The Dark Tower Crumbles.

[Denzein]

It was a overcast, brooding afternoon on Onderon. The sky, a bruised shade of purple, threatened to at any moment bleed on the masses below. The mood of the people was sour, though not because of the weather... They knew not why they found it impossible to crack a smile, or to love their lovers; all the common folk were able to tell was that something was seriously wrong with their world. The insect class of Onderon went about their daily lives in perpetual despair, for they could feel little else. Every now and again one would look up, towards the glorious sight of the Unifar Temple. They would imagine the Queen within sitting in all her riches, dining on the finest meats and drinking from flutes of diamond... And they would turn away disgusted.

Once they had loved their leader. Now all they were able to do was hate.

The space port was the last place Onderon had left that harbored any notion of joy or positive thinking. The people there never stayed long, so the curse that plagued the natives never seemed to get a chance to take root. Smugglers and pirates came and went, each finding that Onderon was a little different from their previous visit. It was as if all the life was slowly leaving her, being drained into some unknowable vessel. They made plans to avoid the world in the future, instead stopping elsewhere for fuel and supplies - they might not have been able to identify the poison coursing through Onderon's people, but they all came to the same conclusion: Danger, avoid at all costs.

This endless vortex of despair looked as if it had no end to the common folk of Onderon, who had all but given up hope on ever being able to feel as they once had. Little did they know that everything was set to change. Nothing lasts forever, not even the force.

The catalyst was a ship, landing in a mostly disused bay that no one ever cared to pay attention to. The lone figure that disembarked wordlessly began to refuel his ship, avoiding conversation or even eye contact with anyone that happened to glance his way. He was hooded, cloaked in a strange energy that seemed to dissuade people from approaching or watching him - eyes slipped past as if he wasn't there, a ghost in the midst of the living. The figure finished refueling and stowed the lines again, looking to leave as quickly as he had arrived. He put one foot on the loading ramp before stopping, hesitating for some reason.

His shoulders sagged, and the aura around him dissipated. He looked as if he had resigned himself to something, and though no one could see them his eyes told the same story. He could ignore Gabriel's stench no longer, for it was dark and sapped the life of all that tasted it. The figure was immune to its touch, but he seriously doubted that anyone else on this rock had that kind of power. This mess was of his making, and the force willed him to set the record straight.

It was a single sin of countless thousands. Why was he compelled to do this over all the others?

He turned and closed the ramp behind him with a thought. People stared as he strode past them, wondering what business he could have that made him walk with such purpose. No one recognised him, which was a blessing. The last thing the former Grandmaster wanted was to be accosted in the streets by an angry mob.

The presence he could sense was Gabriel, of that there was no doubt. What had caused him to turn from his path was just how much the boy's aura had changed since last he had felt it. Through his mind's eye the figure saw a malignant black cloud squatting over the Royal Palace, infesting it with the dark side. From that cloud swirled a hundred foul tendrils of power, which wormed their way down into the masses and through the streets. They were the cause of all Onderon's woes, and he had brought them into being.

Guilt was not something Lecchamemnon ever really felt... Disgust often served the same purpose.

As he neared the palace he saw more and more evidence of the corrupting influence of the Dark Side. Onderon was not dying, as its people seemed to think - it was twisting itself into something new and infinitely darker. Over time it would become much like its moon, Dxun, if this was allowed to continue. He passed a corpse that was just lying in the street, something that would never ordinarily be seen so close to the royal family. It reminded him of Necropolis, which was troubling.

As he walked up the stairs to the front doors of the palace he noted that there were no guards of any kind. He was not hiding his presence, he didn't care if Gabriel knew he was coming. Instead he focused on the encounter to come, more than ready for anything this palace held in store. For all the evil at Gabriel's fingertips that was on display here, it was entirely eclipsed by Lecchamemnon's fury when roused. For now it smoldered, seething away at the back of his mind like a rabid Nexu waiting to be unleashed. Gabriel had never witnessed the former Grandmaster's full might, though he surely must have guessed at the man's potential. The shackles on Lecchamemnon's power were loose... The slightest provocation would slip them off.

Reaching the top of the stairs Lecchamemnon did not halt. Placing a hand on each door he pushed the great portal open, and strode through into darkness. Whatever waited within was dead, if not at Gabriel's hand then by Lecchamenon's own. He would not allow this taint to continue.

 

[Toska]

Blackened tendrils wormed through the city, staining Iziz with their touch, oozing between the cracks in men's hearts. They reached out across the world, taking root wherever they fell, festering beneath the chiaroscuro skies. Ghost wandered the streets of this once-illustrious city, their wails crumbling into dust. Their steps traced the ruts dug in by years of repetition, carried forth on habit's wings, numb and desensitized. They fell into the static, fading dully in the background, existence itself growing limp before their eyes.

Magnificent.

A smile cracked from atop the throne, cast out across the empty halls of a palace untouched by time. There he sat, the malignant king, miasma spewing from his pores. Gabriel languished at the seat of Onderon's authority, amaranthine robes draped from his shoulders, the queen idle upon his lap. A glass of wine in hand, he stroked the queen's hair, rubbing the bleached threads between his fingertips and smiled. Gently, he turned her head, lifting her chin to look into those hollow eyes. Bereft of life, they smiled back, woven into the tapestry of the past.

"Naomi," he said, caressing the contours of her cheeks. His touch clouded her mind, filled her with surrogate memories of a life so cruelly snipped short by fate. She twisted under it, accepting it all in a meekly held silence, devouring the fragments injected into her mind with glee. Queen? Merely the trappings of another life, one that held no relevance in Gabriel's eyes. One that waned beneath his touch, eschewed from reality on a whim. Only Naomi existed in these empty halls.

"A visitor approaches." Annoyance. The presence that rumbled in his mind belonged to a dangerous man. "Lecchamemnon," he cooed. Harbinger of light, master of the Force, arbiter of justice. Quite impressive indeed. The man strode through the city, his steps taking him right to the palace gates, an unwavering line straight towards Gabriel. Such determination.

"Shall I entertain him?" Naomi's chin nodded from his touch. "Very well." The floodgate opened. The power he concealed for so long behind a facade of helplessness unfolded. It expanded in his mind, trembling as it suddenly collided with Leccamemnon's. The miasma erupted, tendrils shooting out from the throne to enmesh the city in black, oily webbing. The first scream disappeared as the rain began to fall, a single arc of lightning dancing across the sky.

The anteroom doors swung open.

 

[Denzein]

The wave of boiling darkness crashed against the bastion that was Lecchamemnon's mind. While it swept all else before it he alone stood firm in the miasma; he was likely the only man that could on the entire planet. One thing was clear: Gabriel was a lot stronger than he had once been. Whether he had hidden his strength all this time or if he had learned much since their last meeting Lecchamemnon did not know, but that knowledge was not relevant. Gabriel had played his hand, a strong move that would have had any lesser man quailing in their boots. He probably even felt confident about his chances... Lecchamemnon would tear him from his arrogant pedestal before the end. The Grey had cards yet to play, cards Gabriel knew nothing of.

Power that inhabited the nightmares of Jedi and Sith alike. Power that gnawed away at his consciousness every waking moment, begging to be released... It sensed a chance for freedom here.

For now at least Lecchamemnon was content simply to weather Gabriel's storm with what he had. It might even be enough, for his opponent was young and inexperienced and even without unleashing his inner self Lecchamemnon was a formidable opponent. Gathering energy around him like a cloak he continued, his pace not slowed by the release of Gabriel's true strength. He approached the throne, noting the Queen of Onderon reduced to little more than a mindless puppet - and the continued lack of any other living soul. What had happened to them was anyone's guess, but he could sense nothing alive within the palace aside from these two. A mercy killing and a punishment.

Taking his blade from his belt Lecchamemnon leveled the hilt at Gabriel as he advanced, the sound of his boots hitting the marble the only noise until he spoke. When he finally did his voice was dangerously low, as if he focused on the fight to come instead of the foreplay. There was a cold light in his eyes, but nothing Gabriel hadn't seen before. To the man on the throne this was the Lecchamemnon of old, Master of the Light. The former Grandmaster wondered just how many people in the galaxy still thought of him as such... Not that it mattered now. Soon all would know who he really was. Soon they would know what a monster he had become.

"Make your piece, Gabriel, for I offer you none. I should have killed you a long time ago."

Energy seeped into his fist, and a shining emerald blade erupted into being. A mercy killing and a punishment.

 

[Toska]

The green blade cradled so malevolently between Lecchamemnon's arms sung Casimir's tune, hummed with the clairvoyance of memory. Gabriel basked in it, the smile ebbing from his lips. It spirited him away, back to the sands of Korriban, back to his misbegotten youth, to the sacrifices he made in the name of power. Power. Now there was a word. Brimming with the kind of cruelty found only in innocence, it taunted him. Such folly. In its name, he scrabbled up a stairway of corpses, thinking only of the top, of the promises that awaited him. But that was when hope yet shone in his eyes, and he could smile, youth's invulnerability straddling his shoulders.

Once he crested the peak, he saw how empty those promises were, how shallow, fruitless, and vain. He abandoned his life in the name of power, facilitated a rebirth in its fires. He pursued it for the better part of his life, sacrificing whatever worth he held dear. And yet, he found only words etched into the air, praises lavished upon him so condescendingly. The pity in their eyes killed his innocence, disheartened his youth. What little remained, that shell of a man billowing in the wind, had no purpose, no desire. He could barely validate his own life.

Andraste saved him.

A rictus split his face, tearing his lips apart and lowering his brows. The former Grandmaster's image twisted in his mind, hidden behind a feminine veil, dark eyes staring out of a cruelly twisted face, a smile lifting the corner's of stained lips, a name burned across the forehead: Andraste. Elegantly written, it shimmered before him, matched by the lightsaber's glow, beaten down by the light of the chandeliers, dimmed in the stormy dark rolling over the sky. Rain pattered in through the balcony door, spilling across the marble floors.

Dathomir. Blood gurgled in his throat, a chilling and metallic taste that threatened his very existence. The trees swayed in the wind, roots trembling from the thunder, lightning arcing across the sky. Tinted purple, it split the canopy, spewing chunks of wood and leaves into the forest, tickling his forehead as they fell.

No.

The Grandmaster came into focus before him, standing in the doorway before the throne, looking up at him with disgust. That's right. Awash in the flow of memory, he had all but forgotten Lecchamemnon's presence. How foolish of him. His face smoothed, a characteristic half-smile falling onto his lips.

"Kill me?" he echoed, stroking the queen's hair. "What a shame. To think that I respected you, of all people." He shrugged, lifting a hand to beckon his former master closer. The motion unleashed a swell of energy, rattling the chandeliers dangling haphazardly above. The largest of them separated from its fastenings, urged on by Gabriel's touch, clinking as it hastened from the ceiling. A cyan blade materialized in his hand before the vessel shattered against the ground, and the queen gasped, body crashing against the base of the throne.

There stood Gabriel, flickering amidst the storm, miasma tightening around him, churning within his mind.

 

[Butler]

''These experiences sculpted me into who I am today. Without them, I might have been a Jedi.'' -Gabriel

Echoes of a former life, not yet lived, haunt him in his sleep. Voices surround him from the people who care. He knows not who these people really are. And they know nothing of him, his life before the Jedi. They would all of them hate him for his transgressions, his pitiful selfishness. Yet suffering has been replaced with love, their arms circling around him; suffocating. He lies in a ball within a shell of fear, pulling at the wrinkles of his life as they twist along the creases of the sheets; calling out to them. He pleads for them to break this spell, that he might know the touch of tenderness. Gabriel's words seep into his skull, his fingers kneading the tightened scalp. Screams bleed into the dream and he turns from Gabriel, turns with the comfort of his phobia.

''So what brings you here, then? And you should note that I am expecting a suitably exciting tale given how pale mine is supposed to look.'' -Arisa

Her giggles calm his dismay, arousing warmth within him. Rubbing his thighs together, he turns towards that passion. She accepts him in, the first he'd ever known. But her smile, that infinite empowering, smears away by his own touch. She'll only leave him when she finds out. Following in his footsteps, she lets him guide her by his light; a warped illumination of a borrowed gift. How long until it burns out? He left her for war, the deepest of tellings about his true spirit; that knowledge of death so callused into his skin that it could never fade. He can't let her see it, all the blood. It's dripping from his hands and he can't find his lightsaber. He turns away and looks up. He's on his knees.

"And you can't stop a demon unless you have experienced hell. So live, boy. Live, kill a being in both hot and cold blood, go through hell, and come find me again so I can kill you." -Carien Bralor

Their chant shakes the walls of his mind. Demons. They're all demons. Every single person he's ever known. The Jedi have failed him. What do they know? They've failed Gabriel, and they'll fail Arisa. All those soldiers in Alliance uniforms scattered around him in all their peppered state, limbs and lives lost while he goes free. What love is there in that? But it's how it always has to be. He survives only while he wades in the pool of death. No, that's not accurate. Not entirely. But it rings all the truer in its denial. And even when he tries to save, he kills indirectly. He rises above them all. He will become most high. And the light welcomes him.

"I'm not entirely sure I can trust you." -Arisa

"Huh," Lucifer gasps! Sitting up from the bed, his disorientation wooing him from his sleep, Lucifer hears the cries outside. Confusion answers his questioning squint, those eyes searching the late day for his friend. Yet his waking awareness brings only darkness and dismay. He feels a heavy weight upon his chest, disgustingly reminiscent of darker days long thought healed by the Jedi. He frowns, tossing the covers away from his legs. Getting up, he can't find his clothes fast enough to investigate this feeling.

He fiddles with his belt, unable to set the clasp properly as he barrels down the red-carpeted stairs. His feet are bare within his boots, clammy and unusual to his haste. His shirt is still undone, pants barely firm about his hips, with the white sleeve tucked into the crease of his arm as his lightsaber batters and bangs against his near frantic leg. He must discover what is the matter, this feeling that is sticky like a spider's web. And the further he stomps, the more he feels it, over stimulating his connection to the Force in all this terror; he remembers this feeling well.

Finally Lucifer breaks from the Elysee doors and into the street, panic feeding his surprise at the hoards which littered the city. They clawed at each other like wild men. He watched in horror as women stumbled over their own children's heads, scattering for their unachievable escape. Knuckles crossed through teeth and household kitchenware slapped into skin as blood spattered across people's noses. What were they fighting for? What had gotten them so crazed? Lucifer stood frozen in bewilderment, his breath evaporating away from his hot tongue. This was, this was... pure. This was chaos perfected...

 

[Denzein]

As the chandelier fell Lecchamemnon remained still, unperturbed by the falling crystal structure - the main body smashed into a wall of kinetic energy the Grand Master conjured between the pair of them, also turning aside any spinning shards of crystal shrapnel. It crashed to the floor between the two combatants, and battle was joined. As the Chandelier hit the ground it was Lecchamemnon's turn to make a gesture, his left hand clenching into a claw. As it did he pulled violently at the force energy around Gabriel, the former grandmaster looking to drag Gabriel forwards into the mess of the ruined chandelier.

The convicts rattled their chains, demanding to be set loose.

As Gabriel came forward, whether due to the pull or not, Lecchamemnon also advanced. Banishing his barrier, he leaped at Gabriel - the force lending him both height and speed. There was no ostentatious mid-air somersault, or twist, this was a simple bound that served to close the distance quickly and efficiently... While also providing Lecchamemnon with an opportunity. It was almost lazy of him, but he knew where showing off his powers would get him. He wanted to avoid that place, at least for the time being. As he jumped forwards he jabbed for Gabriel's chest in mid air, not really intending for the blow to land - more focused on what it provoked Gabriel to do. His legs were tucked beneath him like an oriental warrior of old, betraying his move as largely defensive despite the supposed attack. It was insincere, he was simply waiting for the counter, judging his opponent's new found (or previously hidden) strength. To anyone without mastery of Soresu his move might appear suicidally aggressive, but he was ready for whatever Gabriel tried.

He pulled his sword arm back quickly after the strike (whether it contacted or not), the better to fend off any riposte. He landed lightly, turning to face his opponent as he assumed a defensive stance and waited.

All the while Lecchamemnon continued gathering force power, all the while resisting the clamoring from the blackness of his soul. Gabriel was not worth a release, not yet... For now at least Lecchamemnon was content to fight as a weaker man fought. He will still immensely strong, a rival to the mightiest force users of the day, but he felt as if he was duelling with one hand tied behind his back. Intentionally handicapping oneself out of sheer arrogance (for he was well aware that he exhibited almost nauseating quantities of the stuff) was madness to most people, but he saw something of a kindred spirit in Gabriel even if the boy had no way of knowing their similarities. They both hid who they really were, they both feigned comparative weakness. While they fought probably fought for different motives and had greatly varying philosophies there was no denying that Gabriel was a lot like his younger self - or at least, his younger self had he given himself wholly to the dark side from the off.

It was rare that Lecchamemnon found someone with whom he could relate. A shame, then, that Gabriel had to die. There could be only one great pretender, and Lecchamemnon was simply better at it.

 

[Butler]

Lucifer stumbled through the streets, bodies shoving onto his, ducking thrown food and severed limbs as one in the same; becoming a part of this mass hysteria. He fumbled with his belt, tucked his hand with his shirt into his pants and beat his shoulder forward into a man's back to knock him out of the way. He dove his arm into the tight white sleeve, wrapping the collar around the other and atop his neck. A blaster bolt slapped into a woman's chest just in front of him, and he shattered with shock. Breaking his knees into a deeper stance, he frantically felt for his blaster; but it was not upon his leg. Realizing that he must have left it back in his room, he opted for the greater threat to others in favor of some kind of defense for himself and took up his lightsaber hilt. This was too much like the war, battle reaching civilians; of whom he had always felt more in tune with, even as he walked over them to reach his pedestal.

“Perhaps one day the Sith will be destroyed yes…this has happened many times before in the past but the darkside will survive as long as it is allowed in the hearts of living things.” -Raleigh

Lucifer's wide eyes scoured the masses in all their impurities, frantic with questions and wrought with despair. All he could see was past deeds surrounding him, catching up to him and reliving their hellish decisions in his eyes. They were all there. The woman who did not pay her debt to dollar her child's freedom from her world. The drug dealer who dosed one of the slug's best mercenaries into death for a few credits to scrounge for food. The doctor who made pilgrimage to hell in order to heal it, discredited by his peculiar dealings in surgical sadism and lost to his repentance and desires both. The list went on and on, there and there. Everywhere there were those faces. All of them were the same, not citizens of Onderon but ghosts of his past. Purgatory's cackle crumbled into echoing pieces of shattering consciousness around him, like the shards of a splashing glass from a falling chandelier. But he witnessed it, like a flash; a glimpse into sight beyond sight. He knew it was Gabiel, however different it was, and he knew he had to get to him.

"Think long and hard about this decision Jedi Padawan." -Orphen

He shook his head in denial, trying to find focus in his vision. But something was shooting down from the heavens and into his heart. It squeezed his heart like the dagger of truth. Yet it's pain was a warning like the words of Jedi teachings past, equally true. He did not know which to believe. He did not know what to believe. But suddenly his cheek was found by another's fist, the unforeseen knuckles crossing through his face suddenly with only enough instinct to turn with the force of the punch. Lucifer's rage in this unknown had all but blown, his haunting past egging on his instinctual youth. And he screamed with the crowd as he spun around with the flip of a switch. The stranger's breath was caught by the penetrating burn that spat through his sternum with a holy glow. His angry eyes searched the man for reason. His angry eyes fell to fear in the man's depths. His fear flooded his veins with fire. He shook his disbelieving head around those eyes so fixed, seeing the decision made unto his hands.

"What.... what do I do...?" he whispered unto the stranger, trembling near to tears.

"You fight to the best of your ability and never lose faith in the Force, remember who you are and who you serve." -Ebberla

Lucifer pulled the beam out of the man who then fell to the ground as he stared. A sudden surge of pushing bodies shoved into him and he was forced away from this heinous deed. And he wanted to burst.

"YAHHHHH!" the air bent blue around him with a sudden burst of Force power that Repulsed and rejected the bodies away from him temporarily. Yet when the circular formation fell outward, its instigator was no longer there; barreling through the chaos as a streak of sorrow straight for the Palace and the center of all this madness.

 

[Toska]

To the envy of the chorus, Gabriel slid forth from the throne, robes splayed languidly behind him. Almost lazily, he approached the former Grandmaster, tugged ever closer on the man's current. A lightsaber extended from his hand, igniting in a vibrant spray of light, basking the area in a cool glow. The blade hummed out of tune with the rain, filling the spaces between staccato pittering. Suspended in the air, beckoned across the gap separating master and pupil, Gabriel felt a smile curl over his lips. It sat there unperturbed, amusement escalating as the distance closed between them.

They clashed wordlessly, blades sizzling against one another mid air, spluttering and gasping from the impact. Brushing against the ground, Gabriel straightened, withdrawing a step to keep the former Grandmaster out of range, saber dangling before him. It swung lazily, humming as it taunted his prey. Perhaps it was arrogance that filled him so, that draped him in airs of confidence and superiority. The unwavering luster of youth, tempered and affirmed by experience. He held to them with a telltale smile, eyes hollow even as they locked onto Lecchamemnon's movements.

Something of a sigh threatened to creep past his lips. The energy swelling on the precipice of his awareness taxed him; the constant flow of power, the unbridled, raw emotions carried on its tides. It wearied him to think of the possibilities lying just beyond his fingertips, of the ugly, wild-eyed monstrosity lurking beneath his restraint. The beast reminded him of Andraste, of the years wasted on trivial things, of inelegance.

Disgust overwhelmed him, manifesting in a burst rippling from his uprisen palm. It tore across the room, lifting crystalline shards in its path, sweeping them away to crash upon Lecchamemnon.

The sigh escaped. Such a pity.

His feet carried him to his former master, and his palm closed, propelling the chandelier's broken arms into Lecchamemnon's back.

 

[Jinkies]

It had been a long day for Emma Quinn since her departure from her home planet of Naboo to her new home at the Sith Temple. Leaning against the wall of the Onderon ship dock she let out a sight, brushing a strand of her dark auburn hair away from her face. She didn't understand why they had to keep changing ships a quarter of the way through the journey, it was such a bother. She looked up at the dreary greying sky and decided immediately that she was not simply going to wait around for her escorts, pushing off from the wall she adjusted the long coat covering the skin-tight black full body jumpsuit she was wearing comfortably fitting her form. She regained her compusre before Setting off down the pristine metal corridor ready to explore the bustling city center. All around her she could hear the roar of machines and the chatter of the citizens and they go about their day to day lives.

She had always wondered if these people knew what was going on in the rest of the universe beyond their mediocre humdrum lives. The wars and the bloodshed going on. She even wondered if they where aware was going on. She stopped for a moment at the square to see the the crowds of people. She titlted her head to side wondering if this was a protest or a rally. She walked closed to the crowd trying to catch a hint of what's beings said but he could not make sense of it over the cheering.

She felt a sharp pain in her head like she was being stabbed with a white hot poker before realising what was going on, There was the sudden sounds of screaming civilians and the sudden instance of civilians being thrown backwards and into the air into a flurry of limbs, She instinctively ran. She didn't care in which direction but she knew she had to get out of there before a massacre started. She ducked and weaved through groups of men and women realizing she was moving towards the palace. She had a hard time struggling to break through the swarms of people being pushed and shoved as she struggled to try break free from the sea of terrified faces.

 

[Denzein]

The world itself closed in on the former Grandmaster, threatening to dash him to pieces with the hateful embrace of the smashed chandelier. Lecchamemnon stood his ground, the furious tempest raging its way towards him at a speed lesser men would not even have been able to follow. To him his doom approached at an almost stately pace. He cracked a smile, which alone should have been enough to warn Gabriel of what was to come - Lecchamemnon was infamously dour and humourless, a grin had no place on his face... Most of the time.

Most of the time Lecchamemnon held back, the situation not demanding his full attention. He saw now that Gabriel was too confident, believing too strongly in his chances here. There was but one way to educate him, and Lecchamemnon relished the chance to spread his wings. In times past he would have fought on in this lesser aspect, this shade of who he truly was - there was a time when he'd feared, even loathed the shadow that lent him his greatest strengths... But so much had changed since then. The Lecchamemnon of today was a monster, both darker and older than the beast Gabriel had become. This was no longer an action he dreaded, but one as natural as breathing.

Lecchamemnon exhaled, the world turning to chaos under his adamantium will.

The razor sharp crystal fragments came for him first, zipping for his throat, his eyes, his wrists. They ricocheted from him, spinning away after hitting a protective bubble he conjured moments before they struck. As the arms of the chandelier closed in like a vice the sphere darkened, some insane energy emanating from deep within Lecchamemnon corrupting it beyond measure, tainting the light side power with the blackness that he was finally unleashing on the world. It obscured him from view as it raged, a black sun with Lecchamemnon at its heart - a power so evil that it spat malevolence even at one such as Gabriel. The metal limbs warped as they neared the horrific energy, forced on by their master, their mission clear... They shattered in a way that no metal ever should, before being blasted to atoms as they got too close. The floor, the ceiling above him, even the air surrounding lecchamemnon boiled and cracked in protest at this violation of all things right, no matter in the universe had the power to withstand the chaos of distilled annihilation.

His smile remained, frozen in place. The force, that usually sang through his body, screamed in pain. This was perversion at the highest level, pure entropy. It was the greatest legacy of the Church of Nothing, and one of Lecchamemnon's most loved techniques. For one serene moment the throne room was still, the black globe of chaos swirling amid frozen crystals, Gabriel's clothes fluttering in an unnatural wind. Lecchamemnon was completely obscured, lost amid the tempest.

It might have appeared beautiful, for that split second. Then time resumed its march, and the natural course of the universe took hold once more. Matter must always pass to entropy. All is Nothing.

The roiling sphere of destruction blasted outwards in every direction, a lethal onslaught of purest chaos that disintegrated all it came into contact with. This was a release even Lecchamemnon had not used before, focusing it in any given direction was impossible. It tore through the ceiling and the floor in equal measure, hungrily devouring everything in a broad sphere around Lecchamemnon. He should have fallen into the pit below, but the sheer power emanating from him kept him aloft amid the madness. The secondary effect of the power shattered whatever didn't get vaporised, including support struts both above and below the throne room. With a series of deafening cracks the floor and ceiling began to give way, tumbling down into a massive collapse on the floor twenty feet below.

The dark phoenix was born again, the shackles were loose.

 

[Jinkies]

It was easy for Emma to pass the palace gates hidden under the veil of rioting civilians. The Palace guards where busy trying to subdue them from entering the palace to notice her amidst the chaos. As she got nearer to the palace a sudden burning sensation filled emma's body like as she felt the almost crippling effects of the force clashing within the palace sending her to her knees for a brief moment. Her sensitivity to the force may still be developing but even she couldn't miss such a massive force hitting her like a brick wall. She paused a moment to catch her breath. She had never felt such a thing before. It was raw and destructive.

The burning sensations till ached in her muscles as she stumbled to stand up straight forcing her legs to progress on into the ruined walls of the palace and further into source of that massive surge of power drawn to it like a fly to honey. It only took her moments to reach A set of Giant metal doors decorated with elaborate carvings but she stopped, her heart pounded in her chest a hundred beats a minute as she tried to summon up the courage to see what was beyond the door. Beads of sweat rolled down her brow. Her body instinctively wanted her to run away but her mind yearned for what was beyond

Without a weapon or even any formal training the girl would be a sitting duck if she simply walked into a warzone. She breathed in deep and gripped the handles of the doors with shaking hands and with a tiny bout of courage yanking them open forcing herself to walk inside in full veiw of the figures

 

[Butler]

His legs gave out, crippled by unseen joints cracking with its grip that encased him so. He felt as though he suffocated, his skin melting beneath a humid smother and his lungs palmed within expansion. And he tumbled into more bodies, not fully falling due to so many citizens and their impeding clutter. His shoulder falling into another, his cheek planting against their backs, he realized the wet smear of tears upon his face that he had ignored as he fled his misdeed. Terrible was this act, having vowed never to kill again yet breaking so easily in a blind fear. But this atmosphere was terrorizing and prodded him to panic, as he did now.

An elbow randomly swung back, skimming over his head. He pushed the citizen away angrily, more freely in his desperation, and looked up. The Palace glimmered before him, shadowed and grim in its beauty; somehow cast dark in the day, the stretch marks of shadow uneasily raising its walls even higher.

A sudden wave of sickening will expanded from the inside, passing through all near enough to suffer its penetration, as Lucifer gripped his chest with gritted teeth. Gabriel.

It wasn't Gabriel, was it? Though it felt like something he'd never imagined, power beyond his wildest dreams. It clashed against the other within, and Lucifer knew it was him. He had to get in there. Which was apparently a shared thought with another, Lucifer theorized as he watched a girl race in through the gates unhindered by the guards. His own eyes widening with fear of the unknown. He had to be the one to aid Gabriel. He couldn't let this girl do him harm. Something compelled him so.

So Lucifer broke into a desperate sprint. Spotted by a guard, Lucifer had to act. He couldn't be stopped, not when this strange new addition was beating him to Gabriel. He wasn't thinking straight. It was a useful excuse, yet true nonetheless. The skies guided his hand, which slashed through a rising arc of blue blurred light. The guard's arm plopped to the ground, kicked by the shuffling civilians, as the guard screamed. Lucifer entered without deterrence.

Racing up the steps, he chased after the girl's steps; haunting her advance with a new and unhindered purpose, blind in his desperation. He chased her to those doors where he too could feel what clashed within. And just when she broke open the seal to Pandora, Lucifer skidded to a halt some feet behind her.

"Stop!" he barked with an uncharacteristically deeper grit, pointing his blue lightsaber beam at her.

But there was no time to hear her reason. There was no time to listen to excuses in all this madness. He'd killed an innocent, and the very planet impaled his senses on every side with ice picks that shivered into his bones. So he instantly whipped out his left hand unyielding to pause, raw instinct reaching through the metaphysical and gripping her throat. Inflicting the suffering he felt, as he always had in his scared youth all those years, he Choked her with a twisted version of himself; a side he'd always seen in the darker shades of his reflection every morning. Light defied reason, melting the blues and blacks upwards along his features with anger in a loss of control. He wanted control, to see this all fixed for justice and what's right. But she forced his hand, unrelenting and punishing in its distant clutch.

But then he witnessed the bows break, the entire shatter of the foundations fall by the might of this other darker foe. Fear was all he knew this day, all Lucifer had known his whole life.

 

[Jinkies]

The girl did not snap out of the trance she was in until he heard the rough bark out the man behind her and the rough grip of invisible fingers around her throat. Her heart raced as she panicked though only showing strain on her face in the grip of the force choke. She was lured by the masses of darkside energy emitted from the two inside the palace. It was like a drug she could not resist. She could break free from its seductive lore and now she was at this strange palace with a man brandishing a lightsaber was somehow choking her. She panicked trying to calculate what to do. She tried to open her mouth to speak but could only let out a gasp as the force squeezed her windpipe. Her lungs where burning desperate from for air. Was she going to die on the steps?, no that cant just it for her, not before she even starts her training as a sith. She felt helpless and no way to defend agaisnt this him. Her face started to turn blue and she desperately tried to find a reprieve from the pain that was emanating through her body. her sight started to fade as she was beginning to black, waiting for the sweet repreave of unconsciousness or even death..

All her life she was sickly and weak and now that she was healthy again she had a chance to live and experience adventure away from her home planet. She was sick of being weak, Angry at her parents abandoning her to die. She promised herself that she would become powerful and not

But then she felt a surge through her body filling her with that familiar burning sensation as the force filled her body. She felt a sudden revitalisation of her energy like a sudden bout of strength was dominating her being as she unknowingly called apon the power of the force. Her eyes snapped open as her voice telepathically projected to anyone close enough to hear " Let me go you filthy ape" it said a blast of raw force energy insincerely left her body to the body of the man. Her body and mind where trying to defend themselves against the immediate danger like a defence mechanism. She did not want to die..not now

 

[Butler]

His hand released, flexing to the flicker of warning in his mind as her instinct echoed out through her words directly at him. Yet he would not hear them, as her words reflected off the window of his pain; a Barrier that shimmered in the instant it shattered as the blast of her emotion ricocheted from him and cracked the already breaking walls in a halo of mass effect splintering around him.

A fissure split up into the wall as a thick marble pillar to the left of the doorway, just behind Emma to her right, broke free from the wall and fell down into her heels; potentially folding her feet flat and fracturing her ankles with pinning devastation.

Emma's legs were instantly sucked into the flooring, crushing to the Pull of some unknown gravity - Lucifer's left hand had twisted back in to a clawed fist, holding her there as he flanked her left to watch. Having noticed the break of the pillar in his fit of rage and desperation, he felt this surge of delicious power flood through his limbs for the first time. He was lost to a frenzy, a craving for the taste of blood; her blood. And as a black pool of siphoning existence, Lucifer funneled both her and that pillar down into the thick floor beneath her footing as a cone of consuming force.

Saliva dripped from his teeth. Fear glazed over his eyes. And he screamed.

 

[Jinkies]

IEmma felt the grip loosen from her throat and instinctevely rolled backwards as the backlash of her force blast tore apart the walls. She narrowly avoided the falling as the pillars fell and the wall collapsed blocking the door with rubble. A sharp pain emulated through her ankle with a white hot pain. She had caught a glance of the lust and hunger on his face and was glad the rubble seperates the two. She winced as she tried to stand, hobbling her way closer to the figures. It was a better descision than staying with that psyco. She had to out her life at risk if she hoped to get out of here alive

She was a child stuck in the battle between titans. She weaved her way around the rubble making her way closer ro where Gabriel was. She was,not going to die without a fight ahe knew that at least. She caught a glance at the once beautiful palace was being reduced to rubble but what she feared was this oalace would become her romb, she was so overwhelmed by panic she could not think straight. All she wanted to do was survive. It was as if a million voices but the loudest was screaming "I'm a Sith" telepatgically to anyone who would be able hear

 

[Butler]

The pillar smashed into the ground between them, cracking yet too thick and massive to break its integrity. Yet she still persisted, beckoning out the very madness which she tried to escape. The closer to Gabriel she tried, the greater the insanity that was Lucifer's reactions. She had barely made it into and under the doorway before she tried hobbling slowly, one foot then the other; taking two steps in the time Lucifer could chose to take four, six if he ran. But he remained stationary, his power stretching out beyond his own reaches towards her.

Lucifer hooked his right arm around and thus the pillar turned, scratching and scraping the floor as it pointed into the doorway and at Emma before she had made three sluggish steps. Left hand still holding her tight and right hand aiming for the end, he punched his right fist into the air and the pillar flew; a massive marble stone that lifted inches off the ground and sailed diagonally into Emma's body, smashing the horizontal pillar and pinning her into the side wall and restricting her from reaching his beloved. There was no reason in this act, yet compassion for Gabriel and a dire need to cease the change. She threatened that stability in mind. She endangered Gabriel. She was doomed to suffer infliction for the duration of her youth, all due to this moment within the Palace of horrors.

 

[Toska]

Gabriel’s thoughts drifted away on broken wings, staring hollow-eyed and haughtily at his former master. A lazy smile spread across his lips, trailing after the fragments of glass soaring to wash against Lecchamemnon’s chest. He imagined them piercing flesh and shattering against bone, separating tissue and groaning into capillaries. Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes at the notion, compelled further by the metallic frame smashing down like the hand of a god, twisting whatever was left of the man into the marble floor, drawing deep red stains from the carpets. Behind those empty eyes, fantasies of Lecchamemnon’s death ran wild, maddeningly, ferociously vivid.

And yet, as he stood there waiting for the first grunt, the first hiss of pain, only an eerie silence returned. Curiosity filled him, trampling his hope underfoot. His eyes focused, catching the tail end of the storm, a sickly rictus tearing open his mouth. His beautiful chandelier, torn asunder by his own hand, was being vaporized as it soared towards Lecchamemnon, an oily smoke wheezing from its remains in wisps, disappearing into the domed ceiling above. What audacity, he thought, what arrogance. To destroy art—how marvelously abhorrent!

His gaze met Lecchamemnon’s, eyes filled with disgust, and suddenly, he felt a cold sweat trickling down his neck, a distant churning originating somewhere within his body, deep in the pits of his flesh… His stomach tightened, a vague acidic taste rose in his throat: The air darkened before him, obscuring Lecchamemnon from his view. A black wave settled over the room, rocking the fabrics of existence in its storm.

Stillness. How long did it last? A second, a minute? Gabriel did not dare to breathe under its oppressive weight, did not dare to lift his eyes from the miasma gathering at the former Grandmaster’s fingertips. It rivaled his own—no, exceeded. His body shivered at the sight, confidence slipping from his grasp. However. Anger misted behind his eyes, cold flames licking mischievously with a thrill of their own. He dipped into the power he had been gathering since Lecchamemnon first made his presence known, a smile curling over his lips.

Ah, such a common gesture. It felt characteristic, mundane. Even in the midst of chaos, the promise of death heavy on the air, his lips twitched habitually. So natural—

The energy swelled, breaking the stillness, and he leaped back, hands brushing the throne in his haste. At the very moment of release, he unleashed a swell of his own: Telekinetic energies burst from his fingertips, hastening to crush Lecchamemnon’s organs in their wake. As they closed, Gabriel redirected the remainder of his gathered energy into a cocoon, beginning at his uplifted arm.

The darkness stopped before the throne, brushing his palm lightly, dissipating into the air—no. It tore through his barrier, shredding the cocoon he so confidently wove and disintegrating his fingers instantly. A secondary wave mirrored his own telekinetic force, mercilessly compressing the air around him, shattering the tiles at his feet. He did not have time to reinforce the barrier, which broke around his missing hand. Without a complete circuit, the rest of the barrier could barely take the assault, but his arm! Crushed, battered, bruised. His arm ended in a stub past the elbow, although the rest of it did not fare much better. It was a twisted thing, crumpled with bone jutting from the flesh in various places.

He screamed. Incomprehensible. And he backed up desperately, fleeing from the sight of his own dismemberment, right onto the balcony, water trickling onto his hair, into his eyes. Wordlessly, he fell, slamming through the glass and onto the streets bellow, only the barest layer of energy saving him from instant death. The glass followed after, and as he laid on his back, eyes turned to the sky… it speared him, slicing at iris and sclera, filling his vision with blood, the last testament of Lecchamemnon’s power.

At the palace gates, it was a wonder what he whispered, what curses he spewed to the heavens that damned him so. But Lucifer, standing ever so near, might have heard the caged breaths of the man he respected.

“Lucifer…” Weakly. Lightning crashed behind the crumbling palace, and the roar hid them all.

 

[Denzein]

The dark phoenix reveled in his superiority. How could something so pathetic, so mundane as Gabriel ever hope to contend with power of his magnitude? Such a notion was laughable, though Lecchamemnon had not yet reached the point where he could not stop the laughter from escaping his lips. His smile widened as the black globe expanded, holding his arms out wide as he bathed in the embodiment of his own corruption. This was the power he had taken into himself all those decades ago in the Jedi Archives, forbidden knowledge that even the progressive New Jedi Order shunned. It was evil, in Lecchamemnon's opinion the purest manifestation of both the Dark Side and Nothing... It had grown within him, nurtured by his time with the Church until it was so strong that at times it overpowered him, enslaving him to the blackness and transforming him from a man that once called himself Jedi into a monstrous demon, a thing conceived purely to obliterate. Destruction intoxicated him, and every time he used it a little piece of who he was died.

He had been falling back on it a lot over the past year.

He didn't see Gabriel go down, rather than feel it. His black sun dissipated with the boy being just at its maximum range, and the fool had thought himself safe. He was wrong on two counts, as Lecchamemnon noted with no small amount of arrogant satisfaction. He could taste Gabriel's flesh as it twisted apart, devoured by the insatiable hunger of the void - and felt every fracture as his former apprentice's arm all but imploded thanks to Destruction's secondary effect. The fool threw himself from a window, though he was not dead yet... No matter. Lecchamemnon remained stationary, floating in place as the throne room quailed in horror, collapsing about him as he observed his work - work of the God that Gabriel wished for himself to become. He would finish the boy in his own time, once he was done with -

He coughed quietly, Something wasn't quite right... Was he tired, exhausted from his exertion? Was the Force warning him of something? He sensed no peril. He coughed again, more violently, and put a hand to his beard. Wet. He looked at it, and saw crimson. The aftershock of his release was wearing off now, overcome by this new revelation. His chest was painful, stabbing at him every time he drew breath, which was a task all by itself. Remaining floating above the wreckage of the throne room was getting harder and harder, so he landed softly before it became an issue. Slivers of force energy returning to him he could sense what was wrong: Somehow one of his lungs had collapsed, punctured in five places by the mess that was once his rib cage. It hurt more now he knew, fire blossoming through his body as breath rattled through his one working lung. Gabriel... May he rot in whatever hell existed before Nothing.

He closed his hand into a fist, withdrawing deep within himself. The damage was life threatening, he could see that much; he could stave it off with what he knew about the healing arts but only for so long, it was obvious he needed to return to his ship where there was bacta and solitude. Lecchamemnon began to move, knowing that to stay in this palace meant death. He made for the closest exit, striding instead of hobbling. There was no sign that he was wounded at all, aside from the blood on his beard, though this was simply an act of supreme determination propped up by yet more of the force on his part. It was rare that he had to deal with injuries, and this was the first serious one he'd sustained in a very long time... He was not about to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him any weaker than he usually was. The smashed ribs grated against eachother with every step sending bolts of lightning all over his body, but he resisted the urge to cry out, or to stop moving. His hands were balled into tight fists, and his face was taut with the effort, but still he moved as if he was just fine - the victor, even. Lecchamemnon had always been a liar.

Whatever state his body was in, it was of little concern compared to his mind. Chaos reigned, his thoughts in turmoil as he desperately tried to ascertain exactly what had happened. He had sensed nothing from the boy, there was only rage and darkness and then the fight was done: What had happened? Furthermore, how had he even manifested such an awesome explosion of destruction? His releases before now had been much less spectacular, and infinitely more controllable... Did Gabriel have a hand in this? Not directly, that much was for sure - but had his fell presence caused something to go off within Lecchamemnon's mind?

That felt believable, and Lecchamemnon really did want to... But there was another theory. It horrified him.

This gloomy, overcast day on Onderon had been a threshold, one that Lecchamemnon had arrogantly crossed without thought for what might happen to him afterwards. He could feel the dark side even now, closer than it ever had been. He felt a greater affinity for it than ever, even now while wounded and drained... It spoke to him with a voice he could hear instead of wordless whispers, and what it wanted of him chilled Lecchamemnon to the core: Gabriel's life, along with the lives of everyone on Onderon. It wanted his soul, and his body, and every last scrap of his power. The Dark Side wanted everything, to consume it all in an unending quest for strength. He could see himself, a few years down that road as an avatar of the Dark side. Sith Emperor, The Great Destroyer reborn, the end of all things... Power for power's own sake.

He left the palace, which was crumbing to dust about him in the wake of his great rage, another thing for the people of Onderon to mourn. He was consumed both in his own thoughts and the effort of maintaining any sort of pace. He was disturbed greatly, even more so than when he had fled the Jedi. What was he becoming? The dark side had such plans for him, was he really going to turn down the possibility of becoming a God? He knew the costs, but were they worth the reward? What was the risk? People were weeping all about him, no longer tearing at eachother and now filled with guilt at the atrocities they had committed. Gabriel was to blame, of course, but they had no idea. They didn't even know that it had been Lecchamemnon that saved them all from slavery, from a life in service to a monster. He didn't care, or pay them any thought. He hadn't gone to the palace to free them, he'd gone for himself... Another dark act. How many had there been that he did not remember? For how long had he been this puppet, this shell of what he once stood for?

It was a short walk to the hangar, but it felt like a marathon. By the time he reached his ship there were tears in the corners of his eyes, and his tongue was bitten through to stop himself crying out. The hatch opened and he all but fell through it, stumbling into the cool dark interior of his lair.

Everything collapsed. His resolve, his determination, his last vestiges of strength expended on the effort of making it home in dignity. His breathing became jagged, and he almost dropped to his knees then and there. He threw out a hand and grasped at the wall, keeping himself upright as he maneuvered himself to his interrogation chair. It doubled as a one man med bay, though he hardly ever had cause to use it as such, and he lay back in the seat for a good minute, letting the agony of his wound rush over him like a tidal wave. Once the shock passed he fumbled around to his right, opening the cabinet conveniently placed there. Taking out a massive glowing blue needle and breathing raggedly he tore away the front of his tunic to reveal that he had, in fact, been bleeding from his chest as well all this time. The sight of his own blood was a rare one, but it didn't trouble him any more than he was already.

He closed his eyes, readying himself for the pain to come. He had no other choice, this was the most direct way of applying Bacta to the wound. He made a mental note to invest in some proper tube technology, before stabbing himself in the chest with the needle. He screamed, activating the ship's emergency boot up with the noise, the Bacta syringe automatically injected its payload directly into his ruined lung, but he had no time to think about that consumed as he was in agony. He left the needle there for another minute or so before gingerly removing it, and placing it back in its niche. The canister atop the cabinet gurgled, and the syringe refilled itself. Lecchamemnon gritted his teeth, forcing himself to think of something other than the wound, knowing that he was in for a rough enough time as it was with multiple Bacta injections for the next day or so, supplemented with intense force healing as soon as he was strong enough. He turned his mind to the force, hard though it was to focus through the pain in his chest as the Bacta did its work.

He pondered, in between rattling breaths, the nature of his failure. Perhaps today was not a threshold he had ignorantly stepped across, for that was just one possibility. His action today would stay with him until the day he died, and he would have to be doubly careful with his use of the dark side in the future. It was closer, just under his skin whereas before only a small part of him had been given over to the darkness. Every release from now on would corrupt him further, he sensed that somehow... And this knowledge gave him back some small semblance of hope. Perhaps he was not lost just yet. If he could be corrupted further, the man he once was still lived, though he was surely a sickly old thing by now.

Lecchamemnon resolved to nourish himself. The dark side served him well when he had absolute need, but it should never become a crutch, or a vice. He made a solemn promise to himself as he bled into the fabric of his interrogation chair, to never again stoop to the dark side out of arrogance, or a desire for power. That way lay damnation. The black phoenix within his was a dangerous creature, trying its best to devour him. He would not let it.

He reached for the needle again, while calling out to his ship. It was time to leave.

"Spectre... take me to Coruscant. The apocalypse nears, and I would stand with those I once abandoned... It's time for my penance."

"Yes, sir." Came the ship's droid-voice reply.

 

[Butler]

Lucifer looked up to the ceiling, feeling worlds apart from what gods terrorized the heavens above. His hands spread apart, feeling the dark taint of this place from within. He had let it saturate in him. And in the draw of emptiness, when silence foretold of a power too great to comprehend, Lucifer once again found fear in his heart.

Awareness broke him, enlightened him, as he looked back to the pillar which he had moved to subdue the girl. His hands began to shake. He feared having killed her, adding to the collection of speckled blood that counted his misdeeds this day. Then it happened...

With barely a moment to feel it coming, his chin shot back up, and a combustion of energies erupted from above. The great Palace splintered and shattered as the expanded wave threw Lucifer back over the stairs and into the cavity of the main entrance hall.

All fell silent.

Lucifer groaned, recalling the pain that now stretched through his bones. He looked around, seeing all that had been destroyed. Up above, there was a gaping hole, and Lucifer began to fear the worst.

"Gab-riel..." he whispered in solitude.

Panic shook into his nerves, pumping adrenaline for what seemed like hours. His eyes soon weren't enough. He twisted and turned, finding only rubble and destruction around him. But then he heard it, his name, crossing the physical realm and into the spiritual. Sensing his presence was inaccurate. Instead, he had sensed the word, his name, spoken from Gabrel's split lips.

Desperation grew in his eyes, and he scrambled for the main gates.

Lucifer hobbled at first, feeling a pinch in his one leg from the short fall, but soon accelerated into a sprint as he barreled through the exit. Nothing else mattered. Then, there, to the right, he found him. At last, he had found him. Lucifer breathed a heavy sigh for evading loneliness, that Gabriel, whom could be as a father to him, was still with him. He was alive, only just. Lucifer followed his broken heart the last few steps towards him, and knelt down beside him.

"Gabriel," he started softly, "I heard you. I heard you..."

Lucifer's hands hovered carefully over him, wanting to caress comfort and safety into his flesh; but Gabriel's wounds surprised him. He quickly realized how severe they were, grimacing at what once was Gabriel's arm. Time was of the essence. He needed to act fast, whether Gabriel approved or not.

So Lucifer cleared off pieces of rubble, then fed his hands around Gabriel's sides and tucked under his good arm.

"I've got you," he assured sadly.

Trying as best he could to help Gabriel along, he realized how much he was willing to give. For the first time, he would give his life for someone else. He would give anything. He blinked rapidly, trying to escape these thoughts as he always did; but could not. And when Gabriel's legs gave out, Lucifer would carry him all by himself. He took him to through the crowd of like mind and injury, towards the hangar Lucifer had used each time he had come and gone from this place. The city was too dysfunctional to be concerned with them and which ship they took.

Carefully listening to every whisper that fell from Gabriel's lips, Lucifer brought him to a small shuttle amidst a dozen other ships. It was the same he had arrived in. With great difficulty, he managed to bring Gabriel inside and find the softest bed to lay him down. His strength lapsing, Lucifer tried with every ounce of will he had left to express his gentle care in putting him down. Finally, safe at last, Lucifer fell back to sit upon the floor with a huff. He looked at the state of Gabriel, the state of things, and worried. But he was not alone.

He had to take care of him. And so he did. He found a med kit, cursing his lack of ability in the healing arts, and did his best to treat the wounds. Time would tell of the extent of these injuries, but Lucifer would not allow his mentor to suffer for long. He owed this man everything, everything he could give. It was all his.