Expansion The Empires Fall | Overtaking Syngia Trade Sector | Colundra Sector

[Darth Malvus]

Edge of the Colundra Sector – Orbit Over Kruskan


Above the orbit of Kruskan, the Shadow Eclipse emerged from hyperspace like a blade drawn from shadow. Its obsidian hull shimmered faintly against the planet’s pale clouds, a silent herald of the power that now descended upon the Colundra Sector.

Within the command chamber, Darth Malvus stood in still contemplation. His crimson eyes tracked the landscape far below as he addressed his court.

“Dr. Rul,” he said without turning, “you will divert to Troiken. Acquire viable Xextos splices. I want environmental adaptability and neural resilience tested across harsher terrain. Make the planet your laboratory—refine the next phase of the H.U.S.K. soldiers.”

With a flick of his wrist, the command was encoded and dispatched.

He turned toward the comms station. “Begin approach. I will descend to Kruskan’s capital. This time, we forge alliances—not through fire, but diplomacy.”

As the Shadow Eclipse initiated descent protocols, Malvus’ final message echoed across the chamber:

“Yulvaris remains in Syngia. He will ensure all proceeds without deviation. Anyone who strays from our path will be dealt with… accordingly.”

The shadows lengthened as the flagship dropped toward the heart of Kruskan. The next conquest would be won in council, not combat—at least for now.

Tag: @Rul Tondar

 

[Darth Malvus]

Planet Kruskan – Noble Capital of Harthala


The Shadow Eclipse descended like a silent judgment from the heavens, casting a wide shadow over the spires of Harthala. The vessel, sleek and obsidian-black, bore no planetary flags or banners of war—only the enigmatic insignia of a reemerging power few truly understood.

Darth Malvus stood at the fore of his personal shuttle, arms folded behind his back as the capital of Kruskan unfolded beneath him. He had not come with legions. Not with fleets. Not even with threats.

This would be a different conquest.

He would use words as his blade and ambition as his lever.

“Too many have relied on fear,” he muttered, more to himself than to those around him. “Let them fear silence instead.”

The shuttle landed upon the polished landing pad of the High Conclave Plaza, the ceremonial center of Kruskan’s ancient noble order. Marbled towers and golden walkways surrounded him, guarded not by soldiers, but by protocol and tradition. He was greeted with tight courtesies, veiled looks, and the sharp eyes of the highborn. Whispers had preceded him, but no name. No fleet traced his path. No intelligence warned of what had come.

Just a presence. Just a shadow.

He walked alone, without entourage, into the heart of the Noble Assembly. There, under a vaulted ceiling of stained transparisteel, the heads of Kruskan’s noble houses waited—curious, aloof, and entirely unprepared.

Malvus stopped before them, tall and calm, his voice smooth as molten metal.

“Lords and Ladies of Kruskan,” he said, not bowing but not demanding either. “You do not know me, but you will know my purpose.”

He let the silence draw, heavy and deliberate.

“I come not to take from you. I come to offer something no one else dares—relevance.”

The room remained silent, but a few nobles leaned forward, their interest piqued.

“Your titles, your holdings, your legacy—these have endured because of your careful hands. But the galaxy is changing. The Empire you once knew no longer commands the Sith. Its grasp weakens. Its vision splinters.”

His eyes met those of the Archduke of House Veltrin, one of the oldest bloodlines on the planet.

“I am not here to destroy Kruskan. I am here to ensure it endures.”

Datapads were distributed—encrypted, precise. Contained within: blueprints for trade expansion, orbital station enhancements, military protections, and positions of power within a growing shadow network that now quietly touched distant stars.

“You have the choice,” Malvus said, folding his hands. “To remain isolated in your palaces, blind to what approaches… or to be at the forefront of something greater. Not a revolution. Not a rebellion. A return to fear. A return to strength.”

He stepped back, his presence lingering like a storm behind sealed glass.

“I offer no threats. Only opportunity.”

With that, he departed into the central hall, leaving the nobles to consider what he had brought them.

They didn’t know Syngia had fallen.

They didn’t know Perenelle Dee now ruled it under his will.

They didn’t need to.

Kruskan would fall too—but with open doors and gilded speech, not shattered walls.

And as Malvus disappeared into the marbled depths of the capital, the shadow of his ambition spread, silent and cold.

 

[Darth Malvus]

Noble Assembly Hall – Capital City of Harthala, Planet Kruskan


Darth Malvus’ presence lingered in the hall like a shadow carved into stone. He stood unmoving, cloaked in the obsidian folds of his war attire, eyes fixed on the nobles seated before him. The air was thick with tension—uneasy silence competing with the weight of what had just been proposed.

The lords and ladies of Kruskan sat within the tiered marble ring of the Assembly Hall, flickers of data from Malvus’ presented offer still hovering above the central holotable: projected trade expansions, schematics of orbital defenses, and lines of imperial legitimacy tied to veiled authority.

Archduke Veltrin, the most senior among them, rose first.

“A Sith enters our hall and speaks not of domination, but of unity,” Veltrin said, his voice deep, measured. “You wield words as finely as a lightsaber, Lord Malvus.”

Lady Serana of House Darviel leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “Kruskan has endured through a thousand shifts of power- And yet here we stand.”

Her lips curled faintly. “The galaxy moves in cycles. But what you bring is… not chaos. It’s order. Calculated. Cold. Intentional.”

Baron Dhalmor crossed his arms. “Yet still you are Sith. Your kind burn planets when words fail. Why should we trust that yours won’t?”

Malvus’ voice came calmly, deep and unwavering. “Because I do not need to burn what I already control.”

A quiet settled again.

Veltrin gave a slow nod.

“You’ve left us little doubt of your capability. What remains is to determine your reliability.”

Serana stood next. “We will not kneel. But we will walk beside you. If Kruskan gains security, prosperity, and a seat at the table of what is coming… then we will speak with one voice.”

She turned to Veltrin and the others. “Let the nobles of Kruskan stand united. We accept.”

Malvus’ eyes narrowed slightly—calculating, but not cold.

“Then Kruskan becomes the first to join the vision willingly. You’ve chosen wisely.”

He stepped forward once, the hem of his cloak brushing against the floor, the faint mechanical hum of the holotable reflecting across the polished floor.

“Send your envoys to my flagship, the Shadow Eclipse. Let them speak with my court. Begin preparations for integrated defense, economic cooperation, and political alignment.”

He let the silence settle again—this time not with tension, but authority.

“I ask for no oaths. Only that you stand ready when the time comes.”

Veltrin bowed his head. Not deeply—but enough.

“Then we are agreed. Kruskan will stand beside you.”

And so, beneath the glow of noble light and Sith shadow, the pact was sealed.

 

[Darth Malvus]

Location: Kruskan – Noble District, Twilight Docks


The crimson sun of Kruskan dipped behind its jagged peaks, casting long shadows across the durasteel platforms of the Twilight Docks. A deep, rhythmic hum echoed across the skies as the Shadow Eclipse, flagship of Darth Malvus, loomed above in silent majesty—its black silhouette blotting out stars.

Malvus stood at the edge of the platform, his cloak billowing in the high-altitude wind, eyes locked onto the descending landing craft that would return him to his ship. The negotiations had yielded enough — they had seen his presence, felt the pressure of his power, and most importantly, they did not yet resist. That was all the time he needed.

He activated his wrist-comm.

“Dispatch Shadow Team Theta,” he commanded coldly. “I want that stronghold combed. There’s a Sith holocron buried beneath its southern sanctum—buried under centuries of superstition and noble neglect. I want it extracted intact and brought aboard the Shadow Eclipse for decryption.”

A flicker of violet light danced in his eyes as he turned away from the horizon. “There are techniques lost to the Order—secrets we will need in the wars to come.”

With a low hiss of hydraulics, the ramp of the transport lowered. Malvus stepped aboard without hesitation.

The doors sealed shut, and moments later, the transport screamed into the sky, returning him to his flagship above.

---

Aboard the Shadow Eclipse


High Orbit over Kruskan

Within the black heart of the Shadow Eclipse, Darth Malvus took his place upon the command throne of the central chamber, flanked by obsidian pillars and whispering Sith statues retrieved from ruined temples.

“Maintain orbit,” he ordered. “Let the nobles see our shadow in their skies.”

He turned to his comms officer. “Signal our observation posts. Inform Lady Dee that we are proceeding with Phase II. Trade and control will remain uninterrupted. We will not draw the Empire’s eye… not yet.”

His voice dropped to a low growl.

“And send word to our envoys. I want their full reports by week’s end. Before we turn our gaze toward Korriban and Dromund Kaas, I want every weak link in our chain reforged.”

Malvus leaned back, fingers steepled.

“Soon, the cradle worlds will remember what true Sith unity feels like.”

 

[The Obsidian Court]

Location: Aboard the Shadow Eclipse


Orbiting Kruskan, Colundra Sector

Within the grand strategy chamber of the Shadow Eclipse, the obsidian-lit room pulsed faintly with red illumination from ancient Sith glyphs lining the walls. The air was cool and thick with silence, broken only by the low hum of the flagship’s reactor and the rhythmic clicking of boots on the polished floor.

The chamber doors hissed open.

Three nobles from Kruskan entered—envoys of the most powerful houses still holding sway on the planet below. Dressed in a fusion of local regalia and ceremonial robes influenced by the Empire’s formality, they stepped forward with the caution of men standing before a predator.

The lead envoy, Lord Vaelos of House Draethe, gave a measured bow, his grey eyes sharp beneath his silver-lined hood.

“Darth Malvus,” he began with practiced grace, “we are honored to stand in your presence aboard the vessel that now casts its gaze upon our world. We come bearing proposals on behalf of our houses, and with hopes of contributing to your grander vision.”

Malvus remained seated in his command throne, cloaked in shadow, the red light from above gleaming faintly off his armor. He gestured with a slight motion of his fingers—continue.

Vaelos nodded. “We’ve assessed the shifting winds in the galaxy. The Empire’s core is faltering—fractured between ideology and ambition. The Sith have become isolated warlords, drunk on their own power or lost in ritual. But you, my lord… you are something else.”

Another noble, Lady Triss Varn of House Elure, stepped in. “We wish to pledge our houses to your cause—not as simple vassals, but as partners to ensure the Colundra sector becomes a fortified, economically rich, and politically stable foundation for what is to come.”

Lord Vaelos continued, “Our planets have infrastructure, control over local trade routes, and we can manipulate regional allegiance in your favor—all without alerting the greater Imperial hierarchy. The sector remains officially loyal to the Empire… but quietly answers to you.”

He then took a breath and gave a final, respectful nod.

“We only ask for guarantees—that our sovereignty within this alliance remains honored, and that the nobility’s role in the new order you shape is preserved.”

The room was still.

The noble envoys stood in silence, watching Malvus—waiting to see if they had offered enough… or if they had sealed their fate.

 

[Darth Malvus]

Aboard the Shadow Eclipse


High Orbit over Kruskan – Colundra Sector

Darth Malvus remained silent for a long moment, seated in his command throne as the envoys’ words settled in the chamber like dust in still air. The ambient red glow from the Sith glyphs reflected in his eyes, faintly illuminating the expressionless helm of the warlord who had so easily brought Syngia to heel—though none in the room yet knew the name of that broken world.

When he finally stood, the room seemed to grow heavier, his presence filling the chamber like a coiled storm.

He stepped down from the dais, boots echoing across the durasteel floor. His voice—calm, deep, deliberate—cut through the air like a blade:

“Your proposal is… acceptable.”

He circled slowly around the nobles like a predator among guests he’d chosen not to devour. Yet.

“You see the truth clearly. The Empire is fractured. The Sith have become children with fire—each one desperate to shape the galaxy in their image, or burn it all to ashes trying.”

Malvus stopped before Lord Vaelos.

“But I am not like them.”

He turned toward Lady Triss.

“I have no interest in scorched empires. Only in power wielded with purpose. In a vision not driven by ego, but by order. The galaxy will not fear a thousand Sith bickering for scraps—it will fear one will, one voice, one shadow cast across the stars.”

He let that linger, then turned to face all three nobles.

“You will have your autonomy. Your houses will remain in power, your influence untouched. In return, you will serve—not as pawns, but as stewards of this sector’s rise. Colundra will become a fortress, a beacon of control and prosperity… and a staging ground for what comes next.”

He paused again.

“My agents will assist you in implementing the needed changes—fortifying trade routes, strengthening planetary defenses, ensuring loyalty through the networks that matter. Quietly. Efficiently.”

His tone shifted—cool, precise.

“And know this: betrayal is not punished with diplomacy. It is erased.”

He turned back toward the chamber’s central table, activating a display of the surrounding systems—including distant, flickering red indicators over Korriban and Dromund Kaas.

“The ancient worlds grow decadent. Their leaders cling to symbols while the galaxy outgrows them. We will not wait for the old Sith to fall apart. We will bring about the new age.”

Finally, Malvus motioned toward the nobles.

“Go. Begin the preparations. My people will coordinate the implementation of our arrangement. And rest assured… should any challenge arise from the core, they will not see Colundra. They will see only another loyal sector.”

He paused before sitting once more.

“But in truth… it will be ours.”

With that, the conversation was done—dismissed not with anger or force, but with the quiet authority of a Sith who knew he was shaping the future.

 

[The Obsidian Court]

Aboard the Shadow Eclipse


Command Briefing Chambers – Orbit above Kruskan

The nobles’ envoys bowed low before Darth Malvus, their expressions a careful balance of deference and calculation. The atmosphere remained charged, though less from fear now and more from urgency. The pact had been made, and as quickly as the words had been exchanged, the machinery of a new alliance began to turn.

Lord Vaelos’ representative—a wiry man named Jarn Athell with a silver-inlaid datapad—stepped forward first, accompanied by two of his house’s finest tacticians. “Lord Malvus,” he began smoothly, “House Vaelos has already begun contacting our military logistics arm on Kruskan and the moons of Khera. Our defense platforms will be undergoing structural reinforcement within the week. We’ve also flagged several orbital anchor points where your fleet could be supported discreetly if needed.”

Athell handed the datapad to one of Malvus’ aides—encrypted plans, transit schedules, and names of loyalist captains within their ranks.

Lady Triss’ envoy, a stately woman clad in noble finery woven with subtle cortosis filaments, inclined her head before speaking. “House Triss will handle the political front. We will call a closed summit of the regional governors—ostensibly to discuss trade normalization with the Outer Rim—to begin weaving your authority into our diplomatic threads. We’ve also arranged for several of your agents to be entered into our courts as cultural advisors. Their true role will remain unseen.”

She smiled faintly. “Influence is a weapon that draws no blood, yet leaves kingdoms hollow.”

Finally, the youngest of the envoys, from Lord Rethan’s line, approached—a tall man with pale skin and a cybernetic eye. “We’ve begun purging known dissenters quietly. Communications relays in the minor colonies are being reprogrammed to route priority traffic through nodes we control. In two weeks, the entire planetary web will be monitored. Any who question the changes will either find themselves reassigned… or replaced.”

The envoy turned to Malvus fully now.

“Our lords understand what is at stake, Darth Malvus. They do not see this as submission, but evolution. Your way… offers continuity where others offer chaos.”

Another aide of Malvus approached, offering each envoy sealed cases—Obsidian Court communication nodes, finely tuned encryption drives, and sigils bearing the shadowed seal of Malvus’ authority.

“Your integration into our network is to be swift,” the aide said coldly. “Any delay will be interpreted as resistance.”

Jarn Athell nodded. “Then there will be no delay.”

As the envoys departed back to the planet to carry out their tasks, the screen behind Malvus displayed a live schematic of Kruskan and its orbit—lines forming, networks linking, sectors being marked in new colors.

Colundra was no longer a drifting power within the Empire.

It now pulsed with the silent heartbeat of Malvus’ will.

 

[Darth Malvus]

Aboard the Shadow Eclipse


Strategic Command Deck – High Orbit Above Kruskan


Darth Malvus stood alone at the broad observation window of the Shadow Eclipse, his towering form silhouetted against the swirl of clouds and sun-glinting metal that marked Kruskan’s upper atmosphere. The planet was aligning—politically, economically, ideologically. Not through fire or fear alone, but through precision. Through plans carefully laid and power deftly extended.

The envoys had done well. Their lords understood what so many others did not: submission to strength could be elevation, not subjugation. Their preparations were not merely acceptable—they were ideal.

He turned to the holotable behind him, watching as the territories across Kruskan lit up in Obsidian Court red, lines stretching like veins across systems that once served the decaying core of a fractured Empire. He nodded slowly, pleased.

“Colundra bends without breaking,” he said aloud. “This is how we reshape the Empire—one sector at a time.”

But then his gaze moved past the present. Past the dozens of sectors awaiting influence or conquest. It fixed on a name etched into every dark corner of his memory:

Korriban.

His homeworld.

Not just the cradle of the Sith, but the rusted cage of their ideology. Dogma, superstition, fractured lines of belief competing beneath sandstorms and tombs. Korriban wouldn’t be won through diplomacy, nor through war. No—if Malvus was to take Korriban, he needed to reshape the very soul of the Sith who still clung to it.

And he knew there was only one being capable of such a feat.

He stepped forward and keyed a specific frequency into the encrypted comms—an ancient code, buried behind layers of glyphs and sorcerous wards. A signal that only one mind would recognize.

Within seconds, the dark blue holo-form of Sith Master Veraxis emerged from the table. Hooded, ageless, and coiled in presence like a serpent mid-hunt.

“Darth Malvus,” Veraxis hissed, voice low, ancient, knowing. “It has been some time.”

Malvus bowed his head—not in submission, but in respect.

“Master Veraxis,” he said firmly, “I summon you not for counsel… but for action.”

“Ah,” Veraxis purred. “The call of purpose. Speak it.”

“Korriban,” Malvus said simply. “It festers. The academies are archaic, split between zealous cults and self-obsessed warlords. Its faith is brittle. I could take it by force—but it would fracture again within a cycle.”

“Then what would you have me do?” Veraxis murmured, his eyes like frozen suns.

“I want you to change it,” Malvus said. “The ideology. The foundations. Not through battle—but through belief. Infiltrate the temples. The academies. Twist the old texts. Guide the young minds. Corrupt the scholars. Make them ready—not to follow me… but to worship what we will become.”

There was silence—tense, electric.

Then Veraxis smiled.

“To alter Korriban… is to rewrite the DNA of the Sith. Dangerous. Delicious.”

He leaned forward. “It will take time. Sacrifices. Altars will burn. But it will be done.”

Malvus straightened.

“Then begin at once. I will keep the Empire’s gaze elsewhere while you work. When the time comes, Korriban will no longer be theirs to claim—it will believe it was always ours.”

The connection cut, leaving only Malvus’ reflection in the holotable’s dimming light.

He turned back to the viewport, his voice low and certain:

“The new Sith Order will not rise from ash and rubble… but from faith. And I will give them something real to believe in.”

 

[The Obsidian Court]

Surface of Kruskan – Outer Perimeter of the Ancient Stronghold

Shadow Team Theta – Obsidian Court Recovery Operation


Lightning slashed the sky as rain fell like needles over the jagged cliffs of Kruskan. The stronghold ahead looked more like a wound in the planet than a fortress—its stonework blackened and warped by ancient energies, half-consumed by the earth itself. An eerie crimson glow bled faintly from cracks in the stone, pulsing in rhythm with something long-forgotten beneath.

Shadow Team Theta approached in silence, their shuttle cloaked under atmospheric dispersion. The team moved in tandem, six elite agents clad in reactive black armor, each bearing the insignia of the Obsidian Court and encoded with layers of mental shielding against the influence of Sith relics.

Commander Kael Vox activated his field scanner, its display flickering with static as interference grew stronger with every step.

“We’re in the outer radius. Readings are distorted. The place is laced with residual force signatures and arcane bleed-off. This isn’t just a ruin… something in there is awake.”

Mara Kel, the team’s tech-witch and sorcery specialist, paused to examine a shattered statue that once flanked the broken path.

“These glyphs are defensive,” she murmured. “Designed to protect something powerful. Possibly a sentient holocron or a memory anchor. If it’s still functional, it might resist us—violently.”

A sudden gust of wind howled through the stone archways ahead. With it came a low-frequency hum, barely audible, but enough to rattle teeth inside helmets. The stronghold had recognized them.

Kael raised a fist, signaling the team to move in pairs.

They passed through the shattered gates, into corridors choked with moss, bone fragments, and rotted banners bearing symbols from before the Great Hyperspace War. Their lights cast long, shifting shadows across murals depicting ancient Sith Lords conducting rituals not seen in the galaxy for millennia.

In one hallway, the team found the remains of a previous expedition—mummified, their armor fused to their bodies, their faces frozen mid-scream. Scorch marks lined the walls around them, but not from blasters.

“Force burns,” Kel said grimly. “Something lashed out with sorcery. A guardian, perhaps. Or the holocron itself rejecting would-be thieves.”

“We proceed, but no contact with the core chamber,” Kael commanded. “We locate the holocron, confirm its presence, and transmit the layout. No retrieval until we know how to disarm whatever protections it’s embedded with.”

They entered what appeared to be an antechamber: circular, with seven arches leading deeper into the sanctum. Each passage was marked with a different sigil—each pulsing with red light.

Solis, the team’s scout, scanned them all.

“They’re trial gates,” she whispered. “Each one leads to a trial. Not all of us may be able to enter the same one. The stronghold is testing us… or trying to divide us.”

A tremor rippled through the ground. The walls groaned.

Something deep below stirred.

Suddenly, one of the arches flared—sigils erupting into flame—and a dark mist began to seep from it. Shapes moved within. Not beasts. Not ghosts. Something older.

Kael activated his comm-link to the Shadow Eclipse above.

“Theta to Eclipse. We’ve breached the stronghold. Holocron presence is confirmed—deep inside, heavily warded. Initial contact with defensive systems has begun. We’ll hold position and map safe routes to the core. Retrieval window pending.”

From orbit, the Shadow Eclipse locked onto their signal. Darth Malvus, deep in meditation aboard the command bridge, opened his eyes.

The hunt had begun.

And the holocron was not going to be given—it would have to be earned.

 

[The Obsidian Court]

Location: Forgotten Stronghold, Subterranean Depths – Kruskan


Obsidian Court Operation – Theta Squadron


The corridor stretched on like the throat of a beast—black, pulsing with oppressive dark side energy. The further Theta Squadron descended, the more unnatural the air became. Lights flickered, equipment began to fail, and each step echoed like screams in a crypt. The ancient Sith stronghold was buried under centuries of rock and myth, but it was very much alive.

Commander Velan of Theta led the charge, his breathing measured behind his helmet. Only four of them remained now.

They had lost Dren and Halvik during the second trial—twisted illusions born from the holocron’s defenses had fractured their minds, causing them to turn on each other in madness. The rest of Theta had been forced to put them down before they became liabilities.

Now, ahead, the black stone archway loomed, carved with ancient Sith glyphs that seethed with dark power. At the center of the chamber beyond, floating in a nexus of crimson light, was the object of their suffering and sacrifice.

The Holocron.

It hovered within a cradle of obsidian claws, each talon laced with pulsing veins of crimson, as if alive. The shape itself was cube-like, but it twisted subtly in the eye’s periphery—like reality itself bent to accommodate its presence. Whispers filled the air, not with words but with intentions: hunger, power, torment.

“Eyes up,” Velan ordered. “This thing is old. You feel that?”

Specialist Yorra, who had survived the third trial by sheer will, nodded shakily. “It’s like… it’s watching us.”

“Not it,” muttered another trooper. “Something inside it.”

Velan didn’t disagree.

He stepped forward cautiously, activating the null-field containment unit they’d been given by Malvus’ science division—no standard crate could contain this artifact safely. As the unit extended its lattice field, the holocron’s energy surged in protest. The red glow burst with intensity, casting deep shadows as the chamber shook violently.

Suddenly, spectral figures emerged—half-formed wraiths of long-dead Sith protectors, their faces writhing with fury. Theta held formation, opening fire with disciplined precision. Their blasters had little effect, but the glyph-inscribed charges planted earlier by Velan activated in sync, burning the room with a wave of anti-sorcery fire.

The spirits howled and were snuffed from existence… for now.

Finally, the containment field locked into place. The holocron, still glowing malevolently, dimmed slightly as it was encased. The whispers grew quieter—but not silent.

Velan turned to his surviving troops. “This thing’s drenched in the Dark Side. We carry it with reverence and we don’t interact with it. We hand it off to Lord Malvus. No deviations.”

They nodded grimly.

As Theta began their ascent back toward the surface, the holocron pulsed within the case—like a heart that had not beaten in centuries finally remembering what it was made for.

The old power was awake.

And Malvus would soon have it in his grasp.

 

[Darth Malvus]

Location: The Shadow Eclipse, Personal Chambers of Darth Malvus


The air was cold and still as the ramp of the transport hissed open within the Shadow Eclipse’s forward hangar. Theta Squadron stepped out, their gait slow and careful as they carried the null-field containment unit between them. Even shielded, the holocron’s presence radiated like a furnace of shadows—felt in the spine, not the skin.

Malvus stood waiting. Towering, cloaked in black and crimson, his mask-like faceplate unreadable. Yet his presence in the Force made the hangar feel smaller, more suffocating, as if even the walls bent to his gravity.

Velan stepped forward and bowed low. “My Lord. The artifact… as commanded.”

They set the holocron before him. The dark cube pulsed faintly, like it recognized him.

Malvus stared down at it, and in a rare moment—his voice cut through the silence, colder than space and sharper than a vibroblade.

“You have done well, Commander. Few walk into the jaws of an ancient tomb and return intact… fewer still retrieve its prize.”

Velan bowed again, this time lower.

“The reward will be left to you to decide for your men. Choose wisely. My praise is rare. Let them know it was earned.”

That was no small gift. From Darth Malvus, words of approval were weightier than credits or medals. They marked you as favored. Marked you as someone to watch.

As the squadron respectfully took their leave, Malvus turned toward the artifact.

Alone now, in the sanctum of his chamber, he brought the holocron before him and extended his hand. Dark side energies surged around his palm like a storm coiled to strike. Shadows clung to his fingertips as if reluctant to be separated from their master.

He fed the holocron his essence—power ancient and refined, honed through a thousand acts of war and subterfuge. The cube shook in the containment field before the null field deactivated at his will.

It came alive.

A spiral of crimson light erupted from its surface, rising into the air in runes and symbols that defied logic. The hum of ancient technology whispered to the dead, and then—

A figure materialized.

Not a mere projection. No echo.

A presence.

Tall, armored in shadow-forged metal, with eyes like twin dying stars, the being stood regal and terrible.

“At last… I am summoned,” spoke the entity.

Malvus did not speak immediately. He studied the form before him, feeling the immense dark side presence woven into every word, every strand of energy.

The voice continued.

“I am Xikuth… the Undying. Slayer of empires. Keeper of the Last Rite.”

Malvus’ eyes behind the mask narrowed slightly, and a glint of rare amusement curled beneath the iron of his expression.

“Interesting…” he murmured.

Xikuth the Undying. A name erased from most records. A Lord from an age so far buried that even Sith historians whispered it as myth. And yet—here he was. Not just knowledge… but a weapon. The Last Rite. The forbidden sorcery whispered to have once broken gods and sundered Sith Lords from their very identity.

Malvus let the moment hang in the air.

There it was—his key. A path forward against Darth Eosfor, the self-proclaimed War God. The mad butcher of the Dark Crusade. A being so steeped in his own legend that brute strength or cunning alone would not undo him.

But this…

This was different.

This was power.

And the true war had only just begun.


Tag: @Dreadheart

 

[The Obsidian Court]

Location: House Voralle Estate, Capital District of Kruskan – Colundra Sector



The high domes of the Voralle Estate shimmered under the planetary sun, casting elongated shadows across the marble courtyards below. Within the estate’s high chamber, carved from dark obsidian and inlaid with flowing gold patterns of old Colundran heritage, the gathered nobles continued their work—hushed conversations, datapads glowing, and servants delivering messages sealed with archaic crests.

Lord Vantos of House Threx adjusted the cuffs of his robe, leaning over a circular table as a detailed map of the Colundra sector flickered to life in holoprojection. Several key trade routes were highlighted in blue, and recently-constructed surveillance relays flashed in green. Bordering systems with divided loyalties glowed amber—potential threats or opportunities, depending on the strategy.

“We’ve tightened merchant security along the Ilthis Corridor,” Lord Vantos spoke with a calculating tone. “No smugglers, no unregistered data traffic. If there are spies watching for signs of the Obsidian Court, they will see nothing.”

Lady Semra of House Mirrowen, known for her diplomatic finesse, nodded approvingly. “Our public-facing policies remain unchanged. The transition has been seamless. The people believe this is still a Colundra-led administration—just… with more imperial favor. Malvus’ shadow looms quietly, but it is not felt harshly. That is how it should be.”

Lord Irik Malven, the younger but ambitious representative of the southern provinces, stood from his seat and motioned toward a series of data feeds displaying troop deployments, militia enrollments, and economic boosts.

“We’ve begun discreetly integrating Obsidian Court advisors into the political and economic guilds. Their presence is subtle. They speak little, observe more, and push where necessary. The effect has been… galvanizing. We’re stronger, richer, and more united than we’ve been in a decade. Whatever Malvus has planned for this sector, it’s clear he intends to leave it fortified and influential.”

The chamber murmured in agreement, but it was Lady Elvra Voralle—host of the meeting and matriarch of one of the oldest noble houses—who silenced the room with a simple gesture.

“Then let us not waste this alliance,” she said, voice smooth and commanding. “Darth Malvus does not seek blind loyalty—he rewards results. Colundra must become a jewel in his campaign. Not merely loyal—but indispensable.”

Her eyes narrowed, shifting to a new projection: Korriban and Dromund Kaas. Old Sith strongholds, bristling with orthodoxy and resistance.

“The war for the Empire’s soul is coming. We are not warriors of the blade, but of culture, wealth, and information. We influence minds. Let the Court wage battles in the shadows—Colundra will be its beacon of prosperity and silent power.”

A pause. A look exchanged between every noble present.

“And when the galaxy learns the name of the true Emperor to come,” Lady Elvra finished, “we will be on the side that shaped that destiny.”

The nobles gave solemn nods, then returned to their work—diplomatic messaging, control over regional elections, continued surveillance of loyalist pockets, and quiet redirections of military assets.

Colundra would not merely support the rise of Darth Malvus.

It would be remembered as the cradle from which his new Empire drew its breath.

 

[Empor]

The ancient metal a reflection. A chart of battles numerous enough to fill a thousand myths. The malice poured into the tinny artifact overflowing, the more it was allowed to breath its false life into Realspace. Its eyes, cosmic gates of evil older than all who still had flesh, lingering in the shallows of Death, a river black and foul, as if in exile for crimes unfathomable enough to have claimed the wrath of forces far beyond, born of corruption.

"Who dares awake me from my slumber? Is it now, the time? Has it come to pass, that Death claimed the Conqueror of Andreddha?"

Each word spoken in High Sith, so fluently that the very sound was alien to any who spoke the tongue. Mastery of such languages, old and decayed in centuries of loss and evolution, was a trait as rare as the Living Kyber wielding Lightning. Darth Xikuth was indeed a being from an era long forgotten, regardless how often its misimpression was recited in legends of Old.

The eyes moved in the shadow of the entity's head, evidence of its form unmasked by the Dark. The shadows forming it shifted yet again. Horns emerged from the shoulders, while the head was consumed by the flame of the eyes, merging into one. The armour decaying, as if consumed by whichever devilish forces binding the entity, leaving its flesh-deprived mummified hands naked of metal, only wrapped in bandages that had turned into stone. Its chestguard giving way for a tunic made of black shadow and ancient cloth, deprived of any and all colour.

Its talons reaching to the sides, as if presenting itself to Malvus. It stood before him, this time. His voice echoing in the chamber as it would if Darth Xikuth had a physical presence in it.

Xikuth's gaze befell Malvus. The witchcraft that had trapped the ancient one in the holocron potent enough to allow him to materialize so flawlessly it seemed he took flesh and bones. But holocrons, were treacherous artifacts...

Whether Xikuth's presence was a figment implanted in Malvus' mind, or an illusion formed by the holocron in Realspace was yet unclear...

Sith Lords never allowed their trapped being to be accessed so easily. Whether through witchcraft or foul design, each holocron had its own deadly webs of defenses to deny the unworthy to access their ancient secrets...

Darth Xikuth was no exception.

 

[Darth Malvus]

Aboard the Shadow Eclipse, Deep within the Vault of Malvus


The air was thick with darkness, not just in atmosphere but in energy—a gravitational pull of malice, pressing down on the chamber’s obsidian walls. Faint crimson glyphs pulsed along the floor, feeding on the power of the artifact resting before Darth Malvus, its metal slick with ancient rage, its voice now echoing in the black-lit room.

The Sith Lord stood still, his towering figure shrouded in his high-collared robes, the cold light of the holocron bathing his expression in red and shadow. His crimson eyes narrowed, not in fear, but in calculation.

As the ancient Sith Lord Xikuth revealed himself—horrifying, ethereal, ancient beyond reckoning—Malvus did not flinch. Even as the entity’s phantom talons stretched outward, and its withered form defied all natural law, Malvus merely watched, a faint, dry smirk forming at the edge of his mouth.

“I am Darth Malvus,” he said with calm weight, his voice like a blade dragged over stone.


“Warlord of the Outer Rim. Heir to no throne… only conquest.”

He stepped closer to the flickering apparition, the aura of the holocron pressing into his chest like the edge of a thousand knives. Still, he pressed on.

“You are no myth to me, Xikuth. I have read the ciphers buried beneath the crust of Argalax. I have walked the tombs of the Forgotten Massacres. I know what you did. What you became.”

His hand reached out, not to touch, but to feel. A stream of crimson lightning arced softly between his fingers and the edges of the holocron—not in aggression, but communion.

“You were more than a warlord. You were an ideology, etched in flame and slaughter… and cast out by your own kind.”

He leaned in, gaze locked with the cosmic furnace behind Xikuth’s eyes.

“I seek not your chains… but your insight. There is one who calls himself a god—Darth Eosfor, the self-proclaimed War-God of the Crusade. He spreads fire across the stars like a child playing with a torch in a library of secrets. You knew how to burn legacies, how to unmake kings.”

A pause. A smirk that edged on reverence.

“Tell me, Conqueror of Andreddha… will you show me how to end his crusade? Or will you waste your eternity on parlor tricks and forgotten riddles?”

Malvus’ voice dropped to a whisper—dangerous, intimate, almost inviting.

“The Sith have forgotten the taste of true fear. I would feed it to them again.”

He stood back, arms folded behind him, waiting. Not like a supplicant… but a dark sovereign, commanding respect from one ghost to another.

Let the ancient one test him. Let the holocron bleed him.

He would pass. He always did.


Tag: @Empor

 

[Empor]

Xikuth observed. His horrid gaze studying every word spoken by Darth Malvus. The Sith had studied. Apparent, to Xikuth, for the mere fact he had managed to find and unlock Xikuth's holocron to begin with. But that was not what caught Xikuth's interest. It was the motive.

Unlike the ones before him, Malvus was not hellbent to break the enemy Xikuth himself had made the first. Eosfor, was not the final prize. The Empire was.

"Warlord of the Outer Rim." Xikuth repeated. "Chains..." he muttered.

"Have you been on Andreddha, Darth Malvus? Have you seen the true face of loss? Many look in the Shadows led by Spite. But Spite alone shall never be enough to claim the powers of the Old Empire. The powers to break the unbreakable. The power of mine."

Xikuth, by legend, was no trickster of petty nature. His tales forged in madness and death, his art that of corruption in manner most foul and perverse. In a moment shared between the two banes, Xikuth saw Malvus for what he was. There was lust, in him. Lust for power. Lust for control. He could taste the power, so close now to the final move. But control? That, he had lost. Though evidence would suggest otherwise, Xikuth could tell the Sith Lord was no fool; Not this kind.

"There are secrets buried deep. I do not offer tricks. Upon its creation this cage served for a single purpose. To even a score yet to settle... And you, Darth Malvus?"

He tilted the miscreated head, as if to stir the flooding thoughts in the hollows of his existence.

"You share in this quest... Do you not? Not in Death. But in Life. For now..."

Eosfor's ascension meant the fall of most others. Malvus had a mind as sharp as Cortosis blade forged in Malachor. But Eosfor? He was a storm of fire, hot enough to bleed fire like magma, until all became by his image. That was what Malvus sought. A weapon. An edge to win the war.

"So long he lives, the Conqueror of Andreddha shall remain a plague. A disease bound to spread like the Rakghoul virus, rising on the first chance its given. I saw the Defiler rise from a young Sith. An outcast, a champion. I was the first to witness his malice, in the war for Fidnar. Time, does not weaken the beast. It strengthens it. Heals its wounds."

Xikuth stepped forth. His obsession driving his urge for violence enough to leave a stain in the Force, regardless how false his being now was.

"Tell me, Darth Malvus... What has become of my Enemy?"

 

[Darth Malvus]

Malvus stood still, unmoved by the tempest of malice and raw darkness swirling before him. The holocron’s eerie hum echoed like a ritual chant throughout the Shadow Eclipse’s chamber—his private sanctum far from prying eyes, where only the deepest, most arcane knowledge was permitted breath.

His dark robes stirred slightly, though there was no wind. The Force twisted thick in the air around him as if the presence of Darth Xikuth had not only emerged from the holocron—but perhaps from time itself. The ancient Sith’s words struck deep, but they did not shake Malvus. No, they fed him.

Slowly, his hands came together, fingertips touching in front of his chest like the narrowing of a spearpoint.

“You ask what has become of your enemy…” Malvus said at last, his tone precise, each syllable controlled with surgical calm.

“Eosfor still walks, clothed in legend, wrapped in delusion. He styles himself a god—no longer merely a Warlord, but a divine arbiter of Sith destiny.”

He stepped forward, shadows stretching along the floor behind him like the crawl of decay.

“He rallies the broken, the rageful, the zealots… and they follow. Not for vision. Not for peace. But because they believe he cannot be defeated.”

There was no heat in Malvus’ voice. Only cold certainty. And beneath that—gleaming ambition, tempered through years of preparation and layers of manipulation.

“I have watched him—moved pieces around his flame rather than into it. The war is still young, and Eosfor grows overconfident. His gaze reaches too far, too fast. Like any star destined to collapse under its own gravity.”

He studied Xikuth now, golden eyes narrowing slightly with interest.

“You and I both know that raw power means little without control. And it was control Eosfor never had. What you witnessed on Fidnar… was the birth of a beast. I intend to oversee its death.”

A pause. A single breath.

“You offer secrets. I offer resolve. You seek vengeance. I seek a future where none like Eosfor rise again—where strength is not wielded by madmen and broken gods.”

His eyes glinted, not just with ambition, but with clarity.

“You called this holocron a cage. But cages can become keys… if held by the right hand.”

Malvus extended his palm, the swirling darkness of the holocron pulsing faintly in resonance with his energy—drawn like a predator recognizing another.

“I ask not for tricks, Lord Xikuth. I ask for truth.” He stepped closer, gaze locked on the hollow fire that made up Xikuth’s eyes. “Give me the knowledge that made you feared. And I will give you something far greater than revenge…”

A thin, predatory smile crossed his face.

“I will give you witness to the death of the Marauder God.”

He let the silence fall after, a deliberate pause. Malvus understood the ancient—he spoke not as a beggar of power, but as a wielder of it. The kind of mind that could reshape empires… if he could unlock what Xikuth had kept buried for eons.

Tag: @Empor