Exodus

Sitting on the bare floor of his darkened laboratory, Exodus' meditated, reciting the Sith Code”¦ There is no fear, there is power. There is no death, there is immortality. There is no weakness, there is the Dark Side. I am the Heart of Darkness. I know no fear, But rather I instill it in my enemies. I am the destroyer of worlds. I know the power of the Dark Side. I am the fire of hate. All the Universe bows before me. I pledge myself to the Darkness. For I have found true life, In the death of the light. He found solace in the words, though not peace. For the Sith, there is no peace. Peace is weakness, the absence of power. I am the perfect Sith. I am power. A tone sounded on the undersized comm unit positioned next to him in the darkness of the seem to be archaic room. Shifting without further ado to a kneeling position, Exodus answered the call, his heart thudding. Even though it was an audio-only connection, he bowed his head, eyes closed. A voice that he hadn't heard in quite awhile rose from the tiny speaker without introduction. ”œIt will be done.”

”œThe eyes are the gateway to the soul, Imagination is the eye of the soul.”

A medium of power, a channel of clout, the exactness of resolution was what he was be classified as. It was gratifying that this one had thought of Exodus as a pinnacle of intensity, not that he didn't deserve it, but the fact that his constant undervalued outlook tended to offend him did not help the issue. Still, the task would be harder than it seemed and the amount of control would be found in no better person than Exodus himself. He was perfect for the situation, as concentration was a discipline to him. As suggested, the Sith Master would slowly lower himself onto the padded mat below him and once again plunge into a deep reverie. True to form, the thought of the weapon crossed his mind. Countless souls, begging and pleading to be released from their incarcerated realm, weeping for the attention of those who could perhaps put them to a final rest; Exodus cracked a smile. It was that ruthlessness about him that forced hilarity in all of this, binding the feeble essences of those into a single contraption in order to reap further captives, such a devious instrument. In the face of it all, Exodus descended further in his concentrative bearing, escaping the ever so boring reality and grasping something far more incomprehensible. The chains of surrealism bind themselves to his aggressive nature, it was almost as if it were a battle of control; mind over matter. This would be his turning point.

Deep, ill-omened auras sprung from every which angle of the newly created weapon of choice. A trance if you will was what Exodus was captured within. Eyes glazed over the organic construction of the hilt as he began to fathom its usefulness. At ones' first look, besides the macrobiotic outlook, it'd come across as any other ordinary Lightsaber. Truth be told, it inherited a rather state-of-the-art fundamental nature that was yet to be revealed. His attention turned towards the voluble Darth Oblivion, he spoke of something that would represent a greater plane of existence; something so perverse in the darkness that it could only mean pure malevolence. Such an achievement would be an honor, and Exodus felt more than content to oblige with the design. But what exactly did this one want to construct? Despite the freedom of creation, this place still held unexplained happenings within every hall and every crevice of the structure ”“ especially since the sickening appearance of Draken was now noticeable. The mongrel that had fled from battle with his tail between his legs, no honor was present with that one, and quite surprisingly Exodus expected great things for him. However the disappointment was buried and he could move onward, fulfilling what was necessary and learning much from this Tethyn as he had promised. Closing the distance between the two dark beings, Exodus looked down to his somewhat smaller colleague and smiled while extending a handshake. He had assumed the formality would match that of Oblivion's strange mannerisms; the most emotion Tethyn had seen by far. ”œI'd be honored”

Vibrant, multihued distortions of luminosity shot out from the nebulous ring of alchemic symbolism. It was a brilliant display that the known Darth Oblivion would not privilege himself in seeing as he left to attend other matters. The surface of it all was eye-catching most definitely, but what was happening within the mind of Exodus was in a whole other diversity. It was an incomplete void of darkness, tunneling through catastrophic bends and crooks; it appeared as if dynamic chains of genetic material surfaced through the floor covering and intertwined, creating an enormous contraption of raw energy. Explaining it to the fullest would be most unfathomable, but the reality of it was real. The urn itself began to tremble; beginning with a low rumble to an ecstatic spasm. The vast graveyard that was the galaxy itself, moaned with grievance, voiced through the vessel known as Exodus. His meditation allowed the two to interconnect and the cries of an immeasurable magnitude of souls were echoed. This world itself would be witness to the occurrence, as well as those who inhabited it ”“ but only those who didn't turn a blind eye. Then”¦ Silence. Just as it all had happened, it had stopped. Breaking free from the abstraction, Exodus' lifted his eyelids and exposed overly hued emeralds; Rapturous in its wake. The illumination within his eyes eventually faded to its more consistent exposure as he moved from his seated position and made way for the dormant urn. Lifting the lid caused a substantial amount of steam to exhaust into the filthy air. Allowing the container to clear, he'd place his hand above the urn and summon his creation to his palm. The sophisticated lightsaber hilt had mutated”¦ literally. The design now held a most unordinary membrane swallowing its entire build as if it was skin itself. The hilt had immersed itself in a mysterious substance, still holding its snake-style shape but becoming a black, silver creased article of life; in the vein of breathing. The hilt became beneficially longer, and as it was suspended in the air before him with the power of the force, a phenomenon uncovered itself. In the exact core of the hilt, an eye opened for but a short-lived second, was it an illusion? He'd reach out and grab the weapon with a judicious smile, gripping absolute excellence within his hands. Time stopped, sound ceased, motion became nonexistent and all attention was focused on this moment, centered on the weapon of desolation and anguish. In one stroke, two overwhelming eruptions of energy split out of each end; shredding the atmosphere beautifully, humming in pure sentient and shifting earthly air-pressures as if bending the room with its initial release. ”œPerfect”

Swiftly receiving the bizarre request in open palms, Exodus' diverted his attention elsewhere. At first, he evaluated everything within the laboratory, realizing that all he needed would be here. The pause proved to be most introspective as he stood allowing the crazed eye embedded within the chain to tremble with certain paranoia. Noticing that he could progress appropriately, he continued. Exodus' tossed the chained-eye upon a bare surface-top, suddenly, at speed - moving towards an array of fastened jars. An interest peaked as he observed the substantial amount of subjects to disposal; everything from skins, solids, liquids, organics, and so forth were accessible. He'd then reach into his own confines and reveal his lightsaber once more, but with differing intentions this time around. Another table which seized an additional slew of tools was apparent and was no sooner headed towards. His face remained expressionless but the excitement echoing within his bones did not falter one bit. One arm reached out towards a diminutive instrument, grasping it while scrutinizing its effectiveness. This particular device allowed him to unhinge the qualities of his custom lightsaber, disassembling it and carefully organizing the pieces by one another. ”œNext”¦”

The appearance was more than suitable for the said Darth Oblivion, a mastermind of sorts. The completed effort was quite astonishing and noteworthy as he examined whatever available aspect was shown to him before it was engulf by a brooding robe. His mind still boggled more possibilities as he stood though, and a deep interest built within him inevitably. Ready to fulfill his full potential? The question struck him sooner than expected and so Exodus reacted accordingly. ”œFirst”¦”

Concentration and state of mind purely interested on the happenings remained absolutely focused. He spared no moment examining the punishment displayed upon the minion; rather, he invested his awareness to the foreign materials at hand. The whole process was quite unique, while the stench provoked Exodus' sense. His lips parted slightly in barely discernible excitement, he had done this before, Tethyn had no clue, but it was in an entirely different method. Once again pride blind the Sith Lord from what Exodus' has endured throughout his times of trial and error. Dealing with spirits, manifesting them into weapons of destruction? Not something he had considered, but souls were something of his specialty. The deadened souls cried out in a frequent chime, the howls becoming nothing more than a chip on his shoulder at this point, after all, he was once deemed Nurgle's Reaper, an art he beckoned not to abuse, but an art he had used nonetheless. The question left to dangle amongst the lifeless air as no response was met; Exodus knew full well that he couldn't help continue with or without an answer. His eagerness weighed now, not exactly content with merely observing and being cultured similar to these insignificant laborers lying about. Regardless, he revealed nothing, remaining expressionless save for the show of interest dignified within his powerful eyes.

”œRemarkable.”

Following rather questioningly behind Darth Oblivion, the force of the weather conditions collided with Exodus' powerful build. He'd allow the space between the two to increase as he stopped in the midst of it all. The unruly waters were something of a symbol as he halted just to take a further glance. Passionate, luminous eyes pierced the depths of the ocean, gawking upon it as if he wished to own it. The suspense was killing him, the crashing sounds of the restless waters against the structure, the echoes of boots marching upon eminent surfacing, beautiful. High up on the innovative canvas, Exodus stood like an unyielding pillar of dominance. Eyes gleaming to the backwards productivity of everyone's actions in general, how much was actually hidden to him? Putting the thought aside, the march throughout the storm continued in silence, as two legends walked a single path.

Throughout the entire presentation and thereafter, Exodus remained silent but stood with an influential weight about him. To no avail, he absorbed all that was necessary to properly function around these parts. His adaptive skills were beyond comprehensible, something aided by the force certainly and that of superior intellect. For now, he sat back and allowed the knowledge to swell into his mind as he grasped the entirety of this whole operation. The Imperial laborers proved to be more than effective in their own respective fields, and in turn, Exodus was definitely impressed with their exertion. Upon return, they would reveal to him personally what their accomplishments and development stood at. For now though, the thought of another journey did not bother him at all. His previous concerns were left behind with Haphaestus as he pursued his intentions, and Exodus moved onto his own. ”œLet us be on our way then.”

He sat motionless, acknowledging the compliments as well as making nothing more of them then what they were. An ignition of bona fide ember swelled within him as one would expect, the way this one spoke was defiant but at this point it was tolerable. Fact was that their principles, ideology, and beliefs, were fundamentally the same from these circumstances. If Tethyn dared to cross the boundaries, Exodus would have to become hard and set things in its proper manner, but for now they were ”˜partners'. Exodus leaned forward, offering his own arm out in extension. The formality was unusual but this respect Tethyn mentioned was definitely a quality he once held strong, even to this day. Furthermore, this proposal that the Sith Lord brought forth was very much captivating, considering the mention of him actually teaching Exodus' something. Not that it wasn't possible, but more to the point of; ”œWhat could he possibly teach him?”

It was obvious that this man knew not of who he spoke too in such a taxing manner. Conveniently, Exodus took nothing of it. Other Masters of the art would be the first to take opportunity of this and smite the lack of consideration shown before them in faultless simplicity. Rather, Exodus was not in the mood, having been satisfied by the sumptuous remains of his imprudent mentor previously. The command put forth onto his associate must've been going to the man's head, lending him far more self-assurance then desirable. Still, he could respect this man too some degree, even though he detested swaggering attitudes. Eyes would roll with boredom as Tethyn continued on about his own personal drive, what made him potent etcetera. ”œSlow down, Tethyn.”

Trailing the eccentric Tethyn throughout flourishing halls, Exodus' took in the entire concept of the atypical building. Impressive was the nature of it all, for in his preceding stay, destruction laid everywhere. Appropriate robes fastened to a remarkable brassard gave the Sith Master a most menacing presence. His eyes laid focus to where he was headed rather than the intricacies of the inner-workings, and a contemptuous smile widened as he took note of how quickly this order assimilated an entire planet. What was next? Time moved onward, and Exodus now found himself seated in the company of the enigmatic Sith Lord; his intentions were still unclear, and Exodus grew impatient, but answers came nonetheless. He'd remain silent; arms crossed over his muscled chest, listening intently. As uninformed as he was, he wondered if this was how the life of a Sith Master was carried out; how inadequate it was. Another laborer made his service available as he brought forth formalities to the table. Being presented with a drink soon after, Exodus merely shrugged as he considered the situation at hand. Apparently the Dark Lord operated under more undisclosed methods then he had first thought. No matter, he would involve himself into the affair one way or another. Making himself more at home, Exodus kicked back; loosening the tension he had first held before lying back in the well-appointed chair. Ignoring the drink, Exodus once again examined the building from this room's perspective and narrowed his eyes in thought. His emerald eyes pierced the darkness and worked in perfect harmonization with the dim lighting, while his icy tone of voice froze over; ”œShow me more.”

On a flutter ”“ Maybe even an impulse. A flawlessly crafted lightsaber orbited about dexterous fingertips. The intricately snake designed instrument of ancient mindlessly flashed a bevy of blackened crimson. Solely primal instinct, but nowadays one could never be so certain when climbing the monumental stepladder of success. Both men shared a fierce intensity within their eyes alone, which was enough to dignify a respectable encounter from Exodus' perspective. ”œAh, Tethyn.”

Cracking the surface of the murky cloud enshrouded planet brought no mind to Exodus when he was so imprisoned by this impulsive internal evolution. The habiting echo of a reinforced boot striking the durasteel flooring was the only noticeable sound that filled the still air as the vessel floated over the broken down landscape. Familiar presences were a slight indication to who still remained on this infected world, but he would have to personally see to just who they were. In another instance, Exodus found himself flawlessly landing onto an uneven surface, looking out into the horizon, and stretching his existing ominous core across absent oceans of time and space itself; channeling its voice through but a sigh. His movements were comparable to such as he sleuthed onward, seeking something he couldn't even describe. At first he assumed he was here to simply retrieve Haphaestus, but his battle ensued ”“ A rather lengthy duel at that. There was something more to this though, as thoughts rummaged over the sound of construction in the distance, they really planned to turn this place into something more. He'd have to find someone in charge and get specific details on what was going on.

The huge ceremonial hall was silent and empty. Vague, muffled sounds broke through the still air from the caverns beyond the thick stone walls. For a moment, as the massive metallic door slid open, the sounds grew to an ear splitting din; fighter and speeder engines throbbed and whined, men screamed orders above the clamour, and below the noise from the busy hangers, soft footsteps scraped on the flagstones which paved the floor of the hall. The sounds from the active Sith Academy were chased back as the door closed. Exodus stood with his back against the doors, pleased to have a moment of peace to himself. He looked around the hall, his eyes flitting briefly over the great blocks of granite from which the walls were constructed, and the vines that gripped at those walls, covering them with an unpleasant green foliage that broke the monotony of the grey stone. He glanced forward at the tall, slender openings in the rock which served as windows to light and air the hall as well as giving a panoramic view of the jungle beyond. In his mind Exodus saw row after row of Acolytes; pilots, ground troops, technicians, engineers, all with eyes front, and upon the Sith Master Exodus. He descended the steps into the hall and walked across the paved floor, remembering back to the ceremony when he had crossed this place with his companions. He had been embarrassed then and, he had to admit, proud. He reached the opposite stairs and sat upon the second step. His head fell into his hands, his elbows rested on his thighs, and his mind turned from the now silence to more troubling images from his recent past, his spirits now unsure and confused about his immediate future, growing ever so dark. A ship remained prepared for immediate liftoff and so Exodus rose from his contemplation, not even considering the slithering acolytes in the near distance. Entering without another sound to spare, the phantom of a man sent for the skies ahead - Destination, Mechis III.

He held her closely a final time, allowing her appreciative words to beckon for caution as he did so. He couldn't let her get too attached; it would drive her of her path to ascension, it would become a definite distraction at such an early stage. His hands moved about her shoulders and carefully massaged them as he spoke. ”œI must return to a matter-at-hand, be well.”

Rising from his situation at hand, Exodus felt the struggling essence of what remained of Dominique. Still, he had confidence that she would not be as easily defeated as Alora's apprentice was. The coward probably ran off, leaving the woman who had risked her life for him, to die. Exodus continued walking boldly throughout the halls as the on-looking acolytes observed the almost unidentifiable mess with awe. No sooner did he reach his former apprentice, collapsed upon the bitter floor with nauseating wounds all over her. He leaned over and grasped her still existing body, holding her with infatuation as he always did, regardless of her state. His cold demeanor held strong as he demanded assistance from those passing by. Coincidentally, the remedial labs were nearby which were filled with bacta-tanks ready for use. He made his presence known, she knew she would be safe with him near, and so he would be; placing her into the tank and allowing the specialized to handle her health while he sat by. He stared into the tank, as if seeing right through all of its fluidities and into a world beyond this.

It sickened him, why was she talking like that. She represented everything he wanted to eradicate, that weak sense of judgment, placing rules on exactly how one was suppose to be killed. She showed him everything, and still he spat the emotion back into her face. The same grin she had grown so tired of was gleaming right before her, his eyes showing absolutely no remorse. He should've guessed it, she was desirous of him; she had become jealous of what Exodus became. This was almost comical as she attempted to douse his frenzy with information of her performance with his offspring. It was as if she had no longer known the apprentice she had trained. Exodus was beyond what he was, he evolved into a prophecy unseen by all. This meddlesome woman just knew how to push him further, and so she did as she taunted him to end her life right her and now. Unfortunately there was no hesitation within Exodus, simply judgment. A swift pressure placed itself onto the grasped, defenseless neck. He - little by little, narrowed the space within his former Master's throat. Taking unfathomable pleasure from watching the excruciating pain represented in her eyes. If it was noticeable, he had a craze for eyes, always knowing his held more significance than all those around him. Suddenly, a wretched snap ensued and echoed within the area. Acolytes around would smile in bliss, knowing that the one who had simply killed them for mere practice was being put to punishment. Her neck collapsed and went limp at his own hands; surely it was entertaining, but not satisfying. His gaze deepened before eyelids once again shielded his luminous orbs. Hands would feel there way to her lifeless face that now lay against the floor, a breath would be inhaled in complete harmony as he then heaved downward allowing her head to splatter all over the now grotesque floors. He felt something of guilt deep within him, but to say the least ”“ He loved it. She finally paid her price for all those years of his suffering and having to bare witness to her many sleazy nights, especially when he had to sit by and listen to her delightful moans with her subjects when he was merely striving for power. Well, he had attained it and now smothered his Master in hate. This was what the Sith of Old were shaped upon.

Vehemence, fury, ferocity; suppressing such a sentiment ate at his very soul. An embryonic blaze incinerated his ordinary conscience, the most malicious of the bunch simply standing in a quieted reverie; a nightmare, if anything. His eyes remained closed, shielding the impossible flame lit within them. The all too familiar murderous intent crept upon him slowly, but surely as the dispute continued. It was none of his business at this point, but he was bound to make it such. Why did Alora have to interfere, she just had to rouse the insufferable malevolence within. A break of sweat cracked the surface of skin above his brow, followed by another on the opposing side. They all underestimated his presence in this whole crisis; he could snuff the breath from each of them at this very moment, silencing their deafening ignorance. And still, Alora continued to impede on the competition between both Dominique and Draken; spouting words of allegiance to his apprentice. At first, Exodus could sympathetically side with the said speech, but noticing throughout history that Alora and her apprentice, as well as many others had simply used other Sith as cattle. Using eager acolytes as mere slabs of meat whenever pushed over the edge, using them to test their own abilities and thoughtlessly slaughter them whenever they even breathed wrong. The hypocrisy sent him into another craze, allowing him to feed off of every word that infuriated him, but it remained silenced ”“ no one could sense the resentment swelling within him. The choke hold, the beatings with the infamous Force lightning technique; The very same power that pushed Exodus to use it for awhile now, simply pulsing within the unshielded arm of the Sith Master. Although he was extremely inexperienced in the method, he felt it crying to be released. The freezing, the hypocritical speeches, and most of all ”“ The threat with his daughter. Why was she doing this? If she truly cared she would know not to meddle, to simply continue on and allow business to be business. Something must've fueled her interference and Exodus would no sooner find out. But this irritation provoked him to a level that almost blinded his better judgment. Eyelids peeled back at a snail's pace, finally revealing intensity quite unlike anything they'd ever seen. Alora, simply walking off in the opposite direction, while his apprentice lay almost roasted on the floor before him. It was almost as if Exodus were in shock when he laid his eyes upon his apprentice, and then to his energy-engulfed arm. She was wrong if she thought he would simply do nothing when a loved one was put in danger. But she didn't just put one love in harms way, she put two. His arm completely unfolded”¦ There was silence, only the simple echo of Alora's boot hitting the ground. Fingers followed suit, uncurling slowly and pointing them at Alora. The silence was raped as an unsuspecting, explosion of ecstatic, rapturous blackened cerulean energy ripped across the atmosphere and lit up Alora's entirety, sending her to the floor effectively. His existence dispersed from where he once stood; now finding himself ably atop the body of his former Master. He held his CrushGaunt onto her throat, not squeezing it into nothingness, just simply showing that he held her captive and if she would try anything, he would give no second thought to shattering it. He would need her still for this discussion; she had a way of always running off or stomping off into a fury. He held his wistful lips close to her skin and spoke daringly; he would be heard. ”œYour first mistake; Interference. Your second; My Child, and lastly ”“ Your third; My apprentice.”

That emotion drove him again, only she was capable of bringing this side of him out into open air nowadays. A powerful build, glistening with the raw substance of a rather exotic breastplate approached the nigh-speechless woman, slowly but persuasively. As he inched closer to her, a reminiscence of a beautifully carved heart into unsuspecting buildings came to mind; that was her doing. Nevertheless, his capturing gaze sought hers and both locked into an absolute stalemate. It almost lasted too long before he reached out, slightly caressing the back of her head before reeling her inwards into his warm, protecting grasp. His name rolled off of her tongue fabulously, breaking his interior composure while his exterior expression remained toughened, flawlessly. His bitter, calculating heart beat against hers in perfect unison, escalating the moment to a degree of ecstasy. ”œI”¦”

His life had gone in a completely diverse bearing since he had met his affiliates whom he, from time to time, considered his friends. His eyes opened slowly, his expression completely stoic. Peeling the robes from his arms and back, exposing a highly defined skin complexion and an astounding Reptilian Brassard that hugged his shoulders, arm and torso. Dropping the inexpensive garment to the ground behind him, he stepped forward and came to a halt. The sun was low, and soon it would be setting, another reminder that he would have to soon return to Mechis III. But not right now. He had learned to suppress his emotions, his principles had taught him that it would only make it harder for everyone and everything if things had became emotional, thus he had turned his mind into a machine when the need had arisen, and each time, he finished his target with cold precision. What they didn't know was that he had obtained remarkable control over said emotions, and had learned to use them when need be ”“ especially on a whole other scale that most in this galaxy had claimed. It would be a barefaced lie if it appeared that Exodus' did not feel the arrival and the divergence between those he had just previously spoken too. What Alora had said, Draken's suffering, and the key to ending his pain lying within the hands of Dominique? This would not end well. He would have to oversee this situation personally.

Exodus was almost annoyed at the ignorance displayed before him. Of course the man was ridden with pain but refusing to answer his question placed him in a state of inferiority; he did not like it. The woman named Alora spoke at the rear of where he stood, but Exodus continued forth, seeking an answer from the aggrieved Sith Lord. He slowly strode towards the towering mess of a man, hands buried within a magnificent display of swaying robes. Exodus did not yet piece together what was happening, or if this was some sick method of grabbing the now distinguished Master's attention. The oddity of the situation still intrigued him no less, and he was bound to figure out what had happened to this one. The scent of clone processing was after all, evident. He reeked with such an aroma in which gave him more of speculations. Mechis III? Was there still a resistance and did Haphaestus fair well against it? He'd have to make quick work here and head back to the warring world. Exodus was identified for his cold behavior towards his peers and to the bulk of those who socialized with him, and such was represented in this moment as well; his stride came to a stop next to the collapsed Draken, and a whisper was let loose into an ear. ”œA pathetic Jedi, was it?”

Unwavering spheres of flourishing emerald focused on the Sith Master with paramount composure. The words he spoke did numbers on his self-esteem, leveling him to the much needed assurance to be what was called a Master of Darkness. He wouldn't need to respond to the request or furthered comments made; instead, he followed his character and bowed in respects. As a final point, Exodus allowed his gaze to become the concluding assessment of this entire meeting, and a definite illustration of his vastness. Another moment was not spared on the spot; a brilliant trail of midnight intricate robes flowed behind him as he fearlessly tread through the infinite Sith halls. Silence shrouded him all too soon, but a feeling, or more so an instinct befell his almost blissful frame of mind. The hunch led him towards the core entrance of the grand temple. There the problem stood, a distraught brethren of the Sith Order. Exodus' manifestation remained without anything short of the perfect definition of stoic. He store blankly at the struggling Draken; whom he had been in combat with in their previous encounter. What to do? ”œWho did this?”