Thy Kingdom Come

[Demiurge]

The distant sounds, like echoes on the faint winds, like the whispers trickling into his ear. Howls the Dark Lord of the Sith had heard only too often. Voices cry out in pain, shrieks of malevolent terror. Fires erupt around them, beings clad in armor with weapons of war. Though not as one, many stand together, united by instinct. By fear. Fear of those they war against, fear of a power they have never faced before. Their sweat becomes as blood, their hearts bleed from within. Machines rain down from the skies above and blanket the charred soil like brimstone from the wrath of gods. Blaster bolts of burning plasma boar through the air like beams of light on a battlefield of darkness. But it is not enough. They know they face death's relenting door, but they stand firm. One stands in the ashes of his fallen brethren, raising his gun as he screams in the vortex of the battle. Blood trickles down his face, and his pupils dilate from the intense light on his weapon. And in the thrall of his final stand, his screams stop. His face drops and his eyes open in horror and despair as another light overtakes him, expunging him from the only world he would ever know.

"Welcome to the End."

​

The Dark Lord turns around, only to behold frigidity in an infinite expanse of ice and stone. He looks about, to the left and the right, and yet all traces of the place he once was had been eradicated. The air crushed and tore all in its wake, like a maelstrom of bladed hail, a freezing tempest without equal. And around him was darkness, not a star's light or a sun's warmth shone down over him. And then, suddenly, the darkness retracted, and the world around him became as the clearness of any illuminating day. Everything was white, all around him, as if time had reversed. And before his feet, there was an archway, a pylon, set up as if a ruin of an era long, long ago. And the darkness was still within, as if trapped inside. And a bright light, brighter than any light he'd seen before, was placed at the front of the pylon.

The Dark Lord's eyes began to drift, and unbeknownst to him, a figure of perpetual darkness stood, facing the archway. He stood as a man, as any man, but there was something unnatural of him. Everything of his essence was dark, almost like a nothingness, and yet he stood, he lived. No light reflected onto him, or off of him. It was as if he almost was not even there. And all the same, the Dark Lord somehow knew, it was this dark man's voice he'd heard.

"The end of what?"

The Dark Man slowly looked behind him, yet without his mouth opening, a voice reached the Dark Lord.

"Everything."

Exodeus' eyes narrowed as he meant to grasp the meaning of such words.

"Do you mean the Sith? The Jedi?"

"No.." the figure said, turning his body around, and using his mouth, spoke again, "Everything you have every known, is at an end. The appointed time draws near - this reckoning cannot be denied. The suns will be darkened, the moons will be silenced. The stars you've scarcely known will be purged, and the worlds themselves will be shattered. An eternity of a new dawn, and forever in eternity."

And at that, the dark man vanished, as if evaporating into a thin smoke or mist. A piercing screeching penetrated the vicinity around him as the stone pylons began to crack and fracture. And as if an explosion, the darkness became unleashed, expanding in waves as it burst forth from whist it dwelt. And as it emerged, omnipresent it was, as it was as if the Dark Lord had been stricken with blindness, forbidden to see, or perhaps there was no longer anything left to see for his eyes.


The Dark Lord's crimson eyes burst open, as if a mounted pressure had been released from off his eyelids. His body had been covered in a cold sweat, and his skin cold to the touch. His breathing was deep, and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his pulse, even more erratic than usual. It was not unusual for Exodeus to induce visions and dreamlike episodes. But they had always been vague, non-definitive. Never before had he had a vision of such intensity. But then, he'd long learned that even what appears obvious is full of deceptions, infinite in interpretation. And such was the nature of the Force.

"I know you are here, Andraste," Exodeus said, his head still down and legs crossed from deep mediation.

 

[Sreeya]

“So I am..”

The voice came from behind the Dark Lord, devoid of intention, devoid of emotion. The woman that was his wife stepped out from within the shadows. She had been observing him, taking in every meticulous detail, every twitch of his muscle, the sweat that coated his scarred body. His mind had been an influx of thoughts, a cacophony of intrusive illusions, and yet she couldn’t see or hear a single flash of it. The Dark Lord was well guarded in his thoughts, even in her presence.

Andraste was not without her own barriers, tricks she had learned from the man himself. She had grown into a complexity that eluded her own conscious thoughts. Destiny had yanked her by the neck, submerging her into a whirlpool that led into an eternally downward spiral. She never surfaced, loving and losing everything along the way. She had been shattered into a million pieces and pieced together again. There was a fundamental flaw in her design, one that her husband, her lover and her purpose for existence had placed within her himself.

She made no noise with her subtle motions, stepping bare foot onto the cold floor. The hems of her elongated, black dress dragged behind her. Andraste said nothing for a moment, her yellow eyes tracing over him, over every outline, ever curve, before landing on the crimson eyes that haunted her for a lifetime. The crimson eyes that her daughter had. Andraste let the jabbing, wisp of a thought get lost into the tangled confines of her psyche. She spoke at last, barely above a whisper.

“What did you see?”

 

[Demiurge]

For what seemed like an unbounded eternity, Exodeus remained silent, without a word. The vision was far more intense and definitive than any he'd had before, yet for the first time since his earliest years, it was something he could not describe, could not explain.

"I saw... a strange darkness. I saw War. Death. By none by the hands of the Sith."

The Dark Lord stopped in his words as he closed his eyes. It was so different from the visions he'd been having before. The abstracts of his mind whispering, but it was of his own voice. And his own voice was saying to him, telling him, commanding him, 'dawn, the ascension calls, and shall be obeyed'. But with a prophecy, interpretation is key to everything. In the cases of most, the Dark Side of the Force had endowed Exodeus with a supranatural clarity beyond the grasps of so many. Even he himself knew, recognized it. He'd come so far, but was it really so long ago? Even in his reign, he was younger than many of his own Sith Lords. Yet it felt as if he'd lived many lifetimes. Many... yet lacking. There was something still out of reach, something denied to him. At times, he felt as if he knew, but couldn't accept what it was. Couldn't comprehend. Was it still the same now?

'Ascend, Daemon.'

The Dark Lord exhaled... slowly, softly, as his eyes opened again, and his head rose up, staring at the dark empty walls of a dark empty room. He was Darth Exodeus, a reborn creature who embodied all it was to be a true Sith. A true Dark Lord. But was his first life ever truly dead to begin with? Where did Daemon end, and Exodeus begin? For so long, he felt as if he knew the answer. And perhaps, the answer had been within him all along.

"Woman, tell me," he began, not turning around, not hardening his voice, but only speaking as a man, or for the first time, perhaps something more, "What are the things that you wish for?"

 

[Sreeya]

Andraste smiled at the question.

“I have stopped wishing, husband. A long time ago.”

The chill of the floor was electrifying, coursing through the rest of her body and causing faint goosebumps on her pallid flesh. The black dress was a stark contrast to her almost chalk white features, giving her a ghastly look that was hauntingly alluring. The allure came from the inner strength that resided in her, though it was strength wrought of anguish, forged by sorrow. Though emotions escaped her, memories continued to cut into her every day. Not a single day went by where she did not think of her lost child, not a single moment passed where she did not see those same haunting, red eyes, full of innocence. It was a striking dichotomy between hers and her father’s, the same eyes with one exuding pure evil.

The concept of evil had always escaped Andraste, even since the first time Exodeus had found her. She had never fit into the mold of ‘evil’, had never had the desire to mercilessly destroy. In truth, destiny had seen fit to unleash atrocities upon her in return. Was it punishment for escaping the binds the Dark Side had desired to chain her with? Despite her many years of escaping, she had been caged in the end, her primal, yellow eyes a permanent reminder of her descent.

“Death…at times it sounds as a blissful journey. It can be an escape from the tumultuous rain, a sanctuary from lifetime of pain and misery. You thrive on them, but it scars and mars you as it does me.”

She inched closer to him, reaching a hand out to lightly glide a finger along the side of his face, tracing his jawline.

“Does death truly sound so terrible?”

 

[Demiurge]

"No... You haven't, Andraste. Your heart, it betrays your thoughts."

His words were so sure, so solidified and certain, without a vengeance of doubt or deception.

"It was said, a true Sith never dies. To me innermost being, that is the only reality I behold, but what does it mean, to die? What is death, as we comprehend it? The Dark Side... no... the Force, it seeks to tell me. At first, I felt as if it was a new realization, but I wonder if it has always called to me."

'Ascend, Daemon'

"There is no pain where strength lies. It's been over a decade now, since my first master told me it was the obligation of every Dark Lord to seek a power beyond mortality. When defeat is not an option, how can one find a drive to reach for something other than what his masters had intended? What if one's destiny called him for something greater?"

The Dark Lord opened his eyes again, hearing his voice constantly within his head, like a calling of an ethereal presence. It was unnerving, like the chilling touch of a cold-steel blade against the skin, the intensity of a burning star, but without the wrath of its fires. His mind slipped into episodes with constancy, seeing flashes of a man before him, a boy, but not him. He was so similar, so familiar, yet he could not comprehend why. He... could not comprehend, and it was manifest in his eyes like a frustration of hate, but without the maliciousness. Not rage, not contentment. Only sheer will. Focus. He was not a beacon of the Dark Side alone, nor of unity with the Force. He simply... was.

His eyes diminished as he felt her hand at his face. Not softened, not narrowed, only taken to a lesser stance and intensity than where they were before. His hand came about, slowly laying it upon hers. He could scarcely feel the warmth of her hands, but it was not from the callouses of his own. Nor was it by the chill of her soul, it was as if he'd temporarily lost his sense of touch altogether. No sensation, no vibrancy, even as he began to squeeze her hand in his, as if refusing to let go.

"Death is an end. The state of an existence which then shall cease to be. Nothingness... weakness."

And at that moment, the Dark Lord's mind suddenly flashed to another scenario, a mad clad in a strange armor, and a young woman, mystifyingly beautiful, almost supernaturally so. And the armor's man... the Sith - his power permeated between the two. His power... so absolute, so perfect. Like a paragon of all that he sought to be.

 

[Sreeya]

She let him grasp her hand, not pulling it back, her eyes gazing into his. Though he was unreadable, she could tell a flurry of images danced behind the crimson windows, a kaleidoscopic marquee of vivid imagery trailing within his mind. Furthermore, she knew they were not of his own doing, his grip on her almost forceful, as if he needed an anchor to reality. Andraste leaned in closer to him, her golden eyes lowering to drink in the sight of every detail of his skin, every tiny flaw, every pigment. She tilted her head, her lips brushing against his. There was little romance between them, merely a bond of desire. She whispered the words, the sentence admixing with the haunting echo of the Force to encompass his mind as well.

“Perhaps death is a beginning…”

She closed her eyes, capturing his lips with her own, a taste she hadn’t experienced in some time. For a moment, she felt a sudden spike within her psyche, the slightest twinge of emotion, as if a single ray of sunlight piercing through a thick wave of clouds. However, the clouds quickly shifted to block out the light, suppressing even that tiny essence of attachment. Andraste pulled away after a moment, unable to feel the heat from his body.

“Everything we have worked towards…every step we have taken.. every time I have been broken and rebuilt..from the day since you found me until the day I became your wife. The day I became the Empress.”

She slowly gazed up at him.

“Every bitter taste of pain, every agonizing brutality, every painful lesson, every last wound inflicted on me..everything you’ve conditioned me for…every moment you’ve spent with me..every moment you gazed at me..every moment you touched me..every moment you made love to me..every moment you gave me strength..every moment you took it away…all of it..all of it…”

She paused for a moment.

“Through it all…through all of it…did you ever find the beauty in it? Did you find the humanity in it? Did you love me through it?”

 

[Demiurge]

'Ascend, Daemon!'
​

The Force silently seized Exodeus' body and mind, consuming his mind, and darkening his eyes. His lungs froze like ice in his veins, and the hairs of his body became erect. Burning sweat dripped onto his chilled body, creating a very thin mist round, creating a mysterious aura unlike anything seen before. And before his eyes, there was nothing. A darkness. An emptiness. A void, blacker than the absence of space itself. And then, suddenly, a light like that from a burning sun flashed before his eyes, shining down over him. In the splinter of the mind's eye, Exodeus... Daemon, was on a world. A world unlike one he'd seen in his life. And yet, it was so familiar to him. Had he been there, once before? Was he here, because there was something there for him to see? To understand? Stiff grass prickled his feet, and a gentle spring breeze danced around his flesh... a gentle breeze. Daemon saw the trickling of a brook, a stream, with water clear as the skies and cool as the night air.

His feet took away, leading him toward the water. His throat, his lips. Such a thirst, but not for water. And yet, this water was different. There was something about it - it drew him. Incited him. And as he came toward it, Daemon stepped into the cool, narrow river, standing in the briskness of it as he soon fell to his knees. But it was not the refreshing waters that felled him. As he stood in the brook, the Dark Lord... the man, looked down at his very reflection. And in the water, he saw the face he'd seen for a long time. Black hair, piercing red and black eyes... but without a mark. Without a blemish on his body. Every scar was gone. His identity... gone. Gone... or perhaps something else? Something more..

::Hear Thy Call. A Throne of Stars above is his Will. A Thousand Exploding Suns is his Power. Hear Thy Call, Defy the Abyss::

​

At that, a powerful wind, like a gust, screeched through the tranquil air like a falling meteor through an atmosphere. It was a howl, a roar, a bellow. The voice of the ethereal, the call from a greater place. Suddenly then, the skies came down like a maelstrom from the heavens. Thunders and lightnings echoed like a dragon's cry, and flashed like flares of a star of blue flames. The clouds then began to take the shape of a man, and the lightning became as his soul and spirit. His feet scourged where his feet had tread, and his hands were instruments of destruction. Of carnage. A king among kings, supreme, unmatched. But over his domain was only that which became consumed by him. By an essence meant for another place. The heavens and skies descended unto the stone and soil below. It cannot contain him. It cannot withstand him.

Behind him was the blackness like the smoke of smoldering ashes. At his knees were like the fires of an eternal fire. The skies over him were his mantle. The thunders within him were his infinite power - the crackling of azure were his veins. His eyes were all seeing. His mouth spewed horrors of the soul. And his voice was like a thousand devils vying for control.

::Ascend, Daemon::
​

And without fail, the man, the Dark Lord, the boy, the conqueror... shut his eyes in silence. He could not see, not any longer. But he could hear. Hear the wrath around him. He could feel. Feel the intensity like the eye of the storm, but the strength of the walls. A burning rain was the scent on the air. A bitter sweet wind was the taste upon his tongue. Daemon gave himself into the event horizon. Allowing himself to be hardened by it. Molded by it. Seasoned by it. Rebirth, without a death. Creation, without a destruction. A new path, a new life... without a death. For a true Sith... never dies.

In a fraction of a second from the moment he had closed his eyes, Daemon's vision, his true vision, returned to him. And while he spoke nothing with his lips, he had acknowledged it all in his heart.

::I understand...::, he said within.

::Ascend, Daemon::
​

And with that, the burning eyes opened again. Red rings like fiery stars against a background of infinite darkness like the void of space. A true Sith must see beyond what is written in stone. He could understand. A true Sith must be more - must be greater - than what destiny had created him to be. He could understand. A true Sith defies the chains that bind them, in life. In death. Beyond. He could understand.

"I did not," he said, with the eerie chill of tone, "You were a means to an end. Clay to be molded. A masterpiece to be created."

At that, Daemon stood up slowly, turning around all the while as he set his eyes deeply into those of Andraste's.

"Everything that you are, has been what I have transpired. You were shattered, and I made you whole. You were crushed, and I reforged you. You were lost, I founded your path... to be built, some things must first be destroyed."

At once, Daemon moved his way toward her, drawing closer and closer. His eyes became softened, contrasting with the words that would no doubt echo and resonate with her.

"I told you this, once, many years ago. You are my weapon, you are my tool, you are my will. You cannot escape your destiny. You cannot escape me. And you cannot escape what you are. And that what you are, is all you will ever be."

 

[Sreeya]

She thought of him then. He had walked into that orphanage, offering a smile after she had been isolated and singled out for being the ‘problem child’.

”It’s a beautiful temple in the center of the galaxy, surrounded by vast rivers, beautiful hillsides…and gardens full of flowers.”

A dream. He had described a dream, a sanctuary that was always just out of reach. She didn’t believe it until she smelled the flowers for herself, and she felt the dew beneath her bare feet, the grass between her toes. She had called herself a Padawan then, and she had been a Jedi. What was her understanding of the Right Conduct? She couldn’t quite recall.

She thought of him then. He had walked into her life when she had been hunched over the dead bodies of her parents. She couldn’t recall their faces, but she could recall a stuffed animal she clutched so fiercely.

”There is nothing for you here.”

A nightmare. He had taken her from her reality and had concocted his own, weaving a web for her to fall into. She could recall her innocence, her naivety and her eagerness for vengeance. She walked with him, and she called herself an Acolyte, a Sith, a tool to be molded to the Sith Lord’s desire.

Her life had been in absolutes. She had been to both ends and everything in between, had tasted every bitter tear, had loved and lost through it, and through it all she had seen a silver lining. Through it all, there had been a semblance of hope, a semblance of goodness. It was something she had nurtured, something she had cherished. It was a tiny bit of her existence, one that fought against all odds.

“This is perhaps the purest and most beautiful thing you’ve ever cherished in your life. Never let go of that cherishing, as it is your nature. Not literally, of course, but this is what you’ve cherished in your life because this flower is life. It is life in its purest and most beautiful form. It is a symbol of nature, a symbol of love. No matter how deep you bury it, you have the love of humanity in your heart, and this is how you show it.”

Humanity was fleeting. Humanity was engineered. She felt it the day she felt her own humanity shattered. She felt it as she saw the ship explode, her child destroyed in an instant, the culmination of her goodness, her benevolence and every last bit of serenity within her going up in flames. She saw her own undoing, the cracks spreading until the glass shattered before her very eyes. Andraste was not trained, but she was molded like clay, with Exodeus as the sculptor.

She had believed him. Every single time. She had believed Jhon. Neither of them knew. Neither of them understood. The chaos that existed within her was manipulated, her humanity was contorted and twisted to Exodeus’ whims. She had been Empress, and it was because the Emperor bid it so. She had been his weapon and shield, an experiment and a trial.

"But this... this is real. This is what 'monsters' are capable of. There are great beasts of power in this galaxy, capable of so much more. But to become a mighty beast, one must bear their fangs, wield their claws."

Andraste felt sick at the words, wanting to deny it.

"You can be a monster. You can be a behemoth."

It was a fight. There was protest. There was denial.

“You yearn for redemption, I can feel it. You say you’re beyond it, but you’re just trying to convince yourself it’s the case. You despise what you’ve become and so you curse yourself, but you are not cursed. We all have darkness inside of us, even me, but that doesn’t mean we have to surrender to it."

She wanted to believe it. But where was Jhon now? Where was her guide now? If there was benevolence and he understood it, why did he not save her? Why did he let her escape from the Jedi? Why did he never stop her? Her daughter wasn’t tainted like she was. Her daughter wasn’t beyond redemption. Jhon took the girl knowing full well that her mother was beyond it. Andraste was the lost cause. Had he lied?

"But as you are now, you are not a beast. You are prey. And prey are always victim to the predator."

The words, Exodeus’ words, echoed throughout her mind, encompassing her psyche. She was a victim in every aspect of the word. She was a victim to any she had come across. She had been a tool to mold and shape for the purpose of anyone. Her strength lied in the chaos chained and bound within her, but the reigns had been given to others.

She saw that truth in Exodeus, she saw a lifetime of purpose mapped out. She had believed in that destiny, with Exodeus as the writer, with Exodeus as the God. The good in her, the humanity in her, had been her vulnerability from the beginning.

"Beauty... Beauty is ephemeral, a fleeting illusion."

Her emotions, her ability to love, her ability to grow attached, all of it had been illusions created by the chaos. She believed it now. She saw it now. Beauty as she saw it had been manufactured. She created it as a fleeting glimpse of hope into a deviation from her twisted reality. She had seen it as an escape, but there was none. She had been crafted for a purpose, pieces put together by both spectrums of the Force. She was built by both Exodeus and Jhon, both telling her their own accounts of her creation.

Her own thoughts welled within her mind, alien and directionless. There was dissonance within her mind, convoluted ideas that had no origin. It was a moment before she realized it was her chaos that was addressing her. It was the monster that had been chained within her. It had gained sentience, it had evolved, it had awakened for the first time. It was alive, it was breathing, it was pulsating, twisting and writhing within her. Exodeus’ words triggered a chain reaction, though her face betrayed nothing.

She felt the Force and the chaos admixing into one. Her identity, her purpose, her destiny all began to fade. Her title as Empress began to melt away. Her desire to govern, her role within the Sith and Sith itself began to fall apart. All she knew was the chaos, all she knew was the beast, the strength that was charged to life by Exodeus. He had spent many years building it, and his words had commanded it to life.

Andraste had lost her humanity, but the beast was an abomination . It was a cancer, a true tear in the Force, a wound that was infected and would spread rapidly. She felt it doing so, beginning from her core and expanding out to every bit of her. She felt it course up her spine, felt it inject into every blood vessel, felt it empowering her in the cruelest fashion. She was a shell and the beast was quickly housing itself within the husk. Andraste was beginning to fade.

She saw the beast and she felt herself grow further and further away from it. She was the beast, looking at Andraste. Andraste, the girl, the Jedi, the Acolyte, the flower remained standing. Yet the beast drew back further, moving back and seeing the sad girl standing without taking a single step forward. She was leaving behind Jhon as she left the girl behind. She was leaving behind her daughter. She was leaving behind Exodeus. She was leaving behind love. She was leaving behind joy. She was leaving behind the last imprint of humanity.

”I’m sorry, Jhon.”

She had become the chaos. She had tapped into what already existed within her. She breathed in air as the chaos, tasted it as the chaos. She closed her eyes and slowly reopened them as the chaos. She gazed at Exodeus as the chaos. Unlike Andraste, the chaos had no love in its heart for him. A smile slowly began to spread across her face. The chaos was grateful to the master that created it.

Andraste’s hand lowered from Exodeus’ face, fingers tracing down his neck and down his chest. She was impossible to read, the chaos an entity different than Andraste. The chaos had its own signature, its own aura, its own energy. Andraste was long gone, left back on an island within the ocean of her psyche. The chaos was power beyond anything Andraste could have channeled.

“You are correct, Daemon.”

When she spoke, it was through the Force. Her lips moved, but no words came out, the ambiguous voice echoing within his thoughts.

“You have created me. You have built me from the ground up. You have made me into what I am today. So long have I been chained..so long have I been bound…so long have I suffered from the inconveniences of human flaws. I offer gratitude for that, Darth Exodeus.”

Her hand lingered on his chest, the smile still on her face. It wasn’t her usual smile, but one that was more robotic, forced.

“My creation means the undoing of Andraste. You said she was the means to an end. “

Andraste paused for a moment, gazing into his eyes.

“I am the end.”

The entire hall was suddenly absent of the Force. There was silence and darkness all at once, even for a Force user. The exalted plane of existence was empty, devoid of any sensations of perceptions of the Force. It had been called to Andraste in an instant, all of it. It was command of the Force beyond what was believed to be possible. It was command without a call, but a premature obedience. It was so subtle that it was impossible to catch save for the glaring absence of Force energy in the room.

It began with the faintest glow of light. It was almost beautiful, a serene glow that danced in the palm of her hand. She kept her hand on his chest, sliding it down to the center of it. Her eyes continued to gaze into his, the smile remained on her face. That same, manufactured and plastic smile.

The glow began to grow larger. It would be noticeable if time stopped, the eerie light growing inch by inch. The chaos felt the life energy from Exodeus pulsating underneath the palm, felt the heartbeat resounding below. Andraste had rested her head there many times, enjoying the odd rhythms. The chaos felt the same rhythms, the silvery light honing in on the sound, committing it to memory.

The power began with gentle tendrils slowly delving into Exodeus. It was excruciatingly slow, expanding out in waves and burying into his chest. He wouldn’t feel pain, but merely a slight bit of pressure. Andraste continued gazing at him, the energy from her palm rapidly streaming into his core. It was almost gentle, as if she were siphoning off her strength.

The energy would travel into him, deep into his chest, expanding rapidly. The Force was expertly contained, perfectly manipulated and harnessed. It was every bit of Force in the hall, every last strand that she had snatched from around them. The Force swelled up within Exodeus’ chest, and through it all she gazed at him almost lovingly, though they would both know she was not capable of such an emotion. The Force continued to pulsate, eating away at his insides slowly. And still he would feel nothing. Still he would see her gazing at him, deep into his eyes, her hand on his chest.

The energy ate through the cavities in his chest, rapidly working to the back of his torso. It all began from the light gesture, the subtlest touch. The energy would explode out his back, through that heart with the odd rhythms. Through that heart that held no love. Through that heart that saw fit to build the monster that was destroying him today. There was no remorse in Andraste’s eyes as she released the chaotic culmination of energy that would silence Exodeus forever, that would rip through him mercilessly and tear him into shreds.

As the chaos unleashed its wrath upon Exodeus, a voice echoed within his mind. It repeated back the very words he had once uttered to Andraste.

“And my freedom... mine shall be yours, as surely as your life is bound to mine."

 

[Demiurge]

"Tash Nwûl, Shâsotkun"

Distant thunder cried out through a starless midnight sky. The downpour of a deluge seeped the ground like the tears of a thousand armies, saturating it until the very dirt became as a mire for creatures of the marshlands. Gale winds whisked from the highest heavens to the lowest land, and spiraling tornadoes wreaked havoc across barren fields of grass and blood, diluted from the flooding waters. There was no light, no illumination, except by the hurling spectral flashes of the lightning that danced in the deadened skies above.

"On your feet, maggots!" screamed a large armored man.

As if an impending force against the violent tempest around them, a massive army of tens of thousands of men and woman marched across an empty battlefield of blood and bones, the site of a great conflict only days ago.

"Take what's of value, leave the rest!" yelled the man, whipping several of the troops, "Everything is for the rejuvenation of the Sith Empire! We must reach the Dark Army before the fourth day falls!"

Bodies of an abandoned battleground were pillaged and stripped, the desecration of the dead, both ally and enemy. From the weapons of soldiers to the valuables upon the fallen Jedi and Sith, all that could be taken, was, with some leaving the bodies as lifeless husks, naked and shamed. Among the army, a lone boy - no older than sixteen or seventeen - stood over the body of a dead Sith Lord, staring down at his corpse with indifference, with apathy. And without warning, a blow suddenly came at the back of his neck, striking him to the ground.

"Move, boy!" yelled the armored man, staring down at him as he began to draw from a sheathe a massive bastard sword, "Or you're useless to the Dark Army?"

The boy said nothing to the man, only glaring at him from the ground as the clumps of mud dropped from the crook of his face. His gaze was like the unlit lightsabers of those fallen around them, paralyzing the man as if they were a poison to him. What seemed as a hundred years was only a moment, as the boy rose up without a word, and fell back in line with the marching troops. Nevertheless, the man stood frozen for moments following, slowly sheathing his sword as he turned to watch the young soldier.

"Who is that one, Captain?" said a man, garbed in black, standing behind the armored man.

"My lord," the captain said, kneeling, "He's only a maggot from the mines of Apatros, inducted months ago after being delivered to the Dark Army through contacts connected by a Neimoidian of the same world. He is defiant, my lord, but like them all, he will learn."

The Sith remained silent, only watching the teenage boy from afar as he passionlessly marched on, bearing through the thick swamp and heavy rain falling down over them all. But the boy stood through it all as if the gale force were the breeze at his back, and the ground were as weightless dust. Only the Sith's golden-red eyes showed where his watchfulness centered upon, before turning it back to the captain.

"See that he does," he said, turning about, "No mercy, Captain. No forgiveness. Teach the boy, have him learn, or kill him where he stands."

The captain smiled behind his metal mask even as his head was bowed to his departing master, "As you wish, my lord."

"Châts Shâsot, Tyûk"

Hours upon hours became days upon days, unending as the march across the mired lands and beneath the unchanging skies. Horns from what seemed to be miles apart blared across the vicinity of the marching soldiers, the alert of the setting of camp. The dimness from the light of fires through the seemingly infinite barren plains were the only illumination for miles, and burned from dugout holes in the ground. Near the Northern camps, the same boy from before sat in silence as he ate his portions in silence, ignoring the rain and thunders around him. A shadow cast over him in due time, as a ragged man stood over him.

"My food, boy," he said, glaring down at him.

The boy said nothing in reply, only glaring back at the older man. Then, without warning, the man suddenly drew his hand back into a fist, and swung his knuckles against the side of the boy's head, knocking him down. Without another wasted moment, the man fell to his knees and grabbed the boy's fallen bowl, hastily moving to eat what remained. However, no sooner had he done this had a hard boot planted itself in the man's face, knocking him back while sprinkling the mud with his blood. The man sat back up, stunned and red with anger as he then stood and charged at the boy. As he lunged another fist toward the boy's face, the boy juked as he sidestepped it only slightly, grabbing the man's extended wrist with one hand, and striking him in his throat with the other.

The man gagged from the attack, but without mercy, the boy then quickly lowered his body as his clutch on the man's wrist remained and maneuvered himself to the man's right side, twisting his arm in the process. The man arched up in pain as the boy forced simultaneously used his maneuver to sweep his leg to strike the man's kneecap, forcing him down to his knees. Now behind him, the boy then placed his boot upon the man's upper back, between his shoulder blades, and jerked the man's arm away from his body while using equal force to push his body from his arm. A loud *snapptt!* resonated through the vicinity as the man screamed out in pain. As the boy let go and the man fell face down to the ground, the boy came up over him again, placing one hand at the man's shoulder while placing the other at the crook of the man's jaw. And with a single, sharp motion, another loud *snapptt!* occurred, and the man's body fell lifelessly to the ground. The entire scuffle had only been but a few brief seconds long. The camp ground around the two became an atmosphere of drunk men cheering from the spectacle, either praising the boy or jeering the new corpse that night.

"Enough! All of you!" yelled the captain, who'd been watching the event, "We will have order!"

The camp around them became silent as all eyes focused on the towering armored man, and upon the boy who stood directly in his path.

"And you, boy, disrupt that order," the captain said, approaching him, "Your life is our masters' to command. The choice to live or die is their will. By killing a man of the Dark Army, you steal from that which rightfully belongs to the Brotherhood of Darkness."

The Northern camps became silent as the captain drew his large bastard sword, and held it out toward the teenage boy.

"And now, you have only two choices," he said, holding the tip of the sword only centimeters from the boy's neck, "You will submit your life to our lords' judgment or you will die by the executioner's blade."

The boy remained silent all the while, again locking his eyes into the man's, even through the shroud of his helmet.

"Do your masters now accept the groveling of thieves, Captain?" said the cloaked Sith Lord, standing from afar on a slightly elevated hillside, but still near enough to see and be seen, to hear and be heard, "What value to us is the life of a petty child?"

The captain again grinned heartily beneath his mask, as he rose his sword up over his head, "Thy will be done, my lord!"

"Châts Tyûk, Midwan"

In a single motion, the captain brought his sword down over the boy, who narrowly dodged the tip of the blade. Despite the softness of the saturated ground, the collision of the blade against the marsh was like a contained explosion beneath the ground, detonating the murky soil around the vicinity. The boy slid on the ground, angling his motion to bring him toward his equipment as the captain slowly turned toward him. His face could not be seen, but it was the aura of confidence that shone from his demeanor. He was a giant, trifling with an insect who had scarcely begun to learn how to fight. Within moments, the boy was armed with a longsword in his hand, and a bronzium shield strapped to his left. But even as the captain stood as a tower in comparison to him, the boy never faltered, never diverted his gaze. And as if a being possessed, the boy charged at the captain, engaging in a duel of power against finesse. The clash of their swords and the strikes of the captain's bastard against the boy's shield were like shattering waves of sound, even overpowering the thunderclaps of the lightning streaks above them all.

The captain's sword came like a battering ram, sweeping over the ducking boy with an unparalleled speed. Even as he evaded the blow however, the boy could feel the vacuum of wind on his neck. The captain was stronger than he was, faster even. Blow after blow was parried, and lunge after lunge was deflected by the bronzium shield. The boy's wrist strained as he felt his bones creak from the pressure of the captain's blows. While unscathed, the boy used his size and precision to his advantage. As the captain would strike down, the boy would somersault to evade, bringing his sword about to slash at the captain's lower legs. As the captain's blows would come down, the boy would deflect the blow by evading just outside of the captain's range, uppercutting at the undefended portions of his body. And yet, all the while, the strikes were amounting to almost nothing against the captain. He never slowed, his strength never faltered. As the boy's blade parried the captain's, forcing the young man's position almost to his knees, the man brought his leg straight through the mud as it plunged into the boy's chest like a battering ram, knocking him back several meters.

The boy was stunned briefly, coughing sharply as blood trickled from his mouth.

"Don't leave us yet, maggot," said the captain, walking toward the boy as he allowed the tip of his bastard to slice through the ground in his approach, "We haven't even begun."

Staggering slightly, the young boy arose, regaining his form and composure. Again, the boy stared into the man's eyes, but it was not like as it was before. Before, when all the man saw were the defiant eyes of a young man. Now, there was a flash, a glow. An illuminating simmer... of crimson gold. And although it appeared for a fraction of a second, it was evident enough for the man to see it. The captain's teeth grinded as he grasped his sword in both of his hands, charging at the boy as he executed a powerful diagonal slash toward the young man, roaring aloud as he did so.

Instead of dodging, however, the young man continued to parry with his shield and with his blade. The duel became a spectacle of wrath as the two clashed against each other. As the battle went on, their swords became as blurs of silver in the flashes of lighting. Over the onslaught of his blows, though, the boy one again found himself on the verge of falling to his knees. His bronzium shield was all that kept his body from the repeated strikes of the captain's bastard sword, which hammered down over him like the hand of a deity's judgment. The mud splattered up as the boy's face fell from the pain and pressure of the repeated blows, his bent legs being forced deeper and deeper into the marshes. In an instant however, the boy's face rose again, culminating the anger, the hatred within him. Faring under the captain's blows, in a single fell swoop, the boy rose his longsword and with supranatural strength, stabbed his iron blade through his bronzium shield, plunging the sword straight into the captain's heart.

The captain froze in place as not only his armor, but the boy's shield was penetrated by the strike, piercing him at the center of his body. Slowly, the boy continued to push the blade in, twisting it as he jerked his shield to an angle, pulling it out only when the blood from the captain's mouth rained down on his shield, and dripped from the edges. As the boy rose up, the man fell to the ground, still gagging. At that, the boy dropped his sword and discarded his shield, and with a single thought in his being, picked up the captain's broadsword, and brought the mighty blade down over the captain's neck, beheading him. Without a word, the boy then grabbed the captain's decapitated head in his helmet, and rose it up toward the sky in the sight of the Sith Lord.

"Move not," the Sith Lord said to the other officers moving in toward the boy, and in what was as the blink of an eye, the Sith Lord moved with astonishing speed, moving from the hillside to mere feet away from the young man, "In my decree, the boy has been taught. You have been tempered. And you have been forged, in body, in mind. And now, you are our weapon. The weapon of the Dark Lords."

The other officers slowly put away their weapons in surprise as they observed their master, while the rest of the Northern camp stared on in silence. Staring at the young man for several seconds without a word, the Sith Lord finally addressed him.

"What is your name, boy?" he asked.

The young boy looked up at him for the first time, dropping the bastard and taking his gaze away from the fallen corpse of the dead captain. "My name... I am-"

---

"Châts Midwan, Asha"

Daemon stood, as if one stood on land, over the midst of the events unfolding before. Displaced, from space, from time, gazing upon the events of another era of times long, long ago. The rain and wind were as a maelstrom in the skies, but he felt no harshness, the lightning stuck around him, but he felt no pain, no hesitance at the starkness of the light. The sound of thunder boomed, but it was like an echo far off from him. But it would not last, in the span of a splinter of the mind's very perception of time itself, the scene of Daemon's world began to change, as if a dream were melting away in the fires of reality. Again, he was surrounded by darkness, but it was not as it once was. There was light, fractures against the void round about. Stars, glistening in the expanse of space. And yet, he heard. A roar, like that of an escalating fire, surrounded him. Without a hesitation in his wake, Daemon turned about, gazing at a great darkness behind him. It was a sphere of black, but not like space. It was a star, but not like those around him. It was magnificent, something to be in awe of. Power, in it's rawest, purest form. A star long lost to a time the galaxy would never see again. As he followed the Unifying Force, Daemon had always been drawn to the brimming cosmic stellates, like the fire and brimstone of a mythical deity, the stars were the expression of the true nature of power. Balanced, controlled, yet unrivaled and unstoppable.

"Black stars," said a voice, causing Daemon to look behind. But it was not of the voice itself, but the nature of it. The voice... it was foreign, yet at the same time, familiar.

"Celestial bodies of dark and antimatter," Daemon said, turning back to the black star, "Born in the early eons of the universe before the birth of the stars as we know them now."

"Yes, but there is always more to such things than what we perceive in them," said the voice again, beginning to take shape behind Daemon, "You know what this is, and what you have to do."

Daemon looked behind yet again, seeing finally the face of the man who spoke to him. His eyes widened slightly, staring into irises as red as his own.

"Your destiny is in your own hands, Daemon, you must only take hold of it."

Daemon remained silent for a brief moment, allowing his eyes to fall from their surprised state.

"You... I knew I'd see you again," he said, allowing his eyes to drift to the other stars around him, "What is it you mean, my destiny is in my own hands? Am I not the Dark Lord, as you once were? Do I not hold it already?"

"You hold it as one holds precious glass. It is in your hands, but it holds the mastery over you Daemon, not you over it."

"Mastery? Nothing holds power over me but destiny itself. I have down whatever path the Dark Side has guided me toward. There is no other fate for a true Sith - no other fate for me - than this."

"There is not," the figure said, turning to the side as he extended his hand, "But you hold ties, loyalties, to more than the Dark Side."

From the palm of the figure's hand, a blue mist like that of a cold haze began creating a shrouded sight, the image unfolding in the only world Daemon knew appeared before them both. The image, frozen in time, of what was unfolding where his body resided.

"You have chosen to walk the line between life and death, and in doing so, you hold the potential to achieve a greater power without ever having tasted death. However you must free yourself of the attachment chaining you to the physical galaxy. If you cannot, you will extinguish like that which exists behind you."

Daemon turned around again, staring at the black star.

"Then the black star... is me."

"Châts Asha, Kots Itsu"

"No," said the figure, "Only what you could become. And like it, you will either know a power unlike any, or lose it forever. An anchored man cannot reach the surface of an ocean."

Daemon sharply turned about, "Enough of the cryptic messages, tell me what I must do!"

The figure stared at Daemon in silence for a time, only glaring at him.

"You cannot attain power by withstanding death, only by overcoming it, defying it," the figure then turned to the image of Daemon's physical body, displaying surging Force energy from Andraste expelling from Daemon's back, "As you are now, you will remain trapped in the physical galaxy."

Daemon's eyes narrowed at the figure's words.

"Am I not on the verge? Does this not prove my power?"

"Yes, but the power to endure. Your strength is your hate, your will. It is a source of great prowess, but it will keep you chained to your crude existence."

"What?" Daemon said, looking at the frozen image of Andraste's attack, "From... this?"

"Lesser Sith than you and I have done so. Even non Sith, if the hate is great enough, can survive any mortal would. Your blood is as coursing magma, your bones like molten blades. Your very essence is one of wrath, and with it, your physical existence will endure. You must control the Dark Side within you on a level beyond the continuous hate, above the ubiquitous anger, lest you fall short of what you could become."

"And... what is it, I am to become, 'father'?"

"You are of my blood. And you are a true Sith - your legacy is your birthright. You were not meant to exist as you are now, not as flesh and blood. Your destiny is that of a higher calling. You must do this, Daemon."

The figure then turned back to the black star.

"Did you not hear the constant calls within you? This galaxy that you know, of lightsabers and petty tricks of the Force? Of insignificant wars and squabbles? There are planes of existence beyond your wildest imaginings. Realms of the Force awaiting you, you need only have grown until you became powerful enough to hear the Dark Side's calling."

"The time has come, Daemon," the figure said, turning to him, "Ascend."

Daemon turned to face the black star again, but this time closing his eyes. He basked in the warmth, the energy, all emanating from it. It came like pulsating waves, coursing through the void of space as he absorbed every feeling, every resonance.

"What must I do?"

"Only you can know exactly what it is that must come to pass on your own account. This is your burden to bear. Your final task to complete."

Daemon then began to open his eyes slowly, letting the fading light of the stars being consumed in the black star meet his gaze.

"I need to speak to her then... one last time."

"Wonoksh Qyâsik Nun"

The figure gave a brief nod to Daemon, closing his eyes as the Dark Side of the Force began to surge around him.

"Then the time has come for me to depart. The Force will await you Daemon, you've heard the Dark Side's call as they were meant to be heard. You need only speak the words embedded in your heart. Utter them as they are meant to be said."

The figure then disappeared in a purplish black cyclone of tendrils of the Dark Side, leaving Daemon alone with the black star. And as he was, the Dark Lord, both Daemon and Exodeus in name, bowed his head as he brought his hands flatly together.

"There is no Peace, Therein lies only Passion
Through my Passion, Is Borne my Strength
Through my Strength, I Unleash my Power
Through my Power, Victory is Mine
Through my Victory, My Shackles are Broken
The Dark Side Shall Set me Free"

The roar of the black star before Daemon suddenly became as a screech, like the wailing of a restless spirit. The light trapped within the black star began to pulsate, as if the light were trying to escape, and all the while, Daemon stood in the void of space before the black star, only inches from its splendor, from its majesty. All of his senses became overwhelmed, overpowered. His nerves were like the tempest of a Force Storm, his sight was blinded and his hearing was like the dead tone of deafness. But despite it all, he could sense the black star. And then, as he extended his hand to feel its power, sense its essence with that beyond the senses of evolution, the Dark Lord stepped forth, enduring a blinding darkness with the intensity of the brightest light, bearing the loudest outcry with the most silent of echoes.

---

A fountain of blood ushered forth from Daemon's mouth, back in the room with the Empress. In the same fraction of a time where he had been enlightened by his ancestor, she drew the Living Force around them both until it became as a weapon in her hand, detonating through his chest and unto his back like a telekinetic explosion. His head fell, not from the pain, but from the sheer damage done to his chest. Crimson stained vomit poured out in volatile convulsions on the carved floors. The Dark Lord gagged and choked, almost forgetting what he'd seen when he was spirited away. His eyes drifted down, staring at the hole burned through with the Force, with shattered bone and bleeding organs. And as he did, he recalled. It'd always been suffering, pain, a lifetime of boundless scars on his body and mind that had brought him to where he was, to being the Emperor and Dark Lord. And once again, a subtle grim curved onto his face as his one truth through it all was again proved true.

'Disaster is the natural part of my Evolution'

Seconds had passed, but seemed like they - Andraste and Daemon both - were frozen in time, in that one moment. And then, without warning, Daemon gathered his strength, and grabbed Andraste's wrist. He'd heard her words through the Force, heard what she needed to say. And now, before he would leave her, he knew he must do the same.

"No...," he said, with his head still down from the pain, slowly rising it back up as his voice became raspy, "You were... always my beginning, Andraste... my only beginning."

His eyes shined with a crimson unlike any that had glowed before. Its intensity, its power, these still remained. But the malice, the constant embitterment, was gone. Replaced by a purity of passion. It was controlled, as if a supernova were being contained within the palm of his hand, but it was only of the Dark Side.

"Your life... was what gave mine purpose. You, who you were, who you had chosen to be, was what directed me, gave me strength to aspire to something greater than what I was, who I was. I was chained, but you... you freed me. I was a shell... but you made me whole, a feeling I'd not had since I starved a wretched existence as a boy. I said... you were the means to an end... but you were more... so much more than that."

With the strength he had left, Daemon used his other arm and wrapped it around the back of Andraste's head, pulling her towards him until her face rested against his chest.

"You were the conduit, the catalyst that showed me what it meant to live. You were the beacon that showed me the way to a life I'd never known before. And just as it was then... you've showed me the way now... Again... I know I was never what you wanted... never what you needed.. I'd seen destiny's hand and surrendered to it as a man of fate would. It is who I am, and it is who I will always be... But you? You are the current that rides against it... in your heart, you've never led anything dominate you, not me, not destiny... it is your greatest strength, it makes you strong... never lose that to anyone, to anything. Find what is beautiful in your eyes... in all things that you do, from here on.. In you do not trust in me, trust in the Force... in yourself.. as you always have..."

Daemon's grip around Andraste's head grew firmer as his head dropped down, lightly coming down over hers.

"It is why... why I've loved you. And why I always will. You were all that occupied my thoughts, all that was in the quietest whispers within me. I have never conceded to this one passion in my heart... never opened myself to it, not truly... but now, I don't fear it anymore. It was something... from you... and its because of you that I've become what I have always sought, all my life..."

At that, Daemon rose his head up again, noticing his hands and body beginning to illuminate.

"And it is why... I must leave you... I could not do it without telling you first, without releasing this burden on me. But there is another place, another world of the Force that calls to me. It's... been calling to me.. for some time now.. the Dark Side of the Force is all that I am. I am it manifest in life, and it in turn is power manifest in me. It's will is mine, and I have to answer it, Andraste.. I have to go now..."

At that, Daemon released his hand from around Andraste's head and wrist, as he staggeringly backed away, slowly becoming blinded by a bluish-white light, beginning to glow and pulsate like the beating heart of a star.

"And when the time is right, I will see you... on the other side. But not in death... In life."

At that, the room became ablaze with a purplish-black maelstrom of Force energy, surging and vibrantly expanding and collapsing over and over again. It would surround Andraste, envelop her, but without harm, without maliciousness. It would be as the eye of a hurricane in the Force. And it would be the last time she would feel his presence.​