tongue Kyrie cried the word no. She cried it again and again. She still cried it as she drove her stiletto knife under the stomach armor of the Trooper, and cried no as she drove her hand through his guts and fascia. Her tears of rage were uncontrollable as she drove the blade deeper into the man. He made a high pitched squealing sound and thrashed, but now she was in control. She twisted the knife and ripped it free, feeling his warmth spray onto her. She coughed as the man’s guts flooded over her in a wave of awful. The voices flooded her mind and they were terrifying. Accusatory. Derisive. But above all was the voice of her sister, Hayley Fieldgrey. It was mocking and it drove beastial fear into her. The last time Kyrie had seen her sister was when the girl had fled their home when it had been ravaged by the Sith. She could still see those hazel eyes looking on in fear as Kyrie had been raped and tortured. She could still see the young girl slip out into the night in her small white nightgown, stepping over the beheaded corpses of their mother and brother. It had been a betrayal that defined them both. The perfect daughter had abandoned her broken sister to die. What are you doing? You are showing weakness. Pick up your blade and fight! She’s weak. You’ve always been weak. Hayley’s mocking voice overwhelmed the others You’re not a warrior, you’re a disgrace to the gods. Kyrie screamed again, but it came out as a spray of blood without sound. Her trembling hands found the handle of a vibroax on the Sith’s belt. Its handle was worn and made from hardened wood. Pick it up. Fight it. Fight them. Kill them. Pick it up. She is scared Blasterfire ricocheted about her, spanging off the permacrete to fill her vision with sparkling light. She hugged the ax to her chest. What a poor little girl She’s scared Fight them With emerald eyes she stared at the line of the Sith Troopers. They fired relentlessly. They were the enemy. They were what kept her from saving Hayley. Only suffering brings salvation. It is the way of the gods. Do you not believe in our gods? Kyrie charged the Sith line like a beast. She hadn’t touched this ferocity since she had killed the Sith that had kept her as a slave. He had enjoyed scarring her, and for every scar he had etched into her, she had tortured him back. She had taken her time killing the sadistic man. She spat blood at the Sith as she sprinted. No. It is not the gods that cause suffering, it is those close to us. The Force came back to her in a rush of power as she left the influence of the ysalimiri. The power was unfocused, but it fueled her. She was the Sword of the Empire, and she was ferocious. She was fed by the desire to save the galaxy, but it was bitter feast. As she used the force, she fed the darkness in her soul. It was the fate of the uncontrolled and uncautious. Instead of flames, there was an lawless wildfire of silver. The voice of Il-Andon Rorik came then to her mind Hell will not give you the answers you want. But you must not look away from the horror it does offer, for you cannot overcome suffering if you refuse to look. The vibroaxe bit into the helmet of one of the Sith as she drove it down, dragging the gleaming metal through skull until it lodged in his ribcage. The Imperial Knight’s fire drove them back. Sent them sprawling. She ensnared a young lieutenant with her flames and sent his burning, screaming corpse flying at the Eweb. And then she saw him, the horned beast back again. He was marked by his twin blades and she brought the axe up to block the first attack. The rapier-blade of the lightsaber glanced off the crimson-stained Axehead and sliced through the wooden handle, making her weapon useless. Kyrie jumped backwards to safety, but her mind was solely focused on the destruction of the wicked, so she did not abandon the fight. To her hand came the wooden stave of her longbow, twisting it off her back as she flew. The fletching of woodgrouse was soft upon her bloody fingertips as she notched an arrow in the handwoven string. As she landed amongst her troops, she drew back the longbow. Kyrie blessed the arrow with her flame and let it fly towards the beastial Sith. It was propelled with a line of holy fire that lit up the hanger like a flare as it flew towards the Sith’s black heart. She would end the fight here and now.

The Inquisitor of the Empire could smell the rot of the Sith from paces away. Maggots and bonemeal, the air tasted like a grave. It was a choking foulness that crested over her senses like the waves that crashed upon the abandoned beaches of Tython. The seaworn glass on those beaches had sparkled in the soft light as she had danced among the moonbeams. She had been wild once. Free. Now she was in another prison of suffocating, recycled air and riveted metal. She twisted her face to meet the horned face that approached at the speed of a striking serpent. Vileness Incarnate. Kyrie stepped back as the creature passed through the seals etched in silver fire. The souls of the damned leapt forth from the flame like sparks. The souls she had banished, the Sith she had claimed reached with clawing hands to drag the beast into their domain. They were as ghostly as they were ghastly, as decayed as the beast they sought to drag into Hades. Their sins had cast them forever from the light, and they were her burden. Her own soul tore as the damned were birthed from the seeds of her own corruption. A Sin Eater was never pure, they took upon themselves the vileness and the spoil, the putrid and the corrupt. It was how they cleansed the galaxy of corruption, taking it upon themselves and devouring it. That corruption would be cast upon the fire of her soul and most of it would be burned away into nothingness, but a stain remained. From that stain Kyrie drove her flame, to encompass and destroy. The Imperial Knight stepped backwards and pain began to roar through her senses. Her mouth was numb and suddenly dry. She could feel the recycled air upon her teeth and flow across her tongue, but her mouth was not open. The Sith’s blade had caressed her cheek, driving through the flesh to expose her jaw. Flesh and muscle remained around her face in strands, her jaw clenching with its remaining muscles. Sithspit Kyrie muttered a curse and flipped herself into a backwards tumble across the studded metal and permacrete. She welcomed the closeness to the beast, but on her own timing. The tall girl, and she was a girl, still too young to gain entrance to the officer’s bar, tossed the ebony braids of her hair from her vision. The song of war was pounding in her mind, carrying with it the thrill of battle. She invited the beast to come to her with the flash of her silvered blade. Her fire gathered around her, bound to her song, stoked by every breath. The holy flames leapt tall about her, illuminating her horrendous smile, all blood and exposed teeth. Her cauterized flesh stank and gave off whisps of steam with every breath. She was ready to rip the strength from the corrupted soul before her and banish it to flame. Her song continued in the force, her mouth no longer able to move. Your soul grows soft in the fire of my furnace. It hungers to be hit upon the anvil and to have a hundred sisters in its death. May you dance the maddest in the morass of our red rain

An extension of the darkness loomed before her, a chasm of doom in the form of a horn-masked man. It was terrifying and Kyrie could feel the cool chill of fear begin to creep up her spine as she traced her symbols onto the decking in silver flame. She turned her fearsome eyes upon the chasm of darkness and smiled with unnatural strength. The scar tissue deformed to give the smile an almost maniacal visage, and as she did so tears of fire began to run down her face. Across her squads of troopers a cheer echoed as they were tuned into the song of their leader, the song of war, the fury of righteous fire. The whole world seemed to change, and Kyrie could feel the pull of the spirits, just as she had on Tython. The docking bay before her shimmered into an open field of greying grass, interspersed with the yellows of nerfslips, twisting and swaying in a breeze. She could almost smell the seasalt upon that wind. It stayed for only a moment before the vision caught with the wildfire that flowed from her hands. The Grenadiers of Foy and the Imperial Commandos of Kildare were under the heavy fire of the Sith, but these troops were no weakling Jedi or GA troops. They had been hunting Sith beside their master for years. The enemies were armed with only the Disrupter Rifles that required a cooldown of five or six seconds after each shot. While the Disrupters were powerful weapons, their slow firing rate could not stand before the whithering fire of Repeating Heavy Slugthrowers, Concussion Rifles, Blasters, and the anti-Sith flechettes. Hadran Narraghmore winced as he watched his second in command, Hywyl Llandderfyl disintegrate before his eyes. He had known the man since childhood, and to hear the man's screams as he turned to ash made him angry. He whistled out a command, the sound similar to a Coruscanti hawkbat and the Imperial troops began to concentrate their fire on the Sith warriors, letting their masters fight. He would enjoy the fight and afterwards he would get drunk in the memory of his ruddy-faced friend and all their adventures. As for Kyrie, she only understood the language of the sword. The dark haired girl raised her unlit lightsaber, with its long and simple handle, in one scarred hand while she gathered some of her firey tears upon the other. With those tears she marked her forehead with the sign of the cross, leaving behind a burn on her pale flesh. She finished her designed pacing and stood in the center of the patterns and sang to the Sith. It was not a lovely song, not one of peoms or of lost lovers, it was of the man’s doom. ...I will sing to you the lullaby of obliteration, and I will awake with a smile and with joy in my heart. I let my blade do the talking, So my tongue shall become iron and my words the mighty roar of war.... And her blade sang in its ignition, casting the world bright with new fire.

The Master of the Imperial Knights ran, her ebony braids bouncing with each long stride of her armoured legs. The Force propelled her faster, and she wove through the throngs of civilians with expert precision. She concentrated on the song of the spirits about her, listening to their warnings, to the words the Force desired her to hear. Kyrie ducked under a fleeing Ithorian’s extended neck, reaching out to her squadmates, her brothers and sisters in arms. They were battle hardened together, soldiers and scouts of the Empire. She could feel the vibrant joy that Hadran Narraghmore pumped into the force, long before she could see the maroon plastoid armour of the Grenadiers of Foy forming up to meet her. He was ready for battle, and his men and women knelt as Kyrie approached. The harsh sterility of concentrated tactics rushed over her as IC-426 and the rest of the Imperial Commandos of Kildare marched to join them. Their deathtrooper variant armour gleamed in its dark colours of the Imperial Knights, highlighted with a forest green. The two squad commanders embraced, unitiing themselves beneath Kyrie’s lead. Kyrie glanced up at the hanger doors looming above the kneeling men and women, and then to her apprentice that stood beside her. She could feel a darkness rushing towards them like an arrow, black and hardened in evil, propelled by the Force to meet them. She held up a hand and the fire of the Exorcists rushed across her fingertips, blazing in silver flame. It gave off no physical heat, but had an ethereal warmth that emboldened the soul. “Rise.” The two squads of troops stood as one, their plastoid armour making a unified clicking as they all saluted. Kyrie held out her long-handled lightsaber, pointing it towards the blast door that began to open, revealing a hanger in panic. “This will be our bulkhead against the Sith. We hold them here.” She motioned to derelict and partially constructed ships that lay scattered about the hanger bay like children's toys tossed about a playroom. “Environmental suits locked in. Prepare for war.” The Imperial Knight gave her men and women a broad smile, her teeth sparkling in the reflected light of her flames. Her emerald eyes began to grow milky and then hardened to shining silver. “Neca ne neceris. Dismissed.” The two squads scattered into the hanger, taking up firing positions that would compliment their weaponry. Concussion Rifles, Flechette Launchers, Slugthrowers, Sonic Rifles. They were her revered Sith Hunters, the Inquisition forces, and they were effective at their game. Kyrie herself stood in the center, watching the Sith approach. A shuttle cloaked in the darkness. She stepped in patterns, leaving footprints of silver flame in intricate designs. As it entered the hanger, she held out her extinguished lightsaber as a challenge. The Sith were used to the softness of the Jedi, and would be expecting a slaughter. The Master of the Exorcists was a beacon for the Sith, and like the insects they were, the Sith would be drawn to her flame.

Kyrie blinked as her words trailed off into a snarl of righteous anger. She could feel them, the oppressive energy of the Sith as they arrived. Her eyes widened a fraction, the emerald reflection of the glowlamps sparkling in their depths. She had never felt such a whirlwind of terror and horror within the Force. Dying and tortured souls caught upon an event horizon, screeching in their panicked madness as they were consumed by pure evil. The ashes of the evil she had consumed echoed in the horror, driving the air from her lungs. She had no choice but to shrink her mind before the storm. It was too much all at once. The leader of the Imperial Knights had felt the echoing torture of Jedi prisoners. Their persecuted souls were familiar, and cried out for her to save them. She knew she could do nothing but listen to their deaths as they were consumed. Emerald eyes flashed silver as the Master of the Imperial Knights dragged air into her lungs. It hurt her to breath this recycled air. She wished for the damp wind of Tython, the healing caress of the jungles. “Aidan, follow close. We are in a fight for our lives now.” Panic swirled about her as the civilians of Kuat’s rings began to rush to places of safety. Kyrie opened her scarred mouth and began to sing, weaving the power of the Force into her words. It was a song of strength and carried the purging fire of the Exorcists. The panicked winds calmed to match the breezes of Tython. The Sith had come, but they would face the Master of the Exorcists. She smiled, a grin that carried a challenge into the Force.

The Imperial Knight watched her apprentice steadily as the medical droid peeled some of the burned flesh from her face and applied silver nitrate paste to debris the wound before it could fester. Holy fire was painful to bear, even for the pure. Sin Eaters were always scorched by its flame, as they bore the Dark Side within their souls, bound by their holiness. Kyrie watched Aidan’s face flicker for a moment with a myriad of microexpressions that indicated his troubled mind. Whatever was on his text-com was bothering him. She could feel his mind shift emotions, and at its heart all she felt was the forlorn longing of an abandoned child. Such a deepset weakness would never allow him to stand against the Darkside for long, but she had a duty to make him as strong as she could. ...I will not abandon him like so many others have. She reached out one of her scarred hands to the man and nodded in her agreement. Her words carried their usual bluntness. She had never been one for diplomacy. “Controlling emotions is not blunting them or binding them into yourself where they will fester.” Kyrie stood, brushing the medical droid off her with a push of her hand that sent it spinning. It beeped in irritation. “I am not the mindless Jedi whose teachings direct us away from our humanity.” A slight sneer came across her pale features “When there is no emotion, there is peace.” A shake of her head at the aged mantra. So much destruction over idiotic words. “My father would call that philosophy Osik. Our emotions give us a connection to the galaxy, a desire to save it. To deny emotions is to deny life itself.” She leaned close to her apprentice. “Let’s find some control with what bothers you the most, and temper it into a weapon for the Light.”

Means to an end… Kyrie pondered his words, letting them flow through her mind and painting her own decisions with the palette of that philosophy. She had been in many situations that the means had been to deal death… But was it worth it? Absentmindedly, her course fingertips traced the scars on her face. She was ugly now by galactic standards, but was that ugliness mirrored in her heart? Did the scars of her deeds and the ashes of the dead cast a shadow on her soul? She whispered to herself a small verse from the Illtides of Revan We believe in the one Force, its binding of light and dark. We are those that champion the light, we judge the quick and the dead. Her emerald eyes looked into Aidan’s, and the Exorcist placed her palms upwards “We are the only ones left that can hold the Sith at bay.” She indicated the battle reports of Onderon that were playing on a loop on the recessed holoscreen that played multicoloured light throughout their darkened room. “...But we cannot become as they are to do it. We are the light, and the light saves the innocent. We do not damn the innocent to death for the greater good.” Kyrie stood slowly, pain running its course through her nerves. Her body was growing weary of war, and she was barely into adulthood. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her ebony braids obscuring her face “Do not give in to the seduction of power. The whispers that fill your mind… That tell you if you just let go of your morals that you can save everything. That seduction is the dark side, and it will consume you in small, unnoticeable pieces until nothing of yourself remains.”

Our path is to Paradise, and likewise the road to ruin. The Commander of the Imperial Knights breathed in a mouthful of the stale, recycled air of the medical center. Her peripheral nerves were on fire, and she twitched slightly as the 21-B placed a bacta syringe against her bare hip. Its electronic drawal was slightly irritating to her as it spoke “Mistress, I am applying bacta to your major muscle groups, it should allow for more constant application to your nerves.” Everything was more irritating to her since Kashyyyk. She blew a mouthful of air from her lips, a feeble attempt to unobscure her vision from her unkempt hair. She was simultaneously annoyed by the bangs, and a bit embarrassed about her breath. She hadn’t had a sonic brushing since before the battle. She was thankful the droid couldn’t smell. “Your breath indicates dental decay at a minor level. Might I bring you a sonic brush Mistress?” Her emerald eyes closed in a wince and she glanced over to where her apprentice was being patched up. His eyes were downcast, looking at battle readouts and casualty reports. Kyrie was thankful her own squads had survived relatively unbloodied. Any deaths to her men were personal ones. They were her friends and family. She reached out with the force, but spoke the words aloud. “Aidan, how is your mind, now that we are far from the war?”

The Exorcist’s fingers, pale and nails chewed from her nervous tic, began to pulse as she channeled the Force through her. She could feel the leather wrappings of the man’s shoulder upon which her hand rested, but she wanted to go deeper. His words did not penetrate her mind, they were held in stasis as she pursued his heart. What drove you? Strength, anger? Was it Bitterness? Kyrie felt as though she was running a marathon, pursuing the emotions in her apprentice before he tamped them down, bottling them up. To bottle emotions up was a trait they both shared, and she knew the havoc it wraught on the soul. A dawn of horror rushed through her as it did her apprentice. It came swift as lightning, and the thunderclap of fear followed. She breathed the fear in like the smoke from a deathstick, it was frigidly cold against her flames. She let it fill her soul as she joined his mind. What have I done, bringing you so badly prepared into the heart of chaos that is war? The Imperial Knight’s eyes blazed silver, but her face was calm and full of a kindness that outmatched the scars on her face. The burning tears continued as pain coursed through her heart, the heartache of a sin eater. It hurt to consume sin, burning it away left a painful corruption behind. She let out a small gasp, and exposed her apprentice to the hurt inside, as an echo, the lives she had taken, the monstrous Sith she had brought to ruin. Each life taken was a burden, a life that would never be redeemed. Feel the cost of our journey. Think on it before you continue our path. Her scars turned raw with fresh blood, the fire beginning to burn too hot within her soul. She grabbed the young man and pressed her own lightsaber into his trembling hands. She was giving him no option but to press forward at her side. It was a strong leash, and the long-handled blade hummed with a foreign power. You felt strong, and now you are weaker than before. That is the curse of darkness. Weakness, and you and I are no weaklings. The Commander of the Imperial Knights lifted her palms upwards and fire danced across them. You are retreating into your mind in your shame. The fire began to spread to cloak her in silver light. We have all fallen to anger at times. To fall is to be human. Anger tempts up all. Her ebony braids singed to silvered fire, and the darkness of the world about them began to burn to ash. As Trandoshans poured over the lip of the crater in a counterattack, they began to be consumed by the raging inferno. Sorrow for the lost, fear for her apprentice, the death of a world, all caused the lump in her throat. There was no speaking now. At the heart of the fire, was the crying Imperial Knight and her apprentice. To pull yourself up from the shackles of humanity, that is the light.

The bright light beside Kyrie erupted into white hot flames, driven to fury by justice. It confused her, justice was supposed to be dispassionate. Passion obscured the impartiality of the Force, taking righteous justice to a darker vigilantism. The Imperial Knight brought her saber up to block a scattergun round and watched in horror as her apprentice hacked his way through their opponents. He was driven by passion, not righteousness. She screamed his name, but he was lost into the smoke and ruin of the war. ...What have I done… Her lightsaber flashed, spitting fire from raindrops as she batted rounds away from herself. Her own flames began to run short as doubt crept in through the justifications. Slavers were to be sentenced to death. Had she brought a child with no control over himself to a war without realizing it? Did I only look to the prowess of battle, and not to the strength of spirit? Kyrie could feel him before her like a tempest, blowing the winds of battle into a bloodfury. Onwards she ran, skipping over bodies and the outpouring of the Darkfire’s wrath. Crumpled bodies of slavers bisected by the blade she had given him. She had equipped him with a weapon, but no strength of will to hold it in justice. Where are you? The older man was not hard to track, even in the confusion of a landbattle. Aidan had left a trail of destruction in his wake, and an even darker one in the Force. All around her she could feel the echoes in the Force, the dead and dying. The spirits of the Wookiees were crying for justice, and the dark side was strong. She was in the path of where the Force Storms had converged. Sin corrupted the sinner’s soul, and she needed to save them all. A pulsing wave rushed around her like the whitewaters of a river, torrents of feelings unbound. She was catching up. The Exorcist dropped to the scorched earth, feelings numbed as she began to feed herself to the Force. The darkness about her was oppressive, a foul odour invading her very soul. With trembling fingers she touched the broken ground, littered with blood and bone. The injustice was palpable, and she drove her fingertips into the soil. In the Force, the darkness began to rush into her as she breathed, the pollution filling her. She could taste the copper of blood, the gluttonous hunger that had drove the Force to consume so many souls. She couldn’t feel them, they had not been driven into the dust. Her eyes widened They trapped the souls… Tears began to pour from her glowing eyes, she could feel nothing of their spirits but the pain and terror of the storm. They were being tortured even now. Justice will come. Righteousness consumes sin. Light burns it all away. Into the torrential downpour of rain, she let out a breath. From her own traumas she brought forth the fires of purity, of righteousness. She was a crucible in which she would purify the deeds of the Sith. She was a sin eater. Stipendium peccati mors est… The cool caress of forest loam became the burning of her soul embodied in the consumption of evil. She gritted her teeth, taking in the whirlwind of passion, of gluttony, and burning it into ash. Kyrie’s tears began to burn her flesh as they coursed across her scars, dripping to the earth, burning the darkenss away. In a flash, the downpour reversed, rain turning to darts of pure silver, rushing away in all directions. ...These horrors too will grow mild, this darkness shall find its dawn. The Exorcist stood, her skin smoking and peeling, flames of pure light streaming behind her like wings as she ran. She had to find him, her broken apprentice, and find him she did. His beacon in the force was faltering. The passions of the moment had fled, leaving him with only pain. With an outstretched hand, the Imperial Knight fell to the man’s side. She was almost a wraith of pure light, cloaked in the armour of a Jedi general. Her face was etched in pain. Aidan… She did not speak, her throat was full of emotion and would not allow it. Two Trandoshans crested the hill before them, but they froze, shrieking, burning into ashes before them. Their sins had consumed them fully, and purification left nothing but the dust from which they had been made. That fire did not turn on the apprentice, but began to fade as the scarred warrior placed her hands on his broad shoulders Are you all right?

Atmospheric disturbance caused the young woman to grip the hand-strap that hung from the assault shuttle’s ceiling. She and her apprentice were the only ones standing amongst squads of special forces commandoes, strapped into crash-webbing, gripping their guns in silence. Kyrie’s knuckles turned white as she watched a display feed from the ground combat. Something had changed in the Force about her, the silent righteousness growing brighter into a crusading furer. The Sith had instrumented a terrible evil on the planet ...Confirming civilian casualties, command. Piles of bodies. Slavers vaped the ones that weren’t fit for grunt labour. Holoreadings displayed the damage for all the squads in her command. Piles of dead Wookiees, charred and bloody. Rotting lumps of flesh that had once been proud warriors. The POV camera turned to see a stormtrooper cradling a dead Wookiee baby, lifeless as a doll in the man’s armoured arms. The bone-white plating contrasted the singed fur and emaciated form. About her the battle-hardened men began to churn, their souls enraged by the horrors that had been displayed. A fury was rising Ground in ten seconds… Kyrie turned to Aidan, feeling his seething distaste for the injustice. She placed her hand on his shoulder, a simple gesture of consolation and unity. She whispered to only him as she brushed braids from her eyes “We will right these wrongs together. We are the swords of the light, we will take evil up and give out new life. Do not fall to bitterness or rotten anger. Stay beside me. ” The crack of the landing ramp descending brought with it the stench of war, of rot, and of true evil. Crimson bolts spanged and ricocheted off the ramp, and the Imperial Knight thumbed on her long-handled blade. She could feel its carress in her palm, an extension of her own soul. Its silver light illuminated the roiling smoke as the commandos followed her charge. Instinct brought the lightsaber into a wide sweep, batting back bolts aimed at her troopers. ...Awake, arise, or be forever fallen... The enemy’s position was like a swarming hive of Gundarks, trenches and gunnery nests spewing forth flame and death. Her lightsaber was a battleflag as they charged into the smoke, daring rounds of blasterfire from the entrenched Trandoshans. The young Knight advanced on, blade held high, streaming and shining like a meteor through troubled air. A blast of hot air signaled a grenade detonation, chunks of forest loam raining down upon them. She leapt over the smoking edge, her boots finding purchase in the mud and gore of the battletrench. She could feel Aidan close beside her as the smoke began to clear, revealing a trio of armoured slavers making their own rush towards them. Two carried vibroaxes, while the other a scattergun. Raising her blade into a stance of Vom Tag, she began to concentrate on the songs of war about her. Most of them were of sorrow, for broken history and family, and with those she began to weave silver threads of flame. It would be just her and her apprentice against the trio of Trandoshans, the righteous fury of the light against slavery and darkness.

The leader of the Imperial Knights always hated being late for a battle. She could feel the pulse of it hanging about her and the Sentinel-class Landing Craft her and her two squads had chosen for their assault. It was palpable, the pangs of death, the joys of victory. With a gloved hand she reached out in the Force, connecting with her Jedi friends, the strong and mysterious Tobias, and the warrior she had idolized for her fight with Geki, Adenna. They both felt different in the Force. Their spirits were distinct, but strangely more connected than any of the other Jedi she had come to know. She could see the shifting connections, their stray thoughts often strayed to each other. Attachment is their sin. Kyrie could feel the sorrows flood from the station with each death of the Imperial Knights. They had always been few in number, so each death was a major blow to her operation. She was losing friends, and failing them by not being at their side. Her gloved fingers gripped the blackened leather of her command chair as the Golan loomed before the Landing Craft’s viewscreen, so large that she could see the roiling currents of electricity from the incapacitated station. As more deaths came to her mind, these focused around Tobias, she spoke out with the Force as a lament to the dying, and as reassurance of her arrival. ...Live forever in the slow and silent streams of the Force, where no violence can touch. Drink now and forget both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. Your oaths are fulfilled, the darkness flees before you… A spike of fear and resolution blossomed through the Force, the spirits of those that were dying crying out in terror. As her landing craft entered the main landing zone for the Strike teams, she shut out all other feelings and distractions, losing herself in the fire of righteousness. Kyrie breathed out her flames along the connections she had forged, allowing her power to be lent to the Jedi, to strengthen their actions, and to add a fire to their souls. It was like an empowering embrace, a gift of strength given from her soul. To the pilot of the shuttle and the shield operator she passed her orders which were immediately followed. Raise shields, prepare for detonation. Thrusters Full reverse. ((Killshot Defense Assist))

...You spend far too much time singing to your imaginary friends, not enough time teaching me how to fight… The vision spun around the leader of the Imperial Knights as she readied herself for war. Her black braids were partially tied back behind her as she was adjusting her Imperial armour, and they fell about her neck as she steadied herself against the bulkhead, her hands frozen at the armoured strappings. She felt younger, full of uncorrupted hope. Before her was her sister, auburn hair cropped sloppily by their drunken mother, a wry grin always twisting her face. “L-lit-ttle F-Fox.” Her stutter had regressed, and her voice was lighter and less gravely. The young girl turned and ran, and pain ran through the body of the Imperial Knight, the pain of betrayal and abandonment. Rage blossomed in her heart, overtaking her flames as tinkling laughter fell about her like rain “I’m no longer such a little Fox, slave of the Empire. I serve a more ravenous power, one far stronger than your songs…” Voices screamed through her head as she reached for the fading vision of her lost sister “You are b-broken, I can f-fix you!” The girl’s face appeared before her, concealed by much longer hair, ragged and singed. Kyrie’s nail-bitten fingers brushed aside the locks to reveal a much more evil smile. Pale, freckled skin had changed to a purplish hue, veins more prominent. Her eyes were no longer kind and innocent, the hazel corrupted to sulphuric yellow. One of them was gone completely, replaced by a cybernetic implant. Hayley’s voice was a seductive purr that was far more terrifying then any visual change “This life chose me, I’m not lost in sin. I embraced it. All these years pushed me to the edge, and with happiness I welcomed damnation.” Kyrie slammed her fist into the bulkhead and in a flash of flame the vision was gone. The quizzical face of Hadran Narraghmore loomed from the opening blast-door, and he averted his eyes to give her her privacy. She was still partially undressed, only wearing her armoured leggings, her chestpiece having fallen to the floor of the refresher. He blinked a few times, taking in her scars as she placed the underarmour over her lithe body. “Well commandant, we ‘ave both squads ready. The Grenadiers of Foy and the Imperial Commandos of Kildare are both stocked with weaponry and ‘re at full battle-strength.” He gave her a wink as she strapped her long-handled lightsaber to her side, and he threw her dark cloak about her shoulders. The rhythmic lilt of his brogue was comforting. “When youuu be decent, we are ready for deployment. Come now Exorcist.” Kyrie followed him out the door, silent as she composed herself while they made their way to assault ships. She had two of the best squads of commandos at her back, and no matter where they were to be deployed, she knew they would work well as a team.

Kyrie brushed her nail-bitten fingers through her hair as she reviewed the plans passed to her by Moff Hohenlohe as they were livestreamed to her arm-mounted datacom. There was always flaws, but she would not be an example of typical Jedi incompetence. The failure to act in the face of Sith atrocity would be paramount to condoning the death of innocents. She was a revanchist now, and she was called to act. A drip of sadness passed through her soul, carrying with it the icy fear of death. She breathed in a gasp of sickening air, sweet with ozone as a gust of wind passed through the alleyway in which she stood. She nudged the body at her feet, observing the pattern her lightsaber had carved as it had passed through the broken Devorian. He had been in the process of mugging a young couple when she had cut him down. The Empire had to act in the name of the law. A ghastly growl permeated her headphones, cutting through the comms chatter of the special forces that were patrolling the red zone ...Our people are dying. Sith atrocities pile up as the galaxy waits. She could feel its beastly pressure on her mind, a soul driven insane by the storm of darkness that was consuming a primeval world. Kyrie winced as she expelled the spirit from her mind. Another Sith trap. But one we cannot ignore. She shook her head, long braids of ebony hair bouncing around her pale neck as she activated her complink. “Hohenlohe, tell the Jedi they have my full support, and will join them if they desire it.” To her Commandoes, she issued a recall order. The war for Nar Shaddaa would still be there when they returned.

As Kyrie’s unmarked ship exited hyperspace over the former criminal world of Nar Shaddaa, she could feel it in the Force. A mighty storm of unending power. Currents dragging all life to its center, but at that center there was no peace. There was only violent delights and the dancing of demons. She looked to Aidan, passing him a reassurance in her words. “Reach out, feel this planet as we make our approach. To me, once all the rust and ruin are torn away, all that is left is the entropy of the Force. Chaos and disorder that even the Empire cannot put right.” The Imperial Knight breathed in a breath of the recycled air, and let the Force fall about her, her own flames growing as she felt every injustice. “This storm is life, the end stage of fallen men. Avarice, Rage, and pounding drums of wretched misery. Life lost to evil.” She shook her head as she reached further. She could feel the small bulwarks forming against evil’s storm, like trees they stood unbreaking in the wind, but could not bring it to heal. The Empire. As the shuttle touched down in the underlevels, she could feel the disease about her. Darkness looming, threatening to consume them both. They were out of the green zone and into uncharted territory where no Imperial Soldier dared yet tread. ...Balance… As the evil grew in strength, be it from pirates of Sith, so grew the Empire and its Knights. In her own reflection she saw corruption spreading, taking the form of her lost sister. She breathed out, casting out her flames in the force like beacon for any to see. A pyre upon which evil would burn.

As the captured Carrack Cruiser docked with the Imperial Star Destroyer, The Misericordia, Kyrie glanced around at her troopers and their prisoners. Her squads had taken losses, and she could feel the hum of nerves in the Force, highlighted with grief. The surviving slaves were in zipcuffs, huddled under gunpoint, their tear streaked faces frozen in fear and the rush of emotion that came with the disabling of the hivemind that had controlled them for years. The Auxiliaries of Foy were the first to disembark, taking with them all the slaves but one, a girl who had identified herself as Ash Bladerai, a crimson haired girl of fourteen standard years of age. She had testimony relevant to the prosecution of the pirates, and Kyrie knew her Empress would need to hear it. Kalimore himself was dragged by The Imperial Commandos, his face a mix of pain and smugness. It disgusted her to see his fixed smile, it was an advantage of those that chose evil, they knew they would always have mercy. Hadran Narraghmore led Ash beside the Imperial Knight as they all made their way to the bridge. As the lift doors slid open, Kyrie tossed the Hutt on his flabby face before her Empress, a ten meter toss that left him wailing in cowardly fear and pain from his wounds. The Imperial KNight held her gloved hand before her as she approached Raven, the Force pressing the flabby Hutt into the decking “Empress, we have taken the ship, and this girl has a tale I wish you to hear” Ash stepped forward, her pale hand holding the side of her head where a bacta patch covered a shallow wound made by a stray flechette. Her voice trembled, but she spoke with defiance of her captivity, and the abuses made on her by the Hutt and his crew. The sordid tale of sexual and physical abuse made several of Bridgecrew teary eyed, and it brought a flame to Kyrie’s heart. Such injustice on the weak and innocent would not go unpunished. “Empress… That is one of hundreds of charges to bring against this Hutt, all relevant interviews have been holorecorded for whatever court we are to use. I request the Empire’s justice.”