Consolidation Litanies of the Dark Side: Defiance

[Dreadheart]

@Valia Muqai​

"The flower blooms in the barren. So does light blaze in the Darkness."

The words of Aola Cliyerslan Vilbolra echoed in the empty chamber, like ghosts of ages past, haunting the mind of the traveller lost in time and space. The very memory of her soft tone, a presence foreign now enough, as if she was met in a life long past. Any comfort was now turned into torment. Any serenity, into dread. Any love, once offered naturally, now perverted into blind hatred...
The durasteel walls, devoid of any shade but metal and the occasional dotting of the parasitic insects that fed from the flesh debris scattered on the cursed ship, a prison of mind and bone alike. It was in that narrow cabin -cell, in all respect but name- where memories fading and vague bombarded her mind, as if Regret craved to slither beneath the bone of the skull, into the caverns of her mind.

There was silence. No company but the oppressive aura ever-looming onboard; an encumbrance so heavily piled, it generated physical pain. Yet, after so long onboard, the septic artificial air became familiar to her senseless metallic lung, while the absence of colour and sunlight only added to the pale of her skin. Black veins appeared beneath the transparrent upper layers, marked with the doubt of whether they were a disease, inflicted upon her by the living conditions, or the sign of the Dark Side growing roots within her.

"Be the candle in the cellar. Be the star in the night sky."

The dim torchlights became the stars, and the gore the reflection of the moons made of lightning and plasma. Drifting into the void, the cursed hulk jumped from one place to another, stretching to the chains the Dark Crusade wrapped around the galaxy to yet another world, as Minos Sector descended into ruin. There was no Freedom, save for the ecstasy of mayhem, experienced beyond the bones, chained over pools of captives' blood, followed by weeks of exhaustion.

It had been long since the warship entered a battlefield. Months, even. And as life faded onboard, stagnation brought the urge for the battle thrill into the fighting pits, belowdeck. The more the stagnation continued, the more the losses in the pits, as the Sith could not resist the opportunity for bloodletting, and the Dark Lord did little to intervene. He chose to remain locked, chained upon his black throne, surrounded by the close circle adepts, while the rest pursued their own agendas.

 

[Roshia Chamiane]

"Peace" was an entirely foreign concept on the dreadful ship she was forced to call home. If it weren't suffering through her master's relentless training regime, then she'd be going through the grueling body-possessing ritual that took place within the Sanctum during major conflicts of the Dark Crusade.


In the rare times without either? There was still no peace. The ship had a constant, oppressive presence that felt like a heavy, painful weight upon both her mind and heart, never leaving. It made her want to cry, it made her irritated, it made her angry; she'd experienced all three one way or another. There was no way to escape, not even through death, which she knows well she can't even grant to herself.


Valia knelt on the durasteel floor of the narrow cell, which she called her room, facing the wall. Dingy and gloom-filled as it was, that was the only thing she had to a "safe haven" upon the ship. Hiding away from the predatory gazes of the Dark Crusade minions, she was the only place she could recuperate her strength undisturbed unless she were summoned.


It was one of those rare, precious times again where she hid away in her little cabin undisturbed—leaving her to the deafening silence and the storm that was her thoughts.


As time went on, Valia felt more of herself slip away into the abyss of the past. How long she had been there didn't matter; she didn't even think that anymore. In retrospect, her fight against the dark felt..... foolish. It was not something she welcomed nor ever wanted, yet she found herself in its embrace all the same. To embrace it back? Valia didn't know the answer. A part of her didn't, holding onto some vague, desperate hope of redemption and return to the light. Another part of her wanted to, motivated by either survival or some other reason.


She looked down at her hands and her arms. Her skin appeared paler than they've ever been; whatever sun-based tan she had gained was now long gone. Even in the dim lighting, she could see the dark veins beneath her translucent skin. Whatever caused them, she'd never know. Valia didn't even remember the last time she had looked into a mirror. Too fearful to see the full extent of what she had become, knowing how much of a broken mess her body had been.


Her hand plucked a metal knife from beneath the cabin's cot, one of the few things she had pilfered from a corpse and kept for herself. It was no vibroblade, but it was useful nonetheless. After looking down at it for some time, her free hand moved to grip its blade and held it tightly. Letting it dig through the flesh of her palm, the tighter she had, the deeper the blade cut. It was painful, unbearably so, but she did not let go. Watching as her dark, sludge-like blood ran down its hilt and onto the durasteel floor.


If her mind couldn't decide, then she'd let pain do it for her.

 

[Empor]

Pain...

The God of all things mortal...

Pain...

An angel of things so terrible, never graced by name, or form, save that of lamentation.

The blood dripped, producing a near-inaudible pop, upon meeting the metal of the catwalk. Strange shadows beneath her feet stirred. Scarabs, moths of six wings and crawling things that had yet to reveal their form, choosing to lurk behind shadow and hull, furthering to the already established Dread that consumed anything and anyone onboard the trice-cursed warship that was the Shadow's Avenger...

Drip... Drip... Drip...

In the deathly silence, the sound became strong enough to echo, though it did so through no power of its own, or the physics that had been long defiled and twisted by the Dark Side they resembled but mere caricature of what once was. Oh, no, the echo came from beyond, through the fabric unseen by the eye, yet sensed so violently, at times, as the Force wept to the very presence of the warship in Realspace.

Wings flapped, carrying with them an air of ether stirred. Though to no fault of the malfunctioning air conditioning of the cell, the air grew heavy; Thick and cold, piercing the pale skin like pinned claw that reached for the bone. Shadows motioned, in the Darkness, yet offered no presence through which to inflict Fear, or hint presence, for much had been endured oh so long a time, this change in the Force felt like a craving sensation yet to be experienced. Absence... Void...


Death.


As the palm bled, the leaking blood produced a thin smoke, as if reacting to the metal of the blade. Like a cloak, the world around her embraced her, causing the nerves that fed her corrupt mind the sensation of pain to fail, as if there was no more to offer but yield in stagnation. Her feet cold, yet sharing not the unseen breeze that made the hair spike and skin to shiver. It was as if her very feet had been drenched in water, which itself offered no tide, nor waving, but stagnation. Unseen bogs, stale in a place without time, pouring in to Realspace to embrace the soul that yet latched beneath her flesh...

Whispers sung a voiceless song, urging the woman to join the strange hymn.

Shallow, the bogs beneath, black the starless void...
Empty, the River full, Blind left of Breath devoid....

 

[Valia Muqai]

Time seemed to slow as the deep, seething pain continued to radiate from her hand. Dark blood dripped onto the steel floor and ran down her pale arm in slithering streams like plant vines. Valia felt nothing but the pain, it made tears well up in her eyes and her breath stop until her body forced her to take another. Yet, she didn't let go, not yet, even when her mind and body screamed at her to do so. Defiantly going against her own instincts the same way she went against Darth Eosfor's will.

She felt her perception of reality slowly become twisted, her skin feeling wind and her feet feeling cold water where there none. Whether due to pain, bloodloss, or something else entirely, Valia truly did not know. Embraced by something that she could not see, for a moment, she wondered if it was Kirki offering her a twisted form of comfort through her pain.

But, no, that could not be. It felt too different and foreboding. So close, yet paradoxically so distant at the same time. Those voiceless whispers, she did not join them, an angered hiss escaping her lips.

"Leave me alone."

Her words repeated until she realized that the pain had stopped. She noticed the thin smoke radiating from the leaking blood which made no sense to anyone that had a sane mind. That was when she finally released her grip around the knife, letting it clank onto the floor into the puddle of blood of its doing.

"Leave me alone." She hissed again to the unseen, voiceless hymm in the wind.

Valia stared at her bloody, shaking hand. The cut was deep and blood continued to flow even in the absence of the knife cutting through flesh. It was a slow, steady leak, which will soon begin clotting on its own. For that brief moment, a moment clarity washed over her mind amidst the darkness and lack of pain. Even though the pain, no decision had been made, by her or whatever other force she had expected to do so. Nothing stopped her.

She picked up the knife once more, thoughts racing through her head. There was no reason for her to be there, there was no reason for her to be their slave. Anger welled up in her chest as she remembered her failure two years ago-- failure to escape, either through a ship or through death. So many tries, all failure, no amount of defiance could force Darth Eosfor to kill her even when he held her very heart hostage. Was it fear of what came after that fueled her will to live? Was it innate instinct that did it like what that damnable doctor had said? Was it something else? So many questions that couldn't be answered.

"Leave me alone." Her lips muttered once more.

There was no one else with her, alone in the prison cell called her room. Only the embrace of the darkness to keep her company. She breathed deeply and was met with the humid scent of the bogs, stale and almost rancid. It was then Valia realized she had one more chance to remedy her failures. One, that was all she could give before all the flickering light within her soul is snuffed out.

"One more.... Please, free me from this prison and all this pain. I ask for nothing else, that is all I want."

Valia held the knife with both hands, shaking profusely as she quietly muttered her words, a prayer almost, to whatever god that listened. Something she had never done before even as a jedi, but she was truly desperate.
She aimed the knife towards her body and pressed it agaist the middle of her chest, against the soft flesh beneath where her sternum began and cutting through the soft fabric of her clothing. A flurry of emotions going through her, but her mind remained focused on her goal not letting anything stop her.
"If I fail, for the last time."
She took a deep breath.

"Then let the galaxy weep for the monster it made..."

With all her strength, Valia plunged the knife through her chest.

@Dreadheart

 

[Empor]

Resistance.

Defiance.​

Submission.​

Too long had she stared into the Darkness. Too long, had she wept of a life not her own bestowed upon her by forces wicked and corrupt. How long would she last? How much would she endure, before her finally yielded to the primal instinct of facing the lesser known horror than standing onto what is foul and indestructible?

Finally...

She looked into the Darkness, and called out a nameless hand of salvation. A faceless patron of faith. A presence, lurking beyond the Dark.

And now...

Finally...​

The Dark answered.


As if flooded by black mist, the presence lurking near revealed itself. The world blurred, as blood poured out the gaping wound left by the knife. Her legs drenched in black bogs. The hull caging her given way to the unreal expanse of the shallow swamp, spreading across the flatness of the plane, beneath the starless sky. A place of Void. A place of Death. Barren of all but the shallows and Absence. There was cold. Freezing cold, and yet, her breathing produced nothing but a void in her lungs, as if her inability to draw breath made little impact.

A strange feeling usurped the flesh. A familiar feeling. As if reliving the same moment experienced numerous times over, now again in the very same place that existed beyond memory and without material mark, to hint its existence in the retroactive chord of her Life. A Blind realm, never to be seen by the eyes of Reality. And yet, it was now, strangely enough, that she was carried to this moment, as if before her mind refused to acknowledge....

But it did... The very sensation of it sparked glooming voids in her cerebral cortex, her nerves sparking as if reacting to a known horror. A familiar Darkness...

Blood...

There was no blood.

The wound blackened, emitting black essence.

Her palms wrapped around a metallic object, too familiar to require her eyes to identify...

Her hilt.

Not the daemonic instrument of destruction wielded onboard the cursed warship. It was her own. The one her old self used to carry...

Her old self...

Roshia... That was the name....

Was it forgotten? Or burried deep beneath layers of torment and despair?

"How many?"

The voice carried a sense of Dread, for it served a perfect reflection of her own. Calm, and steady, as if no toll weighted her. As if none of the horrors and torments and suffering had happened.

"How many must die for your Chains?"

 

[Valia Muqai]

The sharp knife slid through flesh with ease. Slicing through skin, her diaphragm and impaling deeply into her heart with little resistance. There was a burst of pain, her instincts urged her to take out the knife though it was futile at that point. Her head spun, vision darkening, she twisted the knife with the last of her strength before reality faded into darkness.

There was someone- or something there with her in the darkness of wherever she was. Valia realized the knife in her chest was gone, leaving only a stab wound that regularly gushed out her lifeblood, which dripped down to the dark bogs that her legs were submerged. Her lungs moved to bring in air, which was a futile effort as none came, yet she did not choke or suffocate as she would expect.

It profoundly confused Valia, at the same time, relief washed over her. If that was death, then she accepted its will. Whatever it wanted from her. she would submit to it. For she considered it better than going back to the living hell of her existence under Darth Eosfor.

She placed a hand over the knife wood. There was no longer any blood, but instead replaced a strange black essence that radiated from it like smoke from a flame. In her other hand, she held something.... Her old lightsaber, the one she had built as a mere youngling and used up until her demise, where she had lost it to crueler hands. The sight of it surprised her as much as it brought deep pain within her.

Roshia. That name didn't feel like her own anymore, it felt like a stranger that she had met many years ago that was beginning to fade from her mind. She had nearly forgotten, willingly or otherwise, that she IS Roshia. The Jedi Padawan, a promising future knight of the Jedi Order, whom they had expected greatness from.

"No one must die. No one will."

She answered to the voice. It sounded like herself, a younger untormented version of herself. Whether it was from her mind or someone speaking with her she could not know. Either way, it sent a cold chill down her spine.

"I freed myself. Those chains are no longer necessary, they will hold me no longer. My death has been long overdue." Valia gripped the lightsaber hilt firmly in her hand. Her voice was resolute and confident, much like how she had been as a jedi.

 

[Empor]

The reflection observed. She said no words, though her gaze spoke tales. Tales of pain. Tales of struggle. Tales of a lifetime lived in vein, for a purpose found in Death. And yet, even in the Shallows of the Netherworld, that purpose remained ever a mystery, furthering the meaningless apparent in what was perceived a journey stray from the path beset and besieged by nightmares and malevolence.

Chains...

The reflection pointed out. A word marked out of all others, as if it served a key, to the chamber deeper into the mind lost in darkness and Regret.

Pitty the hound who sees the chains, ignorant whether it drags the chariot, or held by a leash...

The shallow waters stirred. Shadows, beneath the blackness of the surface, slithered and vanished in the same, undeclared, uneventful manner in which they appeared, most before acknowledgement or recollection. The reflection extended a hand. The same black mist, dominant in the bleak dimension, emitted from beneath the skin, as if it was but a mere illusion.

Chains do not release you from Death.

As if a choreographed motion, the reflection's fingers curled ever so slightly. In utter synchrony, from beneath the shallow bogs, a long chain ascended, as if held by invisible hands unseen by all. The links were forged of the very mist that engulfed the Shallows, black and foul, condensed enough to resemble something similar to solid matter, without though disturbing the ethereal nature that dominated the bogs. The one end of the chain poped from beneath Valia's chest, as if it, too, was but a mere illusion, hinting to the chain being nested in her very heart.

The far end, after slithering in the invisible grip, made its way back into the bog, as if to trace the path to the reflection's own entity...

Chains Bind you in Death. Free you, of Life.

The reflection stared. Its eyes offering a hollow sensation, soulless and unmade, yet never taunting.

Three pieces is the toll, to walk the River. One of Heart, beating and drenched in Life. One of Pentacle, burried with a Spade of Defiance. And one of Sword, cracked and yet reforged by pain and Loyalty. Only through these three, will the shackles of Death weight you no longer.

The chain lowered to the reflection's hand. As it did, the mist that formed it reshaped into a most familiar knife. A blade, which no long ago had tasted Valia's own blood, yet here, now, it was stainless.

Do you wish to walk with Death? Or taste a Life of Torment, yet again?

 

[Valia Muqai]

That resolute confidence only lasted for no more than a brief moment. Her mind became shadowed with doubt, confusion, and desperation once more. Valia's eyes appeared distant and empty as she struggled to comprehend the ethereal world around her. It felt real and unreal both at the same time in some strange paradoxical perception of her increasingly broken mind.

She looked down at the slithering chains, tracing it from the shadowed figure to her chest. Her free hand pressed to over it, yet she found only stillness where a heartbeat should be. Valia couldn't understand what it meant, why, and how. Death was the freedom she so desperately wanted. It should have freed her from any chains. What was happening?

"Death is my freedom. It should be nothing more, nothing less. There is no price for it!" Her voice was shaky and desperate as she yelled out her words. Equal parts pleading and protest.

Valia stepped closer to the reflection and knelt down. Lowering herself down into the bogs as she did so. She gazed up at it, not fully understanding what she was looking at other than knowing it was there, whatever that 'it' may be.

"Please, please... just let me go. I should have died at Karideph years ago, for good. But they forced me to live, I don't know how, but they did. It wasn't my choice. It was not what I wanted." Valia continued her pleas. A once proud jedi reduced to groveling at the feet of some unseen being. She no longer cared how pathetic it might be.

"I can't go back. I am dead, I've plunged the knife into my own heart, and they can not save me this time." Tears began to roll down from her eyes. They felt like tears, at least, who knows what they were.

Valia looked at the pristine knife in the being's hand. She reached up and took hold of it with a shaky hand, appearing ready to repeat what had brought her there in the first place.

"If I must do it again to keep myself from coming back, then so be it, I will do it."

Valia paused. She remembered the chains from moments ago, nestled within her chest. In her rattled mind, that was what held her down, chaining her to a life she did not want. She could not cut through the chains with knife, but she could sever the part of herself they held. Like a trapped animal willing to gnaw off its own limb to get free.

Without another word and with newfound purpose. She plunged the knife into her chest once more, seeking to make the preexisting wound bigger. Completely forgetting about the lightsaber hilt she held and now focused on tearing out a part of herself.

 

[Empor]

Price

Price​

Price​

The very word heavy with meaning, in manner perhaps too twisted and occult for the one who uttered them to realize. In the carnivorous world of the Nether, black of fate and absent in hope, yet so desired by numerous to experience, ignorant of what truly lied beyond the chasm of reality the mortals called so simply, and yet true in darkness and in faith, Death. The reflection simply observed, not reacting but merely staring in eyes gradually soulless and hollow, as if whatever devilry preserved the fallacy of appearance lost its meaning the more Valia descended into desperation. A path walked by countless, yet diverted by none...

Valia begged. A warrior of faith brought low. A champion of Light drowned in Darkness...

As she picked the knife, the palm that held it reacted to the motion of her hand as if it was made of mist, distorted by her momentum like smoke dancing against the wind until being consumed by the Dark.

All this, the reflection observed in silence.

Finally, she did it.

FLASH

White and momentary, as soon as the knife blade struck deep into her chest. A shard of pain inexplicably touching the depths of her dying senses, like a glimpse from a lost world that craved to return.

FLASH

The knife plunged again. A scent, burning and despicable, familiar coalgulated blood, rotting on the catwalk.
The reflection reached to Valia's shoulder, and she hold her firmly, for once, hinting to whatever entity masquaraded behind it having presence before Valia.

"The toll must be paid. The end is not nay, yet. Not before the Chains are broken."

Simply to listen one's voice speaking back is unnerving. More so, the very fact the voice this time belonged to an entity wishing to replicate it so perfectly, yet deliberately allowing the reflection to wither and distort enough, all the more evident it was but a facade.

The more she carved herself with the knife, the more the black mist emitted from where blood should spill out the now gaping wound. But, instead of intestines and torn bone, what Valia found beneath was black void, as if she herself was little different than the reflection before her. Bodies, barely conceptions of mind, like the stuff of dreams adopting a myriad shapes only to represent a shell of what the mind beheld, losing their meaning the more one spent time past the dream itself.

FLASH

The vision became blurry. The scent of naked metal ever-stronger in her mouth. A familiar sensation of the unstable and unsanitary life support tubes. A cacophony of beeping noises birthed from beyond the Darkness, as the reflection degraded more and more, as if consumed by the once barren, fading dimension, fading indeed the more Valia's senses returned to her.

Her hands numb by the restraints, keeping her against the operating table.

"Serve Death. Or the Chains shall never break." the voice now became twisted, corrupt; As if the entity unmasked itself to Valia in a time vision had already been lost, the more her eyes embraced Reality again.

"Specimen 6-1-3, stabilizing..."

"Apply anesthetic. Prepare for transfer."​

"Compliance."

Voices blurred as the mind spinned in a chemically enduced limbo.

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia felt the sharp pain lance through her chest where she had plunged the knife, enough that it made her vision flash white, or so she assumed the cause of that flash. She pushed through the pain, plunging and twisting the knife through flesh even as the pain became more intense and the flashes happened again. Her nostrils picking up a scent that had become all too familiar to her.

No matter how much she tried and how much she attempted to dig into her flesh and inside. Nothing. Her knife cut nothing, her hand clawed at nothing, only dark mist that poured out. Valia wept in frustration as her plan failed, the dread of realization washing over her like cold water that she would be forced back into the world of the living once more. Denied another death by the thing that stood in front of her.

She only stopped once she felt hands grip her shoulders, looking up in despair at the reflection in front of her. Its words will forever be etched within her mind, a constant reminder that even her own death had a price and there was nothing she could do otherwise. The knife fell from her hands as they slumped down, moving them felt impossible. Another flash, Valia could taste metal and air being forced into her lungs, though that made little sense.

"Why?"

Was all she could mutter. Valia would never know the answer as the world became more and more blurred. The sensation of tubes down her throat became more apparent and she could hear distant, rapid beeps from beyond that seemed to get closer. Even when she knew it was futile, Valia resisted with all she could, desperately holding onto the afterlife as if trying to make a dream last forever even it degraded more and more each second. One last flash and Valia was forced back into the realm of the living.

---

Valia's eyes shot open, their color an intense yellow-red instead of their usual violet. All she could see was the blinding lights above her. Her body felt utterly battered, sore and bruised as if she had been beaten by Eosfor himself. Her lungs burnt like she was breathing in fire as the life support tubes forced precious oxygen into them, she felt the kick of her heart against her sternum, heavy and unsteady, pounding too hard but not quite as rhythmically as it should be, synced with the beeping that invaded her hearing. Enough to pump the lifeblood that her body had been deprived of for who knows how long.

Her mind was disorientated and confused, instinctively choking against the life support as she once did years ago. Yet, in her brief moments of consciousness, she felt and overwhelming sense of anger and rage, against the one who had denied her death and the ones responsible for bring her back into the living. Valia thrashed against the restraints that held her down, whether intentionally or unintentionally, she exerted her powers through the force and tore away the buckles that locked the restraints on her hands.

Before she could grab anything within reach. The anesthetic took hold, Valia fading into unconsciousness once more.

 

[Kirki Tyr'Opta]

"Are you there?"

"Can you hear me?"​

The voice a melody that sung a tale unspoken. A strange warmth embracing her in a fabric sensible yet unseen. Distant. Yet reaching out, enough to latch against her very intestines with the power of unfathomable obsession, dressed in kindness. A port of fair seas in an ocean of tempest.

"Stay with me. We are almost there"

Each word an echo, consumed by the broken barriers of time and memory, deep in intoxication and exhaustion to be placed in a single coherent memory. When the words were spoken, before or after the echoing of the hyperdrive engine, or how long after, or before, the lightsaber screeched to the orchestra of screams, one could only guess.

The starship's cabin was narrow and low-ceiling, dressed in naked durasteel; Typical Sith fashion. The curved blastdoor and the main messhall beyond the cabin hinted to a Fury-Class Interceptor's internal structure. Someting further proven by the serpent-like corridor that led onward, into the wide cockpit. Blood stained the walls, while the cadaver of a marauder was left unattended in the very middle of the messhall, surrounded by wounded walls and cracked catwalk by lightsaber cuts, hinting to the fight that unfolded, at some point, onboard. Very recently, considering the cuts on the durasteel were still fiery in places, and the blood spilled had yet to coalgulate.

Vibrations from the stern of the starfighter shook the catwalk, as the hyperdrive overcharged again and again, desperately trying to bypass its own malfunctions.

Kirki was seated on the cockpit. Her white dress marked by blood, and her exposed abdomen had grown dark by the exposure to lightning. On occasion, she flinched, holding her abdomen with her one hand, as if to ease the periodic spikes of pain caused by whatever internal damage caused. Her one hand resting on the helm, while the other gently pressed on the plethora of buttons on the console, piloting the ship through hyperspace without autopilot, as the frame for that was invaded by a vibrowblade, still imbedded in the system. The wielder's hand still holding the weapon, though the rest of the body beyond the wrist was scattered in charred remains along the cockpit proper.

 

[Valia Muqai]

The darkness that came after was nothing more than a dreamless slumber. Cold nothingness that felt like an endless pit. At the same time, it was a relief from the horrors she had been subjected to, though it was anything but restful.

A familiar voice broke the neverending silence. Mixed with the sounds of distant fighting, how close or far the bloodshed was, Valia could not tell. All she knew was Kirki's voice was the closest thing she had to a source of warmth.

Valia stirred from her slumber, gradually returning to full consciousness. Confusion gripped her, along with fatigue. For one, she did not awake in or freshly out of bacta tank or worse, on the operating table attached to life support. In fact, it seemed like she had awakened in an entirely different place. Not within Eosfor's accursed ship, it did not have the same foulness physically and mentally.

She sat up from the cot, sitting at the edge. Valia felt an uncharacteristic cold, emptiness within her chest. Yet, when she rested on it, she felt the kick of heart within. Even in her fatigued state, she knew that should not be. Not after what she had done.

Valia stood up and exited the cabin. Almost absentmindedly stumbling down into the corpse littered messhall, which she continued through until she could see the cockpit. Where she could see the familiar figure of Kirki seated at.

"Kirki" A hoarse voice called out. Valia felt like she hadn't spoken in years. Valia leaned against the wall for support as she felt weakened and exhausted.

"Kirki... what is this?"

 

[Kirki Tyr'Opta]

Kirki tightened her grip around the small helm, as if pushing herself to remain awake. Her teeth exposed, grinning to the very sensation she was most familiar.

Pain...

Pain was the driving force of the Sith in the Dark Crusade...

Pain was the very proof she had yet to succeed in the quest so many times fallen adrift, until there was nothing but blind hatred to all things pure. And yet, just like in Hyperspace jump, Kirki steered herself back irrespective of consequence or fatigue.

"It was the only way to get the ship... They were too Blind to see. Rest, little Euphorbia... One of us must do the talking, and it won't be me..."

Her fiery eyes visibly weakened, revealing an abysmal black beneath, surrounded by pale. The stench of Death followed her every motion, like a vulture patiently waiting for the flesh to hit the soil, abandoned by Life.
Kirki's eyes turned to the tracking screen, quick to fixate on the seemingly planetary mass set as destination for the hyperspace jump. The planet was registered. A bright red alarm beamed over it, indicating its hostile nature.

Destination: Omwat, Omwat System
---Garis Sector<<<

>>>ALERT<<<

AFFILIATION: GALACTIC REPUBLIC
THREAT STATUS: ACTIVE

CONTACT: T-20 Seconds

IMMINENT

The planet's name a heavy weight. Many a time Dark Crusade splinter fleets had attempted to raid Garis Sector, each crowned with yet another jewel of thorns. Though Minos had fallen, Garis stood a bright emblem of Defiance, and determination, as the Omwati and the Jedi that escaped the Dark Crusade's carnage rallied under the banners of the Omwati champion, Blethesi Dolo Xux. A name with major bounty by the Dark Lord himself...

The monitor rung once again, as the scanners detected tracking probes.

Kirki took a deep breath. Her hand darted back to her burned abdomen. Her tired eyes, now drenched in witchcraft of her own making, turned to Valia, as she slowly leaned back to the pilot's chair. Her hand reached out, as if to grasp Valia, though knowing she was much farther from her reach.

"We are nearly there..."

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia's sense of time was entirely obfuscated and useless, not having even the vague idea how long had passed since she had lost consciousness and awoken on the smaller ship. All she could remember was plunging the knife into her chest, being overcome by darkness after, then what happened after…

Sharp, burning pain began to radiate around her chest as her senses began to normalize, which made her grimace and hiss through her teeth. Clothing brushing against a stitched wound that was still raw to the touch, cold, and festering. Though Valia did not notice the rancid scent, owing to her sense of smell being overwhelmed by the scent of blood and nose blindness to such things in general.

“What do you mean? Where are you taking me!” Valia demanded, her hoarse voice cracking at her increased tone. It hurt to yell, a brief wave of pain coursed across her chest as she did so.

She stumbled over closer to Kirki, towards the adjacent pilot seat where she seated herself, slackening against it as if the effort of walking drained her completely of any remaining energy she had. Her breaths came in quick and heavy, Valia felt almost starved for oxygen in her current state.

The seat remained out of Kirki's grasps, and she did not reach out to hold her hand. Valia found a sense of comfort within Kirki, an escape from the pain and horrors that Darth Eosfor inflicted onto her. In a way, Kirki felt nothing more like a drug; pleasurable, almost addicting, yet horribly unhealthy. There was no love felt from Valia towards the Sith Pureblood, yet she found it difficult to live without her.

“Why are we going to the Omwat System? Stop with your vague riddles, I have no time for it! Just tell me!” Her tone hissed with anger, an uncharacteristic way for Valia to address Kirki most of the time. The prospect of having escaped the Dark Crusade thanks to Kirki was entirely overshadowed by the prospect of being brought somewhere worse.

For once, Valia's instinct of self-preservation was active.

 

[Kirki Tyr'Opta]

Kirki shook her head. Even in such times, Valia was unable to see through the veil of dark miasma so deeply seeded into her by the works of the Dark Lord, and yet, never strong enough to grow roots.

"No riddles, Euphorbia. No more."

Her hand lowered, as if denied of the little strength to keep it up, as Kirki accepted Valia's perpetual denial. Never had Valia truly let herself be rid of the anxiety and dread that was a synonym to the Dark Crusade's deranged culture. Even with her, the barbed wire around her chest was still visible.

"You will never become like Him." she grinned, grasping her abdomen. Her eyes turning to the navicomputer screen. "You do not belong in the clutches of the Dark Crusade. I am giving you what He would never do. A way out."

The starship's deck shook, as it was spat out of Hyperspace. The navicomputers ringing in shock, trying to alert anyone who would heed to the fact that the Hyperspace Jump was hijacked barely before arriving at the destination.

"You have been a feather to the winds of the Sith far too long. I cannot watch you decay any longer."

Her head finally resting on her shoulder. Her eyes turning to the transmission screen, beeping as an incoming transmission was received. It was a matter of time before it came to this, Kirki thought to herself. Only a matter of time before their ship was spotted by the Deep Space Probes, or the patrolling elements, and intercepted by the more capable units of the Navy.

The very start of their odyssey, Kirki acknowledged. For there was no greater risk than falling in the hands of those that had been so systematically purged throughout the existence of the Crusade, now a mere presence in the schemes of the ones above.

Kirki did not care. Her heart barely producing a beat. Her mark in the Force, once a dominant fountain of ecstasy and twisted will, now a vague presence, gripped more by Death than by the Darkness that once defined her.

"I guess you are the wind now."

In many ways, Kirki had an inexplicable trust in Valia. Though known for her defiant nature and rebelous character, Kirki posed no sign of stress or doubt of what was to come.

"And I, the feather."

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia never held any love for Kirki, true or otherwise. Her heart had no more room for such emotions after the Dark Crusade had butchered her into what she had become then. Yet, the sith pureblood sorceress had been her only source of warmth in the cold wasteland that was Darth Eosfor's influence. The only one she could speak with and seek out to escape from the pain, a moment of pleasure or comfort, even when Valia knew she was nothing more than a mere plaything to Kirki.

She could hardly believe the words Kirki spoke. The idea of escape had long been banished from Valia's mind, and to plunge a knife into her chest was the last, remaining way of escape Valia could think of, and even that failed. Then, after years of pain, anguish, despair, she was being granted the one thing she had always wanted? Valia wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, torn between disbelief and relief.

"Escape?! What do you mean by escape?!!" Valia yelled out in her hoarse voice, an effort that caused a spike of pain across her chest. Her disbelief quickly turned into worry, then panic, as she realized that Kirki's life was slipping away before her eyes. She could feel it in the force itself, a rapidly dimming presence.

Valia quickly reached towards Kirki and tightly gripped the other woman's hand as if trying to keep her from falling. "No! Not after everything. You can't leave me. No.... no..." She pleaded. Even through the force, Valia exerted whatever willpower she could muster in her attempt to keep Kirki from slipping from whatever grasp she had, to pull her away from death's grip, just as it had been to Valia many times before.

She could hardly notice what was happening to the ship around them and the danger of being spotted.

 

[Kirki Tyr'Opta]

Kirki blinked. Slowly, as if barely to hint to her lungs still drawing breath. Her own hand was lacking of any sensation, as if she wasn't but a manifestation, not made of flesh but of thought and will and witchcraft. An art she had perhaps mastered, yet now failing in a time most dire. She didn't show any care. Her life, in many ways, was always forfeit.

"You will never be a Sith." she murmured. "Death will have you before He ever does... and I cannot watch this any longer."

Her eyes turned to the screen, behind Valia. Blurry, now, drained of the spark she had brought to define her over the years in the Dark Crusade. She recognized a second transmission attempt, while the Liberator-class starfighter became gradually visible in the distance beyond the transparesteel.

More energy traces were detected by the scanner, hinting to the existence of a full squadron of Republic Starfighters, now creeping ever-closer to the interceptor.

"The Jedi... They.. will show you. Heal you, if you still believe in them. Go."

She offered a smile, drenched in what could only be described as melancholy stained by something long buried and forgotten... Something eerie... Something uncorrupt...

Kindness.

"Answer it." she tried to point to the communication screen. She attempted to lift herself from the seat, her gaze fixated to the communications. "We are on a Sith ship... You don't answer... they wi..." she grasped her abdomen, as a spike of pain rushed from it. A grimache formed in her face, before her hand pressed on Valia's shoulder with what little strength she had left. "Go!"

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia was utterly baffled, confused, and panicking. She found Kirki's actions utterly baffling and unpredictable. So many questions flowed through her mind, on the whys, hows, and when, yet no time to ask nor gain any answers for them as the Liberator-class starfighter became visible from across the void. Republic ships, she hadn't seen those ever since she fell into the clutches of the Dark Crusade. Though she had little time to gawk at them before she needed to communicate with them or be destroyed. The latter would have been incredibly appealing had Valia not craved the hope of escape.

She leaned over the communications screen and the control panels beneath, letting go of Kirki's hand to fiddle with unfamiliar controls until she managed to figure out how to transmit a response to the republic ships despite her shaking hands and stormed mind.

For a moment, Valia didn't know what to say. It had been so long since she had spoken to anyone to outside the Dark Crusade that doing so once more felt unreal. There was a short while of silence in the transmission before she was able to finally find the words.

"Republic forces, this is...." Another short while of silence. "Do not fire. I am a captive on this ship, and I mean no harm."

 

[Dreadheart]

"This is Captain Jason Remla, Red Squadron." the voice through the transmission sharp, cautious. There was no telling from which of the starfighters the Captain spoke from, as the signal was scrambled by the starfighters' system.

The Liberator Starfighters themselves, a name only adding to the confusion and irony of the encounter, advanced around the Interceptor, in a clearly encircling manoeuver. Alas, of all the wickedness and manipulations of the Sith, even a distress call could not be taken without precaution.

The pilots of the starfighters knew better than trusting anything nearing the Sith, for there had been many attempts to break the fortress that had become of Omwat. After years of perpetual struggle, preserving the supply lines from the inner Rims with blood and sacrifice, the republic forces had yet to lose heir sense of purpose.

"We got a Type-3 situation on my coordinates. Requesting Evac team, over." Captain Remla spoke through the commlink intergraded into his helmet. The channel with the Interceptor still open, the red Mute button active below the projectionless console.
He turned to the sides, muscle memory kicking in as he performed a visual scan of his surroundings, and the Fury Interceptor that levitated not too far from his moving Liberator.

"Eyes open, boys, this could still be a trap. Red 2, on 6, 3 and 5s, get some perimeter set. We will be here for awhile."

He piloted his starfighter around the Fury Interceptor, until he stabilized it right infront of the octagonal transparesteel cockpit viewport of the Sith ship, approaching close enough for both cockpits to be visually recognizable.

Remla was a Togruta, his Lekku covered by a red bandana net, crowned with the electronics and life support gear that strapped him on the pilot's seat. His gaze, covered by pilot visors, clearly trying to scan the interior of the Fury's cockpit.

He switched off the Mute buttorn.

"Calm yourself. We are going to get you out of there. What is your name?"

 

[Valia Muqai]

The Republic's distrust was to be expected. Even Valia herself didn't trust what was happening; naturally, the Republic wouldn't either. A sense of relief washed over her at their willingness not to simply blow up the ship and be done with it. That was certainly what the Sith would have done, anyway.

Valia looked up at the opposing ship, looking into the viewport. She held a hand up to her eyes to shield them from the brighter-than-expected light coming from it. Remla did not appear like the typical Republic officer that she could recall from memory, not that it mattered to her. All she cared about was finally getting the escape that she had so desperately craved, feeling the rarest, faint glimmer of hope within once more.

She slumped back in her seat. Finding herself unable to find an answer to Remla's question, a painfully simple one that she couldn't even think of an answer to. Was she Roshia? Was she Valia? Even thinking of either of her names struck a sharp pain within her heart. Perhaps that was due to her festering stitches; it was difficult to tell.

"I... I... don't remember... It's been so long." She held a hand to her head. Feeling newfound weakness wash over her, likely from fatigue. "I don't know what to answer."