Krayiss II

[Darth Mortis Diabolus]

"I think you are mistaken in your assumption, Lucifer." He said, while deflecting random shots with his palms. At the same time, he casts an enchantment over those present on the bridge, that causes them to believe the DMD and Lucifer are their allies. Hence, the Sith see fellow Sith troopers and the Republic see only their own. The Sith lord then turned his attention to his apprentice, who had a look of confusion about him.

 

"I was monitoring the battle from the Engineering room. I witnessed you being fired upon by Sith soldiers. But they didn't act on their own. The order came from elsewhere." DMD said as he scanned the room. He pushed a button on his wrist device, which had been red until now. It turned green with a beep. DMD's attention went to the plasma shielded breach, by which the Jedi general had been taken. The shuttle he arrived on was visible through barrier. The shuttle moved into position as though it intended to board through the breach, attaching a pressurized sleeve over the hole in the Republic vessel. The plasma shield disappeared. Without another word, DMD took hold of Lucifer's arm, pulling him with ease, as though he were weightless into the boarding tube. On the other end of the tube, Masterson stood by ready with three thermal detonators.

 

Using his mastery of the force, the Sith drew on the darkside to strengthen his muscles, as he flung Lucifer inside the shuttle. Masterson side stepped the apprentice and tossed the detonators at DMD. He caught them in the air with the force, holding them motionless in mid-air, activating and propelling them through the boarding tube's opening. Simultaneously, the tube sealed and retracted into the shuttle. The plasma shield had been disabled leaving the breach exposed to the cold vacuum of space. The pull from space drew the detonators toward it, as they exploded. The hole on the bridge was now twice the size it was before.

 

The shuttle pulled away, slamming into random bodies pulled out into space. Their frost frozen faces, bouncing off the viewport, making thud sounds. It didn't last long. As they reached the edge of the battle zone, orders were given and coordinates set in the navi-com. The shuttle disappeared in a flash as the hyperdrive engaged.

 

DMD took a seat, across from his apprentice. Masterson, dismissed himself, leaving the two Sith to their business.

 

"Is this what we do? Is this who I am?" DMD said, not directly addressing Lucifer. "This battle was a waste of my talents. We are better than this. Than them. I think it is time we seek our own way, my apprentice." He said, as he leaned back staring at ceiling of the compartment where they were seated.

 

"The true way of the Sith, is to seek power and dominate the weak. How powerful can we ever become, while serving thise who only seek to elevate themselves, Lucifer?"

[Marcus Dean Reilly]

"Thank you Master Jedi. While I had hoped for a different response, I do appreciate your honesty. I have enjoyed our conversation thus far, but as I am sure you do, I have other business to attend to. Should you wish to contact me for any sort of training, my personal com frequency has been uploaded to your ship."

 

Marcus escorted Kitt back to the bridge where the Jedi was led to his fighter. His lightsaber was returned to him as he reached his A-Wing. As soon as the A-Wing was away from the Star Destroyer, Marcus watched as the shuttles containing the injured and still alive Rebels took off into hyperspace. Next the remaining Mon Calimari Cruisers leapt into hyperspace, destined for an Imperial Station. And finally, all the remaining ships of Marcus's battlegroup leapt into hyperspace.

[Kitt]

Kitt's StarSword shoot away from the Imperial Star Destroyer, with the Jedi Master feeling slightly guilty for not giving the young admiral all that he needed. However, in his own mind, he knew that Marcus would end up finding his way to be trained. The thoughts of being Force sensitive will always be present on his mind. Deep down, he hoped that someone would train him before he got the chance to. The longer he waited, Marcus could be driven further away from Force training if he spent too much time under the Emperor. Maybe, I should double my efforts to reach out to him again in the future. I owe him that much.

 

Kitt sent out a private comm to all remaining Jedi and Republic vessels that remained. "This is Jedi Master Kitt Fitt. All Jedi and Republic personnel must report back to our own space immediately." Kitt then switched off his commlink. If any one did stay that was a Jedi would end up facing the Council. He also hoped that the Republic would reprimand any of their own for breaking an order. He then placed and locked in his coordinates and blasted into hyperspace back to Gala to finish training his own apprentices.

[Torin]

Aboard the Inevitable death, fire, terror, and putrid stink cascaded through the labryinth of hallways as men died and fires burned flesh. The Sith had won this battle with very little opposition. Their dark hand had swept aboard the flagship, settled on its occupants, and crushed the Republic foes.

 

Torin's black cloak dragged the floor of the disastorous scene soaking in the pain of the dead as the Sith Lord walked out of the fire. He had accomplished little during this battle and was disgusted with his contributions to the Sith victory. He needed time to focus his talents. Time to build upon his strengths before unleashing his terror on the galaxy.

 

Two large blast doors slid open as he approached, revealing a large hangar bay full of scurrying soldiers and reserve star fighters. Torin ripped a Republic pilot from the cockpit of an X-wing and climbed aboard in his place. A few soldiers made futile attempts to remove the Sith, but before their blaster bolts reached Torin their throats were crushed and they had dropped to the ground. He started up the ship's engines and blasted out of the hangar, firing a few laser blasts as he escaped into space.

 

With the removal of the Republic and Imperial Interdictors he was free to escape to hyperspace, plugging in the coordinates and quietly blinking out of existence.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

It was not a new experience to be flung although it was somewhat odd when the force was used instead...luckily the kiffar landed on his feet. As the hyperdrive engaged and the shuttle vanished from the battle Lucifer listened as his master related at his discomfort of having his talents wasted, it was a mutual feeling between the two.

 

Lucifer had felt like he was put to the side, the unexpected yslmari had caught him offguard and stopped him from using his new abilities as much as he had wanted too. As he was questioned Lucifer replied casually as the two seemed to share a common thought.

 

''We would not be as we are meant, as we were born to be...we are wolves not sheep meant for the slaughter like some ragdoll to be thrown about nor mere pawns in a chess game. I agree with the thought those who dominate over the weak shall survive the chaos...''

 

Lucifer paused a moment before he continued...''Only Through Chaos can order be achieved, those who elevate themselves shall forever be trapped among the weak, corrupted by their own weakness, only the strong dominate as you have said.''

[Slicer]

Next time, I should call the ship before they all depart to hyperspace.

 

The bounty hunter currently known as Slicer was doing something oddly peculiar. Simply hanging out in the depths of space, as both enemy and ally forces quickly departed. The system littered with wreckage ships and the like, would make for a good treasure hunt.

 

Really a person like him would be satisfied with the tidbits of information he could gleen from the wrecks. It was only now after hours, that he could do such. Soon Imperial clean up crews would be arriving, and though this was a big battle, they had gotten pretty good over the years. All of it would be washed away, and turned into fuel for the imperial war machine. Which meant he had to move fast.

 

So far he had occupied his time, just trying to secure digital information, codes, access codes, personnel files. Records of who was at the battle and the like. He had no issue, moving from one downed hulk to another, and given the recent battle, quite a few of the terminals even booted up to life before fizzling out a moment or two later.

 

Still it was enjoyable experience for him. Most would have found the task demeaning and a waste of their time. The sudden indicator told him his ship arrived.

 

Well about time.

 

The ramp opened and he quickly boarded. A small notice about a new bounty popped up, and he quickly accepted. Alerting his double on coruscant to the matter as well. Then disappearing into his hold, the bounty hunter departed the system, just as the imperial credits were transferred to his bank account.

[darth shadowlord]

Draken looked around at what was left of the command center. There was not much left of it from the battle. "Milord Dagon, I trust you have no further need of me right now? If not then I'll be off to begin the construction on Ziost." He bowed in a manner as was proper between a master and the head of the order. He strode quickly from the command center, passing through the closed off turbolift shaft and landing easily in the hanger bay. From there he boarded the shuttle that had brought him to the Inevitable and headed to where Alora was.

 

"It's time for us to leave here."

[Alora]

Alora had followed the battles closely from the meditation chamber, keeping the illusions in place until there was no further need for them. Feeling her lover's approach through their bond had her rise from her meditations and leave the chamber.

 

As Draken returned, Alora was already on the move towards the hanger bay. They met just short of it, the seductress letting her fingers lightly caress his face before they headed back to the hanger. "Yes, I've had some supplies ordered for when we get there." Her violet eyes sparkled as they approached the shuttle.

[darth shadowlord]

Draken smiled as she joined him. "Excellent, that'll save us the trouble of having to procure them along the way." He boarded the shuttle along side her, sending out a small pulsed code from his comm link so that when they arrived his ship would be waiting for him. Moments later after boarding the shuttle, the shuttle made the jump to hyperspace headed for their task.

[Gavin Ryaro]

((Terribly sorry about the horribly long delay in posting))

 

There was always a time and place for thought and patience, but this was not it. Gavin began to swiftly pilot the clunky freighter through the unnatural criss-crossing pattern of the laser turret blasts. Most Jedi were excellent pilots and Gavin was no exception, though he wasn't anywhere close to the best. From the sounds of his apprentice's words, he had an idea for a way to help the Republic, but Gavin didn't think that there was anything else that could be done.

 

"We're leaving. There's nothing that two Jedi are going to be able to do here and we've been summoned to Gala."

 

He didn't intend for his words to come across as harsh, though he feared that they might have. Gavin didn't know what to do. Ever since his reincarnation on Bespin he had felt...different. He didn't know how to describe it, but any feeling of confidence that he had ever had was gone and was replaced by fear, anger, and even hate. He knew that Jedi were supposed to control his emotions, but how was he supposed to do that when the world around him was so...imperfect?

 

Gavin swung the freighter around and began to head towards the edge of the system. He plotted a course for Gala, allowing for several random jumps to ensure that they weren't followed in order to ensure the continuation of peace. As soon as the ship was clear of all gravity wells, it jumped into hyperspace.

[Oculus]

Overlooking a small but luxurious community sat an ominous castle forged from darkened and aged stone, six peering towers that seemingly reached towards the heavens themselves adorning its sides with a towering spire carved into the cliffside behind it. Adorning its halls, walls, and flag staves were the Sith Imperial Insignia with a blazing star crossing its patchwork. This was the famous House Zibeti, Scholars and Philosophers who answered only to the Supreme Commander of the Dark King's Armada. And just below it sat its infamous gladiatorial arena, set within the town's center, a means of not only strengthening House Zibeti, but offering the township a means of weekly entertainment. 

 

Within the stone walls of House Zibeti sat an barren courtyard, the open gladiatorial barracks running along it's walls and open to the courtyard day and night. It was here that Shiro would be rushed to wake as a bucket of cold water was splashed upon his face, causing the young humanoid to gasp for air and recoil as he gazed upon a circle of faces. "Rise, young one." One voice spoke, but Shiro found himself incapable of seeing who it was that said it. "Welcome to House Zibeti, slave." Another spoke in jest as a few laughs erupted around him, causing more confusion than anger at this point to boil up within him. "Part ways, maggots" came a booming voice as the gathered faces shot aside and gathered in rows on each side of Shiro, leaving his gaze to fall upon the being from Onderon to come into view, two of his escorts on each side in tow. Shiro, noticing that he was no longer bound, rose to his feet and attacked without thought, the being grasping at his hand and twirling elegantly as Shiro was tossed upon his back once again, dust kicking into the air and into his dry mouth as his breath escape for a moment.

 

"You hold true to your promise, young one." The Onyx being spoke as he gazed down upon Shiro with a smirk, his hand stroking at the beard like tentacles. "For now at least. We will see how strong you truly are in the weeks to come however." Offering Shiro a hand up, he lifted the young boy up, placing a hard pat upon his back despite how frail he looked and causing the dust upon Shiro to flow off his form. "I am Shaq'teel of House Zibeti. What is your name boy?" Shiro simply stared at Shaq'teel, his crimson eyes full of rage and bitterness as he said nothing in return. "It is alright. You do not have to say anything if you do not wish. That is your prerogative. But if you wish to earn your freedom, then you will have to earn it, make no mistake about that. You weren't cheap." Shaq'teel spoke, throwing Shiro his weapons and gear before turning to depart, leaving Shiro even more bewildered. But before he cleared the row of men, Shiro spoke, his tone firm despite his youthfulness, almost as if he growled in his speech. "I am Shiro Seven of Odik II, and I will be free, even if I have to take your life to achieve it." Without fully turning around, Shaq'teel turned his smirking gaze back toward Shiro. "Then you have a long way to go, young Shiro, as many have tried and none have succeeded." And with that, he disappeared within the spire.

 

A few weeks would flow by before Shiro would see Shaq'teel again, the first few days of it spent to himself as he adjusted to his life there. He would sit in silence as the others joked and boasted about the arena below and the privileges to those who were afforded in victory. A few approached Shiro, but he shrugged them off and even fought one which ended in him being placed on bed rest for a day or two as his wounds healed. But as the days turned into a week, and a week into two, Shiro began to join in on the training regiment that was presented daily if only to pass the time and stave off the boredom. And finally came the day when Shaq'teel came to pay Shiro a visit. "I see you have taken to our lives here, young Shiro." Shaq'teel spoke when he entered the small quarters Shiro had taken up in. "This is good. You will need it for the Arena." Shiro scoffed, turning his head away as he ate upon a small fruit he had grabbed from the commissary. "This Arena is the key to my freedom?" He questioned as he chewed on a small bite. "Are you not a free man already? Can you not do as you please? Shaq'teel poised in response, Shiro's glare shooting toward him. "Do you feel that because I bought you that day on Onderon, that I own you?" Shaq'teel sat down upon the small bed, sighing. "I paid for your freedom that day. You are the one who has chosen to stay. There are no locks or chains here to bind you. Your freedom has been at your behest. And what I offered you by allowing you to stay is a chance to define yourself. You can leave, wander this barren planet…. Or if your lucky, find a way off and back into known space. But all you will end up in return is the same life you are running from. At least here, you have the opportunity to be whoever you want to be." Shaq'teel smiled as Shiro's confused face began to realize that he had never tried to run or escape, having only relied upon Shaq'teel's words from the first day. "And now you see the true chains that bind you. I only told you that you were owned, but never that I owned you. This is why I have entered you into the Arena tomorrow. Tomorrow will show you the truth."

 

As Shaq'teel stood and exited, Shiro sat both in confusion and in realization, as the being had never truly enforced any leverage over him. And for the first time, a small chuckle erupted from Shiro's mouth. How could he have been so dupt? It made no sense. He had noticed the others coming and going as they had pleased, very few returning after dark and coming in the next day as if they lived normal lives. Yet, he sat here believing their privileges to be rewards of the Arena and of their ties to this House Zibeti. But he never thought to question anything. And now with this realization, he wondered on what the being had said about leaving. He was a wanted criminal, bounties on his head for three murders. Perhaps that was why he never thought to question anything here? Perhaps he felt this is where he belonged? His thoughts would ponder on such things even into the breaking of dawn when the others began to arrive. The only difference now was a hint of a smile upon his face. Today would bring the truth, whether bitter or sweet, and for the first time in a long time, Shiro looked forward to the day. Geared up, he met with the others in the yard as they made their way toward the Spire, and through the Spire, down to the Arena below.

 

The Arena was a sight to behold for even someone like Shiro. The entrance from the Spire was columned by previous Champions, each dating back over nearly four millennia. There was even one that resembled Shaq'teel near the end as the others beat their weapons upon their chest in a March similar to war, fires lighting the darkened cavern they strolled in through. And when they entered the Arena its self, they were met with cheers and adoration from thousands of fans sitting upon its seats. Shiro had never seen anything of such magnitude, not even upon the holonet back on Odik II. And toward its center, House Zibeti banners draping its sides along with a emblem of a Spider, sat a column that resembled a commentators box. "Welcome Gladiators!" Shaq'teel's voice boomed across the stadium, causing Shiro to stop in his tracks along with the others. "Twenty of you enter here today, but only ten will leave. The rules are pretty simple, survival of the fittest. Either kill or incapacitate your opponent, those are the only option to end the match, so choose your opponent wisely. You may begin…. Now."

 

Before Shiro could react, battle began to erupt all around him, his fellow Gladiators randomly picking opponents at first glance and a large brute quickly claiming aim at him, Shiro diving forward over his vibroblade into a roll before he was cut in half. Shiro quickly became thankful he was quicker than his Human opponent, but things had just begun. Despite the training Shiro had undertook these past few weeks, he found himself quickly taken in disarray, most dodging and backtracking to stay away from Brud whom he had a previous encounter with before. Brud was typically a decent guy other than his lack of patience, but today, in the here and now, Shiro saw his bloodlust in full glory. And unlike before, Shiro's fear had all but taken complete control of him, his thoughts questioning whether or not today was the day of his death and would Brud be the one to kill him. Sidestepping, the tip of Brud's blade caught Shiro's arm, tearing flesh nearly to the bone in a gushing graze that caused Shiro to grasp at his arm and stumble backwards away. And that was all it took for Shiro to find the truth he had been looking for all along.

 

Crimson eyes glowing red with rage, Shiro let his torn arm dangle loosely as the pain slipped away from his thoughts and bloodlust began to settle in. He could see the same in his opponents and though it scared him, he reacted like that of a wild animal backed into a caged corner. He would not die this day without giving the fight of his life, and though Brud was strong, he was sloppy even with the blade. Driving forward as Brud drove the blade toward Shiro's chest, Shiro tilted to his side, causing Brud to miss his target and present Shiro with the opening he hoped for. With a singular blow to the throat with his vibroknucklers, Shiro drove his will to live home and ended it for Brud. His gaze was stern despite the pain he felt as he looked upon the torn throat of Brud as the man fell to his knees and then collapsed, no longer seeing Brud as a fellow combatant, but as an enemy. Cheers erupted around him, but they were drowned out by the beating of Shiro's own heart as it spoke the truth he sought all along as his gaze shifted to meet that of Shaq'teel's own whom smirk in knowledge. Shiro was indeed a murderer, forged in the fires of his life and molded through the confrontations that came with it.

 

And with that, Shiro left the arena to await the others, a coldness growing about him.

[Oculus]

Days had turned into weeks, and weeks had turned into months since his first run in the Arena, Shiro not only having captivated the hearts of the spectators, but of his opponents as well as time slowly passed. He had grown wildly, a fierce competitor in the Arena, a being of no remorse nor greed as he simply seemed to live for those moments of battle. Outside the Arena, he returned to his quarters within the Zibeti mansion, polishing his armor, training, eating, or sleeping. It was as if he held no life outside murder and mayhem. Rewards for his victories were offered, yet, he turned them down. Banquets were thrown in his honor, yet, he never showed. And even to those he that had come to know him as a brother, he was quiet and reserved, barely speaking a word and rather leaving his actions to speak for him.

 

But there was a truth in Shiro's actions that he felt only he could see, the reason behind his seclusion. Sure, House Zibeti had been good to him. He had risen among the best Gladiators they had to offer and he adorn the best armor and weapons forged within its walls, a set of reinforced leather armor  with steel pauldrons, greaves, vambraces, and cuisses with razor sharp clawed gauntlets to slash his opponents into ribbons with like a wild animal. But to Shiro, there could be no friends, as he knew with each moment in the arena, he would eventually face each and everyone of them until none remained. He was a killer, a murderer, and as such, a life of solitude was the only peace he would have.

 

And there stood Shiro once again within the Arena he called home, his latest opponent the very first veteran he met when he arrived within the walls of House Zibeti, the one who called out for his to rise from the ground, Curshaw. Curshaw smiled when he laid eyes on Shiro, flexing his muscles and revealing the scars that littered his upper form in proud display. "It is good that we finally meet in the Arena, little one." He spoke in jest, a prideful chuckle erupting as he poised for his first attack. "Let us see if you are deserving of the praise that the Masters give you."

 

Curshaw was a Zabrak from the world of Dathomir, House Zibeti acquiring him when he was just a young one himself and only four years younger than Shiro was. But now he was the oldest living Gladiator in House Zibeti at a ripe age of thirty five and still in peak condition. He prided himself on the fact that he had endured nearly every injury imaginable and still always found victory without defeat. And in a sense, Shiro found a semblance of respect for his Elder in that aspect. And as such, Shiro planned to give him everything he had without hesitation. So as the match sounded as it did every time, Shiro chose to make the first instead of waiting for his opponent to that had became a custom with him.

 

Shiro was quick on his feet, almost abnormally so. So when he charged forward toward Curshaw, he was able to outmatch his elder in agility. But Curshaw was no fresh opponent. He may have been slower than Shiro, but he knew how to read his opponent and outwit them. So as Shiro drove his claws forward in a quick strike at the man's thigh, Curshaw's blade was there to meet Shiro's. And so the battle would rage, well into them being the last two left standing in the Arena as their fight continued. And for those watching, it was almost evenly matched. But with Shiro still being the newest member despite his rise, and Curshaw being the well experienced veteran that he was, it was only natural that it ended when Curshaw spun the hilt of his spear across Shiro's face and knocked the boy unconscious. With Shiro defeated, he was drug from the Arena back to House Zibeti where he would spend the next few days resting as the gash across his eye began to close.

 

And when Shaq'teel returned nearly two weeks later, he wasnt surprised to see the boy back in training, the fire within his sight as bright as ever. Shaq'teel would quickly wave Shiro over, sitting down upon the stone bench as he looked at Shiro' visage, inspecting his healed wound and asking how he was. "I am fine." Shiro replied, pulling away. "It was just a loss in the arena." Shaq'teel chuckled but then gazed at Shiro with a stern look. "Good. But your time here with House Zibeti is ending. I have just returned from Korriban and I bring you great news." Shiro turned to Shaq'teel, a look of confusion once again adorning his face. "What do you mean?"

 

"As you know, House Zibeti was granted land upon Krayiss II as reward for our exploration and recovering what's been lost our species…" Shaq'teel spoke excitedly, something Shiro had never seen before. "And when I saw you that day on Onderon, I knew there was something extremely unique about you, not just your eyes and your Force Sensitivity. So I had your blood test against the archives both here and at Korriban just to be certain. And my hunch was correct. You're an Armegedon!"

 

"An Armageddon? Shiro began to question, but Shaq'teel quickly corrected Shiro. "An Armegedon, a race of beings even older than my own. Their homeworld was destroyed too many millennia ago to know the exact date, but are known not only by their glowing eyes, bronze skin, and silver to white hair, but by them taking their racial name as a last name." Before Shaq'teel could finish, Shiro responded. "But my last name is Seven, the Imperial number given to my great great grandfather. Not Armegedon." Shaq'teel smiled. "Exactly. That's how your family was lost. Your name was taken, forgotten, and a new one was given. Although I'm not quite sure why. May have something to do with…" Shiro finished it for him. "Why we were imprisoned on Odik II."

 

There was a long pause between the two as this information was processed before Shaq'teel finally ended it and spoke. "I've arranged for you to go to the Sith, be trained to use the Force, and hopefully become a Sith Lord under the Dark King. You leave tomorrow." Shiro looked at Shaq'teel, still adorning a confused look that Shaq'teel smiled about as he patted the boy on the back. "This is a good thing. You've already felt its touch, and by staying here, you will only hinder your growth. And as I stated, you are only a slave to you, and that growth will set you free. So go Shiro, learn of your heritage, and become powerful so that you will never again be a slave to anyone." And with that, Shaq'teel squeezed Shiro's shoulder as he rose and turned to walk off. "Gather your things. You leave tomorrow."

 

And when tomorrow came as Shiro was escorted to the ship by Shaq'teel, he was met by those he called brothers, standing shoulder to shoulder in rows across from each other as he and their Master walked in between the two. Shiro, faced with fear once again, stepped upon the boarding ramp as he looked back, that same smile on Shaq'teel's face as he spoke. "Make House Zibeti proud, Shiro Armegedon." And so the ship began to lift, they bowed in unison with their fists upon their chests, Shiro placing his own upon his chest before turning to disappear into the ship as the ramp began to close. And with that, a new life for Shiro was about to begin.