Heart of Darkness

[Ezra Na'chtion]

I have become restless. It is my hope that the creation of this journal will better help me put my thoughts in order. I have never before felt the impulse to record my thoughts for any reason and prefer to only record facts and processes; and yet there are many studies that have proven that this is a helpful process to some. I shall make the endeavor. It has been but a single day since my return from Korriban and I have not been able to shake this feeling I've had since the meeting with Michael Cline. During our meeting he was stoic in his belief that Baralai Lotus, the man after whom I have based the entirety of my research, was a sham and a man not worth emulating. He concluded with the idea that I had accomplished far more than Master Lotus ever had. This is the concept that I find myself struggling with. On the one hand I firmly believe that Lotus has accomplished far more than what can be shown in the physical; e.g. inspiring his apprentices such as myself and setting into motion numerous projects and processes that are yet unrevealed. It is true that I have successfully created complex Sithspawn, a feat that Lotus also accomplished although in much smaller numbers. I have successfully created self sustained organisms to the point that they could almost pass as natural. While not yet perfected, the broodmothers are more than capable of producing new offspring although I would compare this process more to cloning than natural birth. To my knowledge Lotus has never achieved this level of complexity with Sithspawn, but I have no doubts that he was more than capable of such. What Michael Cline has failed to realize is that Lotus was incredibly inhibited by the resources and materials available to him while secluded away on Korriban; a planet famously barren. I have near unlimited resources at the Academy on Tanaab, with plentiful livestock to experiment on and heavy support from the Tanaab government body to support the Academy and therefore my work. The only resource I lack is time. The Academy requires a great deal of my time and energy ever since the founder, who refers to herself only as Lady Frygt, has gone into what can only be described as a force induced coma. She is alive but comatose. While never our original agreement, I have nonetheless taken a leading role in the Academy. A sacrifice of my own achievement to carry on Frygt's legacy in the hopes that she would one day wake up and carry on the torch. In this dark hour I have come to the conclusion that she may never wake. I fear a tough decision is upon me to make, and I am unsure which path to take. I will meditate in my chambers. Perhaps the force will show me the answer.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

Meditation and sleep has done little to soothe the unrest I feel in my heart. I cannot focus. My mind rebels at stagnation. I need problems I need work. I need a goal to focus upon and work toward. I have entire projects prepped and ready, waiting only for my time and focus, and yet I cannot bring myself to so much as touch a scalpel. There is a bigger problem. I cannot see it's edges, only a looming shape. It is there, for that I am certain, but until I can quantify its meaning I am powerless to devise a solution. Too often I have found a thread only to have my attention diverted by my fac

"Headmaster?"

With a single fluid motion he closed the journal and leaned back in his chair, looking upward to the face in the doorway.

"Yes, Dean Korsika?"

"Sir, you were expected in the lecture hall twenty minutes ago. Are you alright?"

"Ah yes. Of course. Which lecture was it, again?"

"It is the quantum mechanics of dark matter. Sir. Are you sure you are alright?"

There it was. The look in her face. Concern? Pity? Disgust? it was impossible to say. It did not take a genius such as himself to know just what prompted that expression. Yes, he had momentarily forgotten his scholastic duty; a think that had never happened before. It was beneath a standard that he held himself to but there was no need for her to balk so. Who was she to judge him? She had no idea what he was going through, what he had sacrificed for this place. He owed her nothing, and even less to these needy students. This was not his Academy. This was not his dream.

"Very well. The lecture is cancelled. All my future classes and lectures are cancelled. Make the necessary accommodations, Dean. I am not to be disturbed in the meantime. Goodbye."

Turning his head back down he didn't even so much as give the Dean the formality or respect of watching her go. Instead he flipped his journal back open and readied his pen, even as the door clicked shut once more. He looked down at that page, pen staged in the air overhead like a sword ready to plunge, but he could not find the heart of the matter that he wished to stab into. The heat in his heart sent his mind racing back to the interaction moments ago; playing it again and again in his head. Students. Teachers. Classes. Lectures. It felt like a cancer eating away at him, stealing his time and energy, diverting his focus. He thought banishing them from sight would allow him to feel free, but even with his responsibilities abandoned he still felt anchored to the ground. Chained to this place.

The pen found itself wedged into the far wall a moment later, and the outbursts surprised even himself. No. I don't want to live this way. Focus, Ezra. You've overcome worse. You can figure this out.

The problem began to take a shape in the fog. A solution began to appear.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

The distractions of the Academy were abandoned in short order. The cacophony of activity left behind and in its place the cold darkness and silence of the catacombs. It was down here, beneath the Academy, hidden behind the ysalamir barrier and kilometers of stone and dirt that he could finally breath. He could finally think. This was where he belonged, out of sight and out of mind. A place where he could think, free of distractions, and continue his work. Baralai's work. It was them, all those up there, that nagged and nipped at his heels, demanding his attention.

Demanding his time.

"This is your fault."

The thought had long festered in his mind over these long, lonely years. His feeling of abandonment was not lessened by saying it out loud, nor did the solid durasteel door say anything in return. Behind him the trappings of the sith; the sepulcher with it's many candles, burgandy carpets and tapestries, and the raised dais with the half circle of thrones; and before him the architect of the new Sith Order. Or rather, what remained of her. The door parted, kicking up dust and debris as it opened for the first time in nearly a year. He stepped inside the meditation chamber with it's round stone structure that mimicked his own. However, the empty space was filled with machinery, and at it's focusing center was a life support pod. Wires and tubes ran off in all directions, and through the transparent lid he could clearly see a human woman laying inside. Gaunt. Frail. Comatose.

Lady Frygt.

This had all been her idea. She sought him out, not the other way around. She promised him a laboratory and the chance to pursue his projects without interruption. She had seduced him with frail promises, convinced him to abandoned his successful laboratory aboard the Jokiro Research Station. And then this happened. Suddenly brain dead. It was as if her soul had suddenly departed her body. Placing her on life support was all he could think to do. He had assumed that she would return in time, that she had projected herself somewhere beyond the veil and one day she would find her way back. That was what he told the acolytes. Her responsibilities suddenly thrust on his shoulders and him struggling to make sense of it all. Her promises lost in the shuffle.

This had all been a terrible miscalculation. The error rested with him. He should have never come here, never agreed to help her. Jokiro could have been the genesis of his legacy just as much as Tanaab.

"You lied to me!"

The glass made no protest as his fist crashed into it, and the pain only fueled his anger.

"Master?"

A voice called from the sepulcher. Ezra collected himself; straightening his uniform and smoothing his hair before stepping out of the tomb; the door slid shut behind him with a deafening thud. Down below at the foot of the dais knelt his acolytes. An even dozen.

"Yes?"

"Our apologies for interrupting you. We are ready for training."

Training. These leeches always came begging to be navigated through the mysteries of the force but they made no effort to learn on their own. He had struggled along for years before the Sith Order had found him, and he had a quiet repertoire of his own that made him an asset to the Order. It had been a mutual alliance in that he shared just as much with the Order as they did with him. These teenagers, on the other hand, brought nothing to the table. Most of them were from well enough to do families that they could afford to send their dim-witted but force sensitive children to the Academy, so that they might control their powers and become functioning members of society. Their empty heads were easy to fill with the black and red magick and ceremony of the Sith Order, but their usefulness barely raised beyond that of thugs. If not for such desperate times he would never consider them at all.

They deserved nothing and yet they always came with open hands and empty pockets.

"Not today. Begone. I have better things to do. I will summon you when I have need of you."

[Ezra Na'chtion]

Unwanted responsibilities mounted up like snow on his shoulders; weighing him down and consuming his time and sanity like some kind of insatiable beast. Whenever he thought he had unburied himself, found a moment to breath, he would once again be burdened and tied down. This was no way to live. This was no way to advance. He would never complete his life's work at this rate. There was very little progress to be spoken of. In fact, he would go as far as to say he was moving backwards. Not forwards.

There had to be a way to balance it all. Had he not considered everything? Of course he had. In his darkest moments, when he was at his weakest and most desperate, he had considered everything. However, even in that state he knew that some things were beyond consideration and were cast aside. Others were stored away for another day; their implementation too costly or beyond even his lack of moral compass. The often arising and just as quickly rejected thought that pressed into his mind in this moments was the appointing of an assistant to help with his Alchemy. No. Never, was what he always said. He did not trust anyone else to accomplish his feats in his place, or even be capable enough to assist him. At one time he had thought he could form Jinsala into that very thing, but she had grown distant and he no longer believed her to be capable of the position.

Perhaps the solution was to create an assistant.

Yes. A shaped sithspawn built with Alchemy being it's only purpose. Ezra had used medical and surgery droids in the past to assist him, but they were useful for little more than prepping, suturing, and cleaning. They lacked the flexibility for many more complex actions and their bodies deteriorated quickly within the operating room. They were simply not built for the sorts of vile liquids and inhuman appendages involved. His last batch of droids had been destroyed by a sithspawn some time ago, and he had gone without since. Perhaps it had been hubris to think he could do fine without them. Yes. A sort of biological droid could be exactly what he needed.

Pulling his ever present flimsi notepad from his pocket he flipped the battered ream open, moving past pages of notes and the occasional sithspawn redesign, until he landed on a fresh page and began sketching out a design. Yes. It would need long limbs for articulating. A body that was maneuverable. Soft. Armor and weapons would not be necessary in this instance. Feeding would need to be simple. A proboscis perhaps? He had already made use of broken down bio-matter with his Broodmothers. Perhaps this is what the assistant would be created to handle? That would require a lot of extra organs for processing the liquid bio-mass back into solid mass. The creation of bones and muscles, sinew and complex organs.

Already the drawing was growing in size, becoming huge and bloated. No. This was not the way. This was over-engineering and doomed to failure. New thought. Additional assistants with different purposes. He could base them off the flesh shapers he had employed in his lab to harvest biomass from still living subjects, reverse their design and create a sort of printer, but for flesh. Hmm. This setup would require a lot of space if placed on a level plane. Perhaps a vertical setup? A well with the proboscis, long limbed stitcher at the top and the rest of the 'assistants' built into the walls of the well further down, submerged directly beneath the liquid biomass. Yes. The sketch was coming together, and what it resembled was a vertical assembly line. A machine.

Ezra needed a larger surface to sketch this out. His feet took him toward the turbolift, to take him down to his lab, even as his hands and eyes were occupied with quick sketch outs with notes in the margins, flipping to a fresh page as each filled up.

Yes. This could be the way.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

"You summoned us, Lord?"

The moment of reprieve from looking at the datapad was a welcome distraction to blink and rub his eyes before turning in his chair to look upon the assembled mass before him. Twelve young men and women, clad in a matching black outfit that could only be described as traditional sith. Black tunics with red accents, and the symbol of the Sith Order emblazoned on one shoulder. It was an outfit of their own creation, and now one that he personally approved of but it was nevertheless quite successful at getting them into the proper mood. Even now he could see the focus and determination in their eyes, so different from when they were just students in the Academy above.

"I have a mission for you. You will go to Vendaxa, to find and battle the dreaded Acklay. It is a fearsome beast, on a dangerous world. It will be an impressive test of your skill. Bring me the body as a sign of your accomplishment. Prepare yourselves for the battle ahead and leave at once. Except for you, Cid. I need you to stay and assist me. The rest of you are dismissed."

There was no missing that look of intense disappointment as Cid watched her brothers in arms march out of the laboratory and head back up to the catacombs to prepare for the journey. There were words of comfort and affirmation that could have been used to soothe the situation. He had seen such employed in classrooms many times to alleviate the feelings of the less intelligence and the failures. Ezra simply did not care. There was no time for such social frivolities when he was sitting on the edge of a great break through. There was much to be done in the meantime while the others were gone, and he had not the time to eat or sleep much less fetch the many components he needed. Cid would not find herself standing idle.

"Head up to the library and fetch me all texts on Sorcery and Magick."

Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, looking around the laboratory a moment before nodding and leaving. Good. She must have some idea of what she was doing to leave without any question. This was good, for Ezra had no idea where to even begin with such measures. His knowledge of the application of the force for less practical means, as what might be construed as magic by the simple minded, was not his specialty. In fact, he would go so far as to say he had never even looked into the matter. He had no use for such superstitious ideas of the force when more practical ones reigned. Until now. They might hold the missing pieces he needed to complete the next part of his plan.

While his acolytes hunted for beasts to be twisted into his new sith spawn design, a creator instead of a hunter, he would also need to create a new kind of laboratory for the beast as well as imbue such a simple creature with the ability to create on it's own. Nearly all his avenues into the known concepts of Alchemy were exhausted. There was little left to explore without new texts, and there was no time to unbury new ones. He would not even know where to begin to look. He had to make due with what he had, what he knew, and learn what he could. There had to be practical ideas hidden within the esoteric parables of spells and rituals.

Only time would tell, and he had precious little left.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

A hand moved carefully across the desk with the precision of a surgeon. The notebook was long gone and in it's place was a huge piece of flimsi laid out across a massive table. The blue material stood in sharp contrast to the white ink as cylindrical shapes formed and notes were scratched alongside in tight, neat aurebesh. Several books were propped open on stands in his peripheral in the rare chance that he would need to reread any particular passage. The entries on sith sorcery had been difficult to process, and it had taken him nearly the entire week to finish the last one and digest the knowledge.

Sorcery, as he anticipated, was comprised mostly of the sort of ceremony and aesthetic of the sith that he loathed so very much. Many rituals required regents that could not possibly be for anything more than theatrics. Candles, tapestries, special incense to be burned. Surely these were not necessary for the end result. The only use he could disdainfully concede was that such trappings may aid in a novice getting into the proper mindset. A master of sorcery should have no need for... performance aids. Most of these entries were discarded immediately. He had no use for conjured storms or manipulating fire. However, the texts were not completely without merit.

A primary component of sorcery was the channeling of force energies into another form or into a vessel. There were complex runes and shapes to elicit these effects and outcomes. He found the designs not so different from running circuitry for electronics, and the runes could be read like programming code.

His design emerged from this train of thought. On the blueprint in front of him was the shape of a large circular hollow. A pool. Around it's mouth he inscribed the complicated combinations of flowing lines and runes that wound together and tapered into three ends that wrapped into circular knots. Points of power. He was just putting the finishing line on a sharp pyramid shape, a holocron, floating above one of the knots when the door burst open.

Turning in his seat he discovered the room filling with his many apprentices. Their black uniforms were covered in mud and blood, and it did not escape him that one of them was not present. It was not worth his time to ask.

"Report."

Borrak stepped forward, ever the willing leader of the group. There was a hardness in his eyes, and an emotion deeply set in his heart, as if he could hide it from Ezra. Frustration. Anger. A little rage and hate. He was upset, that much was certain.

"We got the Acklay. Beckers is dead. The damn thing killed him."

"And did you bring his body back too?"

"What? Of course we did. He's one of us."

"Good. I will have use for it. Now, for your next mission you will travel to Dathomir and collect several samples of the Bane Back Spider. Be warned, these beasts are quite toxic and prone to exploding violently upon death. Try to bring everyone back alive this time, Borrak. Cid, take Becker's remains to cold storage unit seven. Dismissed."

[Ezra Na'chtion]

"Master..."

Letting out a sigh of frustration that filled the silent chamber, Ezra did not even pull his eyes away from the pool. It had finally been dug, to his exact specifications. Twenty meters wide, fifty meters deep. It had been quite the excavation, and had required the hiring of the very discrete workers he had used time and time again in the past to add to the fortress above and the catacombs below. They had been well paid, straight from the city's coffers and the pockets of the prime minister himself.

This time was different, however. Absolute secrecy had been called for.

"Did you dispose of all the workers?"

"Yes, but that's not why we are here."

The pool was an eerie green. bioluminescent algae lit it from below. From the murky liquid spiraled out the mystic designs he had formulated. They stretched out like curving spider webs that filled almost the entirety of the chamber's floor around it. At the far end was a raised dais, and upon it a great form of flesh heaved with every labored breath. A cruel amalgamation of spindling limbs and bulbous body segments. It was every bit the biological equivalent of a fabrication droid, pieced together from a half dozen species the galaxy over. Each carefully selected, more than one discarded, and all gathered by his apprentices. At some cost.

Turning about, Ezra laid his eyes on the four surviving members of his acolytes. They stood taller than he remembered. There was a purpose in their eyes and a strength in their stance. My my, when did his little children finally become warriors? They were not alone, however, and that caused his eyes to narrow. Behind them stood a dozen more. All students from the academy above. Dean Korsika stood at the very back; an old crone with a hunch and steely eyes. She was not a member of the Sith Order. Neither were these extra students. He had been most selective with who he allowed to know the secret, and become a part of the dark family.

"Explain yourselves."

"We don't like what you've done, Lord Na'chtion. You've gone down some dark road, you've sent us to our deaths. Again and again. You... You've had us butcher those men. For what? They ain't done nothing wrong. We wanted to grow and become powerful, like the Sith of old. You haven't given us what you promised. You've only made slaves of us! We don't want to die. Not anymore. We are gonna stop you!"

"And so you've gone, bolstered yourselves with new allies, and come marching down here as the vanguard for what exactly? Destroy me and there is no Sith Order. I am the only true one left among you. You've made a grave and foolish mistake coming here, thinking you could take me with brute force alone. With no plan, and no purpose. I will not miss you. You've proven yourselves to be failures. Every. Last. One. Of. You. My children will devour you. Do not worry. You shall not go without purpose. Just like your so called friends, you bodies will be given purpose. To become the corner stones for those who will come next. Goodbye."

Lightsabres ignited, the red light casting haunting shadows across the cavern. Ezra did not move. Even as they approached. Understandably slow and cautious. If only they had used such caution when devising their plans. Emotions make you strong, that is the Sith way after all. It also makes you stupid. They were not prepared for the swarm that came at their backs, they did not expect the Weaver of the Pool to defend it's master. In the end, Ezra did not even have to lift a finger. He only watched. Watched as they were torn apart. Like a cavalry charge the hunters hit them from behind and rolled through them, forcing them toward the pool, where the weaver stabbed through their bodies with it's long limbs. One by one they fell, and were tossed into the pool; some while they still screamed. Some of his children perished, but there was no loss when they would be reused. The Weaver saw to that.

Each corpse fell below the ripples of the nutrient bath. Each would be broken down by the enzymes into pliable biomass, and then the Weaver would work. Stitch them back together into something new.

Reaching into his pocket Ezra approached one of the three focusing spirals on the floor. Above the other two floated holocrons; black, triangular, and seething with red light. Into one he poured all the texts of alchemy he had ever uncovered, including that of Barlai's journals. Into the other he fed his own discoveries and methodology. All the data the Weaver would ever need. More than he could impart into it's limited reconstructed brain. It was incredible knowledge. Dangerous knowledge. The final spiral was for yet additional information. From his pocket he produced a third holocron, which he set on the ground until it, like the others began to float. The Weaver looked at him. Waiting.

"Build this one next."

An image escaped from the holocron, projected into the air. A tall, thin, greasy black haired human male with an unnerving smile.

"It has one purpose. To destroy Michael Cline."

[Zereth Lancer]

The traffic controllers brow furrowed. Leaning back in his uncomfortable office chair, he looked down to where his manager was pacing the row of controllers, looking over their shoulders. Catching his eye he flagged him over with wave of his hand.

"What is it?"

"I've got a CEC XS-800 calling for landing privilege. They submitted a code, and it was approved but it's not on my list of approved codes. Look."

They studied the expansive list for awhile but there was nothing even close to the code that was given, and yet the system very clearly approved of it.

"Should I call IT?"

"No. Let them land. Must me a special code. Probably some politician, or one of Prowl's flooseys. Sorry. Forget I said that. Go ahead and process them."

----


The Code was accepted. The gambit aced. He needed to land quickly. There was no time to waste. No time to spend in orbit waiting for approval, all time that could tip the scales against him. It was the landing code they had used on Corellia, when they took refuge there after the fall of the Sith Order. He had a feeling it might just work, something to give any lost Sith the clearance they needed to reunite with each other. The fact that it was accepted only seemed to confirm his suspicions. That Ezra was resurrecting the Sith Order here on Tanaab. Pandath was suddenly so much more dangerous.

Zereth requested access to the facility itself, located outside the city in an old fortress, but he was denied. Only permitted to land in the city. They cited an environment protection law that prevented the landing of starships in the agricultural zones of the planet, which was most of it. Relenting he took his assigned docking number and piloted the Star of Oblivion as quickly into port as he could without appearing dangerous or suspicious. He could not be held down for even a moment longer. Any time lost was time for Ezra to prepare for him, and while he did not come as an enemy, he certainly did not come as an ally. He had no desire to meet with Ezra, not yet. A guided tour would reveal nothing. He needed to see it with his own eyes; alone and without bias.

He had come prepared, and had used the time in hyperspace to meditate and prepare himself. His identity had to be preserved as much as possible, so he donned his Mandalorian armor, with it's red and black armored plates and T-shaped visor hiding his identity from view. His cloak was left behind. It would only be dead weight, and the force would be adequate to hide him. His weapons were stowed in a long bag and tucked over his shoulder. There would be no coming back to the ship until he was ready to leave, and even then it could be removed from his grasp by then. He needed to be prepared now. There was no restocking.

Stepping out of the ship he pulled the force around him like a coat, masking hid edges, making himself more subtle to those observing. Those who turned and look found themselves turning away, as something more interesting caught their eyes. The bag of weapons disappeared entirely, and no one in the customs office even saw him as he slipped by without notice. He would quickly, as quickly as he could and still maintain the illusions. A quick press of credits secured him a speeder, although the man would be hard pressed to remember what the fellow he lent his speeder to looked like. He was simply happy to have hard credits in hand; and in no time at all Zereth was zipping through Pandath, out the city's massive gates and past it's majestic walls, and toward the towering fortress visible on the horizon.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

The passing of days, and time itself, was untraceable down here in the gloom of the catacombs. He rarely came to the surface anymore. The Academy was placed under an internal investigation at the behest of the Prime Minister after the disappearances of several students and teachers. Naturally, he had handled it like any other institution forced to look inwards into it's own actions; he chose to see nothing. Report nothing.

Now he hid away in the depths, continuing his work while the Academy crumbled above. It was better this way. Down here he could not hear the cacophony of the whispers and the footsteps of retreating students; plucked from the walls by concerned parents and guardians. Down here he had only his work. That up there, that was Frygt's work. It was never his. He no longer cared. It was only a front, and a failed Academy could still act as a face to hide this behind. Students. Teachers. They were hardly necessary. He could create his own, after all. Facsimiles of life that would look adequate from a distance. The school would never end, it would just become as fake as it had always been all along.

Still, he had to come up some times. To eat, sometimes to sleep in an actual bed instead of on the floor in a pile of his Children. There were papers to sign, messages to check, and the odd clerical work that still required some token of effort to keep the lights on. Emerging from the hidden turbolift he stepped into his office as the bookshelf swung back around and hid the lift. The light coming in through the window stung his eyes, making his squint angrily at it, as if he could extinguish it with a glare of his eyes. There was a bit of flimsi sticking out from under the door to his office, and coupled with the lack of a silhouette visible through the frosted glass he could deduce that it was another resignation letter, and this time from his secretary.

A woman who's name escaped him.

Tapping the screen of his personal console caused it to wake from it's absent slumber, and featured prominently on the screen was a message. It read quite simply: Call me -Prowl. How very unusual. Picking up his comm he dialed the contact number listed under a false name. It was a special direct line that they maintained between them, secured and encrypted, as was necessary when discussion matters of the Sith Order.

"Finally. I messaged you an hour ago."

"What is it, Prowl?"

"Port authority informed me they had a starship land that was on your list. It matched the serial number but was under a different name, The Midnight Lotus."

"Get to the point. Which ship is it really?"

"The Star of Oblivion."

"What!? Please tell me you have it locked down?"

"We did not catch it immediately due to the name change but it is now locked down. We have seen nobody leave the ship."

"Good. Keep it that way. There is no telling who is unboard that vessel. It could be a dozen Sith Lords. Do you understand that, Prowl? It is the most dangerous ship that has ever landed on this planet. Muster your forces and post everything you have. I'll be there as soon as I can. No doubt they are waiting for me."

Ending the call he made a quick dash for his coat and wiped off his grimy hands and made an effort to smooth his frazzled hair before running out the door and heading immediately for the faculty speeder. His driver was quick to get them turned around in the courtyard of the Academy and out the gate. Ezra hardly noticed the concerned faces of the students as they watched what must have looked to them as a quick evacuation from the walls of the Academy. At his insistence the driver sped up and carried them toward the distant, visible walls of Pendath at a unsafe speed.

Thankfully there was nobody on the road save for one speeder coming the other way. It would be a quick trip with no traffic. There was no telling what the purpose of the starship was, but it had belonged to his Sith allies once upon a time, and if they were here now there were many reasons possible for their visit, and most of them were not good, and only a few were in his favor. All he could do was hope that they were here to join him. That they had somehow felt his power through the interference field and like moths they were drawn to his flame. He could use allies now, more than ever. The time of cloaks and masks was over, and it was time to take their rightful place once more.

[Zereth Lancer]

It took a degree of patience to not push the throttle to the max, to zoom toward the distant walls of the Academy in the distance and when he reached it to cut the rooftop free and flip through the air spinning and whirling as he cleared the top of the roof and landed upon the tiled rooftops of the lower structures. Jumping from roof to roof, heading ever higher until he reached the castle at the top. That was where he would certainly find Ezra, and they would duel, a drastic fight to the end that would shatter the throne room and leave them broken and exhausted.

But no. That was not how this was going to play out. He drove a sensible speed, even moving more to his side of the road as another speed passed by. It was not until it was passing him that he felt it. A presence. Familiar but different. Something dark. It had a familiar feel that took him back in time to the halls of the Sith Order. It could be Ezra, and perhaps it was. He was not ready yet to confront the young man. He needed to see the Academy for himself first. Unfiltered and unbiased. Ahead the walls rose around the fortress. It was a impressive structure of stone that hearkened back to an age old and forgotten. Modern amenities could be seen adjusting it's rough landscape into the modern age.

He had expected a bustling Academy, but many windows peaking over the wall were dark. The place had an empty feeling to it, even from here. There was a gate set in the wall. It was closed. There was a guard tower set outside of it, and a man milling about inside of it. Exclusive access, no doubt. He passed the path that lead off the road toward the castle, and instead took his speeder off into the rough and piloting to come around from another side. A speeder was a difficult structure to hide, especially at this speed. More conventional means of stealth would be required; such as staying out of sight.

Coming up to the wall he wasted no time scaling up the wall, leaving the speeder behind as he found purchase in the cracks and grooves of the stonework. It was much more difficult with the armor on, it's weight and clumsy gloves made progress much slower than it would have been otherwise. However, in the end he crested the top, lifting himself slowly over it's edge to peer below. A few young people, students no doubt, walked about on the grounds between the many stone structure buildings of the courtyard and beyond. The emptiness from outside reflected deeply inside. Those gathered seemed so few.

Masking himself in bent light and smoke once more he swung his body off the other side and dropped down to the ground, making scarcely a sound as he landed. Stealing through the yard he began his search, moving in between the groups of students, and the odd adult as he inspected each of the structures; peaking through doors and windows as he identified the purpose of each in kind and looked for the sort of iconography he associated with the Sith Order; obsidian thrones, weapons hanging on walls, corpses, and decorations all in black and red. He found no such things. What he did find was dormitories, mess halls, class rooms, and training facilities. It was so incredibly mundane that it made him feel more uncomfortable. This was nothing like he expected. The more he searched the more deflated he felt. Perhaps he had been wrong. So very wrong.

At the peak of the castle he found the throne room. There was even a throne in the room, a big archaic thing kept behind a velvet rope. An artifact. A curio. This room felt more museum than the point of launch for a sinister plot.

Something was eating at him. He felt shame for coming here expecting to find a nightmare and being forced to burn it all to the ground. Instead he found exactly what was on the brochure. And still there some something else, irritating him from the inside. He couldn't figure it out, he couldn't banish it. Zereth felt unbalanced, out of sorts. He needed to recenter himself. He wanted to find balance again.

On the faded, worn carpet of the throne room he sat down, crossed his legs, and rested his hands in his lap. With the closing of his eyes he retreated into his mind, focusing inward. Steady breathing, ridding his mind of thoughts, he let himself slip into a calm. Here he could think without his mind racing, here he could question without his heart deciding the answers. Now he could find the splinter that pained him. He looked with his mind and felt with his heart, but he could not find the irritant. It came from outside, from without. That was when he realized it. There was an absence below him. No. Not an absence. More like a blurring. There was something there, below him, below the castle. In the earth. He could feel it, the life in the ground and soul of the planet; but it felt distant, far away, like a voice heard over a great distance carried in the breeze.

The force felt squeezed and filtered.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

He wasted no time in advancing on the docked starship. At his strong insistence the Prime Minister provided several armed men to escort him through customs and into the open topped, circular docking bay that the long bodied, weathered starship occupied. Like a page straight from his memory the ship did not look like it had changed a bit. Dirtier, perhaps, but not a panel seemed out of place. This ship had been their salvation that horrible day, when the Sith Order fell. So many had died. He remembered the bodies piling up in the stone hallways of the Sepulcher. An enemy from without, previously unknown, striking without warning. There had been no way they could have prepared for it. They came through the hidden docking bay, protecting by holograms, shields, and passcodes. Still they entered and immediately laid siege. It had been a bloodbath. Only a few of them had survived and escaped, and they had done so aboard the Star of Oblivion. It was the last starship out, and it would never return.

Only one person had ever gone back, and that was why he was Lord of the Sith. He had reclaimed the Sepulcher, killed the beast left to guard the empty tomb, and returned it's artifacts to the proper hands. The Ceremonial Tremor Sword of Naga Sadow was his now, and no other could so much as lay a claim to the mantle he had reluctantly taken. Depending on who was in the ship, they would either fall in line as was tradition, or they would fight him for the title, which was also tradition. He was not afraid of a challenge. They had no idea what he was capable of now. However, he did hope that whoever they were was here to join him. So few of them had survived, and even less must still be alive. Beggars could not be choosers, as that incredibly simple idiom went.

Ezra climbed the ramp into the belly of the beast, the armed guards at his back. The familiar cargo hold was empty. Odd. One would expect some kind of supplies or hold overs from the days of the Sith Order. Instead it was empty and incredibly clean compared to the outside. It took several minutes of spinning about in the space for him to finally notice the marks of wear at the edges and up the walls, the targets and markers dotting here and there, from the ground to the support beams above. This was a training space. He had no doubts. It was already forming a picture in his head, but he was not one to make half-educated assumptions. He needed more data.

Pressing in they checked the crew quarters one room at a time. They were all painfully empty. Like no one had ever lived in them. Not so much as a errant sock or forgotten toiletry. He knew these rooms had been occupied before, by himself even on training missions. It felt like some kind of ritualistic cleaning, as if the owner had not wanted any trace of the previous owners. The last room, the Captain's quarter, was lived in. It was still sparse, with little in the way of clothing or bedding. A pauper's retreat. A massive decorative armoire dominated the room. The room smelled of incense.

He already knew who he was dealing with long before he pulled open the armoire and revealed it's contents. It was empty, but it's vacancies told a story. Vacuum formed inserts sat empty in the shape of the objects they were meant to hold. An armor of some kind and a vast collection of weapons. Throwing knives, curved swords, and two lightsabres. It was completely empty. Every single item, every weapon taken. It felt like a declaration of war.

"Lancer..."

With haste they took the bridge, and it was just as empty as the rest. The ship was in lockdown, under passcode. They could not access it's systems. Technology like this was far from his specialty. Regardless, the ship was empty. That was absolutely unacceptable. Lancer had to be here, somewhere. He could even be here, with them, hiding beneath those illusions he loved so much. Coward. Leaving the man behind to check the entire ship by hand, he stormed the security office where Prowl waited with his head of security.

"You told me no one had left the ship. It is empty!"

"No one has. Here. Look at the footage."

Turning to the console he watched the footage play by on high speed. The ship landed, the docking ramp lowered, but nothing came out. The ship just sat empty like a phantom, taunting them. Taking over the controls, Ezra forced the footage back and forth, looking for something, anything. He had to be there somewhere. Then his eye caught it. A blur, like the loss of video quality, that moved from the ramp to the door. He could feel the blood leaving his face. It meant only one thing, that Lancer had slipped past them and out into the city, fully armed.

"When was this taken? The exact time, dammit!"

"Uhm, let me see. It was almost an hour ago."

"Then he's been free in the city for an hour, or..." or he had gone to the Academy. No. Ezra had not seen anyone on the road. It would take Lancer much longer than an hour to make the trip on foot. There had been that speeder...

"Prowl, lock down the city. Immediately."

"But-"

"JUST DO IT! I'm going back to the Academy. Let me know when you find him."

"Who?"

"Zereth Lancer. Tall. Pale. Black hair. Red eyes. Heavily armed. He can kill all of your men. All of them. Let me know when he shows up so I can talk him down. I must make sure the Academy is secure. He could destroy everything we've created."

[Zereth Lancer]

He had seen many tricks in his life, and had created many of his own. It was not uncommon for powerful force users to mask their presence in order to hide. He had done it himself for a time. It was a strenuous and exhausting process, like trying to catch the heat coming off an overclocked engine. Try as you might, there was no way to stop it all. Some of the heat would slip through your fingers and warm the environment around it. He had yet to meet anyone who could remove themselves entirely, save for those who had taken the extreme measure of cutting themselves off from the force entirely.

An ultimatum few returned from.

This was different. There was nothing slipping through the holes. It was not a mask. It was not a misdirection, either. The void below was not trying to convince him that it did not exist through mimicry of it surroundings or attempting to override his own senses; as he often did when projecting his own invisibility upon others. Instead it was gone. A void. Nothing. That was impossible. Even on the most desolate worlds in the galaxy there was the force. Weak, strained by the lack of life, but there. This could not be natural, not on a world like Tanaab with no connection to ancient Sith or other beings capable of such technology. He very much doubted the coincidence such a revelation would bring. If there was something in the ground below Ezra's Academy that just so happened to project a force nullifying field, then it was being used for nefarious ends.

For what would he need to hide when his force academy was already a public entity?

There was no time to waste. He began his speedy and invisible trip through the Academy again, this time looking not for signs of the occult but rather for any passage that would take him to the void. No matter how much he searched, he no matter how many structures he entered, none of them had sub-floors that went deep enough. It was always below him, mocking him with it's lies. Perhaps he was approaching this wrong. If it was a secret, what was down below, then it's entrance would be hidden. If Ezra subscribed to the trappings of the Sith then there could be all manner of secret passages throughout the Academy. That was the Sith way, or at least what he knew of the Sith Way from the Order on Korriban. That tomb was a labyrinth, after all. If there was a secret passage, he would no doubt keep it close to him.

For the third time he made his way to the Office of the Chancellor. His first two searches had revealed very little. A heavily encrypted personal console that he had no hope of gaining access to along with the expected trappings of a school administrator. It was a bit of a mess, as if the owner had left in a hurry without cleaning his desk. Stylus and hand drawn notes on flimsi scattered about. Nothing that hinted at the secrets below. That was all irrelevant now. Zereth's focus was instead on the room itself. Searching beneath the desk and behind furniture and hanging artwork, looking for a switch or a sliding panel. He found it, and cursed himself for being too blind to find what should have been his first choice. It was so obvious that he had overlooked it. Ezra was a slave to tradition, it would seem.

The hidden mechanisms were easy enough to find but there was a still a switch to locate. No physical switch revealed itself. Instead he reached out, feeling along the mechanisms hidden inside the wall. There were shapes here, vague and hard to decipher due to his lack of knowledge of the structure, but what was certain was that it was a lift of some kind. Inch by inch he moved along it's form until he found a lever, and with the force as his ally he willed it forward. The wall rolled open, filing cabinets moving aside on silky gears that made almost no noise. Secret indeed. Between the splitting panels revealed the lift he had left. Everything was turning out how he expected, and it left him fearful for what he would find below.

His expectations are quite dark.

There was no time to hesitate. He boarded the lift and hit the down button. The door shut and he felt it shuttle downwards, going ever deeper toward the void. Before he could even tense the wave of static and nausea washed over him, causing him to go weak at the knees and lean against the walls of the small tube. It was gone shortly afterwards, but the experience left him shaking even as the door of the lift opened. It took a few moments to collect himself and step out of the lift. The passage beyond was bare stone hewn through through the earth. The floor was polished flat but the walls were still rough and jagged. It felt rushed, perhaps even amateur. It was not some old thing. It was newer. Tracking the walls to the equally rough ceiling brought his attention to the space above. The void was still there, like a layer he had passed through, and the world beyond it was gone.

He was inside of it.

Drawing his lightsabre hilt from his side he pressed forward, feeling more endangered then ever before. This was the belly of the beast and there was no telling what he would find down here. As he moved he reached out into the space around him and felt a lot of earth and empty passages, but in the distance he felt... life. So much life. It was A bright, burning sensation in his psyche. It was not the sort of thing you expected to find down in the depths of a planet and was more akin to the sensation of a forest or city. But this life was... wrong? It was tainted. He could feel the darkside. All around him. It was everywhere. Embedded in the rock and the passages beyond. The miasma was stiffing. He could not stop now, he had to press on. Pushing ahead the passage lead directly into a large chamber. Deep, with pews and seats at one end facing a raised dais at the other, and beyond the dais a large blast door. The entire room was lit with candles and torches, and atop the dais was two thrones in black obsidian draped in red cloth that matched the banners hanging from the ceiling, all bearing an unfamiliar symbol. The imperial icon in red with a star exploding behind it.

Everything about it screamed The Sith Order. Like someone following a playbook. He could only stare in wonder as he walked down the center aisle toward the dais, and then around it to the steps that lead to the top. From there he could look out at the seats facing him. It felt like power, standing here, and he could feel the darkside that was scored into the stone and metal of this place, and even greater power could be felt behind that door. Even as he looked at it, formulating a plan to enter, a sound caught his attention. Footsteps approaching. He thought to run, he thought to hide, but he resisted the urge. There was a new sensation bubbling inside of him, of righteous disgust. This was exactly what he had expected, and what he had come to root out. There would be no more hiding, and if a battle must be fought than he would do so.

This place deserved to be razed to the ground.

Grabbing his helmet he broke the seal and pulled it free from his head, using a utility hook to attach it to his belt. He let his long black hair trail out and with his red eyes unhindered he could see this disgusting place with more clarity. The sound of footsteps on hard stone echoed up from the tunnels beyond. Several people were coming. Turning from the massive door, he took his stand at the edge of the raised dais and faced out toward the sound of approach.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

Rushing back to the speeder, Ezra was already thumbing his comm unit and scrolling through the many contacts saved within. Each was considered and passed over. Many of the names belonged to those who had died in the insurrection. Slowly it began to dawn on him that there was nobody else. Every confidant, every apprentice, every person he would have thought dependable was gone due to one reason or another. There was nobody left to help him handle this problem. Only Prowl remained, and he had his hands full with the city. A fear was rising up in the pit of his stomach unlike anything he had felt. It reminded him of the day the Sith Order fell, when he was but a boy desperately trying to survive; or when he reclaimed the council chamber from that gruesome beast and barely survived the encounter.

The speeder whipped off down the street and headed back to the gate, passing through just as Prowl's goons closed and locked it.

There was only one person left. He dialed the connection and listened for her voice. When she answered he spoke slow and carefully so she would not miss a word. A verbal list of specific details followed. Instructions for how to prep the only shuttle the Academy had for departure, and what she needed to grab and store away and wait for him should the worst happen. Jinsala would not fail him. She could not. He could not afford for her to join the others. Then he would truly be alone with only his children. Yes, his children. They would handle the threat. Should Lancer be in the Academy then his beasts would find him. Yes. At any cost, he had to be stopped. He punched in a connection number into his comm from memory. It could never be committed into the device lest it be accidentally activated. The signal would call a dead man switch and release the locks on the cages.

It was the final option. Everything would die now. The Academy would be cleansed, and Zereth would be purged. Ezra would not let him take his Academy away.

[Zereth Lancer]

The sound grew and as it came closer it became more clear that what was coming was not human. There was a scrapping and clawing to the sound, like huddled masses packed together. There were growls and barks; animal sounds the like of which he had never heard before and the very sound sent chills down his spine. This was not something he would be able to negotiate with. It would seem that Ezra had chosen war. Taking his helmet he placed it back on his head and snapped it back into place just as the door to the hall slammed open and in poured a dozen creatures like nothing he had ever seen beard. Square to the ground with scaly, muscular bodies and faces full of fangs and horns. They reeked of the darkside; a pungent smell that he could feel in the force. He had only felt it one place before; in the laboratory of Baralai Lotus.

Sithspawn.

With a flourish of movement he jumped from the dais he pulled free his weapons. The two lightsabre hilts slipped from their hooks at his belt. One black, one silver. Both with non-standard long handles, wrapped in leather straps with decorative crossguards. The blades flared to life, throwing light and shadows across the dark chamber. One red. One Silver. There would have been a moment of reflection upon how long it had been since he had used his second blade, and how fitting it felt to use it in the purging of such evil, but this was not the moment. There would be time after. For now he was raising the blades above his head as his body rotated forward, bring both blades down in a waterfall of calamity that tore through the leading creature and cut it nearly from head to tail.

He didn't stay long enough for the creatures to regroup. Instead he spun the side, the claws of one barely sliding across his shoulder paldron; desperate for purchase it could not find on the smooth Mandalorian design. Using his two blades he used one to guard, and the other to attack. Battering off the leaping beasts who never tired or stopped in their relentless attack and waiting for opportunities to counter attack. Retreating constantly and moving around the room, using the pews and large candelabras as barriers, he began to analyze his opponents and learn their tactics. Pack based, one attacking while the others circled around so they could attack immediately afterwards. Primitive but effective, and unstoppable if they were in larger numbers.

The initial strike came, the leap was sidestepped and he brought his blade up from below and cut through each of it's limbs and sent it to the ground immobilized. Then the next two attacked together. Spinning to get the angle, Zereth raised his blades and skewered each through their open maws. Their body weight carried them through the blades, slicing their bodies into limp mass that smashed into his armor to be shrugged off before the next wave came. Each was dispatched as it came, and when he was done, a mound of bodies littered his last stand. There was near silence for a moment, only punctuated by the sound of his own heavy breathing, the hum of his blades, and the sound of cauterizing flesh. A roar startled him, sounding from the distance. More would come, he knew. He could not fight them all. These had been a challenge, and his armor bore many scratches and cuts. He could not keep it up forever.

It was time to pull this curtain down. He had to let the world see what was down here.

But how could he, when he could not even feel the world above?

He had to find what was keeping the catacombs silent.