Ask Where Time Stood Still

[Altair Din]

Altair was taking his work seriously since he got his promotion. The southern Sith territories had been ignored, several planets under the jurisdiction of a Sith Master known to be ruthless. Rumor had it that he was from the same ‘program’ as Raze. The tiefling wasn’t too concerned about that specifically- he was focused on gaining potential allies for his cause.

He was only on the planet for an hour and already he was sick to his stomach. He didn’t know this Master Asminys, but the civilians were more akin to slaves. The Sith Master had taken control as an absolute tyrant, the population forced to yield to him.

The tiefling had arrived with a military force. They waited back while he made his way towards the spire where Asminys ruled. Altair kept his opinions to himself, adorned in his usual armor. He took his helmet off and held it under his arm as he was led by guards towards the throne room.

Altair knew little about what to expect other than the fact that Asminys ran in the same circles as Raze, Empress Renfry and Darth Malicia. That alone sparked fear in him, but he wouldn’t let that govern the discussions today.

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

The guards that led Altair through the Spire exchanged fearful glances as they rode the turbolift up to the throne room. The fear they held of the horned Imperial commander that they flanked paled as they shifted their eyes upwards. The blood fled from their cheeks as the lift came to a halt and the doors opened with a the faintest hiss to reveal a long corridor that ended in a towering pair of double doors.

No living guards lined the corridor. Instead it was lined with the wiring and durasteel of sleek and shiny Blackwell battle droids. The pair of soldiers that had accompanied Altair seemed to fret for a moment about leaving the safety of the lift before one mustered up the courage to begin the approach. The droids stood motionless as the trio approached the doors, either unaware or uncaring of the intruders upon their masters doorstep.

The massive doors opened, seemingly of their own accord as Altair approached. The soldier's pace would slow, their hearts racing, fear palpable through the force before they began to back away from the throne room, retreating to the safety of the lift and the outside of the Spire. If the intruding commander was well in tune with his senses, he might realize that he would soon be alone in the Spire except for one other living thing.

What grandeur the room might have possessed from its previous owners had long been stripped from its walls. Empty frames lined them with only scraps hanging of the art that had been torn from within. Even the light that shone through a tall and wide window was strained through floating dust motes, seemingly strangled of its brilliance. This was not a place of beauty or royalty. Only emptiness.

Asminys sat on a cold and blocky stone throne at the end of the room, the center of the emptiness. His eyes simmered coldly as they watched the Imperial Commander approach with little interest, caution showing through their roiling orange hue, along with a glimmer of paranoia. He had heard of this man, even in his isolation. The Defender of Korriban. The Demon of Mustafar. Titles that rung with respect, admiration, and fear. Asminys felt none of these.

Prey, or perhaps a challenge. Asminys fingers fidgeted on the thrones armrests. He could almost feel the cold touch the lightsaber hilts that lay hidden in his robotic legs. His tattooed arms flexed with desire to reach for his blade. Bare chest tensing for a moment as if he were about to spring into action. No. Not yet.

Instead he looked closer, hungry eyes zeroing in on the Commander. The man was no man, but a demon like his namesake, horns sprouting from his head. Asminys cocked his head slightly as thoughts filtered through the background of his mind, pictures of blood sleeked horns and gored bodies flitting across the windows of his eyes in the low roiling of flame and shadow.

"Commander." Asminys spoke, acknowledging the man as he looked at him with almost murderous intensity, his voice hoarse as if it hadn't been used in a long time. The wishful thoughts of blood and carnage reached a crescendo in his mind. The rattle of a metal cage and the low growl of a bloodthirsty beast echoed through his mind, through the emptiness. Perhaps even through the room. Asminys cleared these thoughts from his mind with the barest, almost imperceptible shake of his head, but the question still remained. "How many men have you gored with your horns?" The stony question came with the barest tug at the corner of the Sith master's lips.

@Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

It was as if he had walked into a graveyard. The fear from the guards had been palpable, a tangible stench in the Force that would be intoxicating were he further indoctrinated into the dark side. The throne room was cold and vast, and he could spot the deplorable cause of all the horrors on the planet seated across him. The man looked formidable, an aura about him that suggested he had abandoned his humanity a long time ago. What had pushed him to such despair, he wondered.

Altair saw the man’s gaze flick to his horns - a sight he had grown accustomed to. Did his mind fill with disgust? Did prejudiced notions whirl about inside the cruel depths of his psyche? There was an insanity in his eyes, something flickering amidst the predatory gaze of a beast poised to strike. Altair had seen that look many times before, perhaps he even had them reflected in his amethyst orbs at points.

The tiefling considered himself a dominating force by now, and he knew that was challenged here. It was challenged here more than it had been at the party when he faced Draugr. It was challenged in ways that almost gave him a rush and filled him with that similar drive he had when he looked upon that Jedi Councilor. It was an alien feeling and one that sometimes manifested in the hints of gold in his eyes.

“Master Asminys,” Altair responded curtly with a respectful bow, the hint of his farmer’s twang always laced into his speech even when proper, “Many men…and monsters,” He added with the faintest tug of a smile at his lips as he answered the question, “Though I prefer to use my bare hands,” Altair could have introduced himself with all his flowery titles, but he knew that mattered little here. If Asminys cared about the happenings of the galaxy, he wouldn’t have ruled his kingdom to the ground.

“The courtesy of your hall is rather lacking, King Asminys,” Altair remarked as he looked around the chamber. The tiefling began to walk then, giving himself a little tour of the room as he passed by the windows and walls.

“I came here seeking an alliance with a thriving and prospering kingdom,” Altair began, “But I find strife and despair. Why?”

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

Asminys half twitch of a smile showed the barest hint of teeth as it expanded at the Imperial Commander's words. The commander reeked of slaughter in the force, and those bare hands of his had definitely been stained with blood. Asminys' mind paused at the passing mention of monsters. Many had called him a monster, mostly in their dying breaths. He had often wondered just when he had crossed the line from man to monster, or if it was even a memory he could recall.

Thinking on the past too much made his brain hurt these days.

Asminys' eyes followed the horned commander as he began his tour of the barren chamber. The eyes of a predator locked on another monster that had wandered into its lair. Fingers tapped idly against the stone of the chair to relieve the tension that was building in every fiber of his musculature. His mind burned with the desire for action, the need for movement. The hunger for blood. The Commander's words only further incensed the constantly raging mind of the Sith, eyes burning, teeth clenching.

"Weakness." Asminys hissed as his eyes flicked briefly over to the large window that overlooked the city. A wretched city of the ungrateful and the unwilling. Every day Asminys tried to strangle some measure of strength out of the citizenry of the planet he ruled. Every day they failed to rise to the occasion. "The people of this planet suffer from a lack of strength. They cry and despair when called upon by their betters. They are less than insects." Asminys growled, the boiling rage in his chest rising as he forced himself to remain seated. What he subjected the people of Eiattu to was but a fraction of what he had experienced in the Cadre. It had made him strong. But these people remained weak.

They deserved to be crushed under his metallic heel.

@Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair saw the look in his eyes, saw that smile that looked unsettling. This was beyond delving into the Dark Side - he appeared unhinged, his mind surrendered to paranoia and bloodlust. It was what the tiefling expected on an active battlefield, but this Sith spiraled into it day in and day out. It pumped into him like poison, the effects clear on his face and eyes.

The tiefling bristled at his words, fingers curling just a bit as the man sounded even more unhinged. Asminys was a tyrant that would drive worlds into destruction and rule over ashes. Altair’s tail twitched from side to side as he gazed at the Sith Master. He didn’t have to look out that window to think about the countless families and soldiers driven to poverty. He didn’t have to see the millions of deaths from starvation and other entirely preventable causes. He didn’t need to listen to hear the anguished wails of mothers grasping their dead children. He didn’t need to look upon Asminys to begin to understand the severity of his incompetence.

Altair discreetly clicked a button on his person that sent a very specific alert to one of his commanding officers to start mobilizing troops. The tiefling stepped away from his little tour and walked over to stand across from Asminys.

“Strength for what?” He asked as he gazed at the other man, “To stand against external enemies or those within their own borders?” Altair’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the mad king. If he had been a Sith like most, Altair perhaps could have found common ground with this man. He could have made offers of power in exchange for an enslaved, obedient people. He could have exchanged many flowered words. But that was not who Altair was today. And the Altair of today had made up his mind.

“I will commend you, however, King Asminys,” He said as he gazed into the man’s eyes as he lifted his helmet up from under his arm, “For keeping the throne warm for your betters,” The helmet lowered over his head and clicked into place.

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

Asminys eyes never left the Imperial as he spoke, his senses ever alert, attuned to whatever threats may come. He could see the horned alien bristle at his words, the way he spoke of the people he ruled. If one could even call them that. An eyebrow raised at the discreet button push, though it mattered little. Whatever game this Imperial Commander was playing, the first move had been made and Asminys stood as Altair approached him.

"Strength, to rise above." Asminys gravely tone spoke with conviction as he met Altair's gaze. He truly believed that his way was the best way. The only way that he could conceive the world should be. The only way he had known.
The cool and relatively calm orange flames of his eyes deepening to roiling magma.

"I have no betters." Asminys spat at the upstart that dared to step to him, Asminys. He was the blade of the Cadre. Taker of countless lives. He would add another image to the roll of deaths that played out against his eyes. He would watch the light leave this Commander's eyes. He would enjoy it.

The heat of darkness that filled the cauldron of his empty heart travelled in a flash down to the fingertips of his left hand as he raised it towards the tiefling. A crackle of crimson lightning leaped the distance between them, filling the air with a horrendous screech that almost drowned out the violent snap-hiss of the red blade that sprang to life from the lightsaber hilt in Asminys right hand, smoothly grabbed from the contraption that held it within his prosthetic. His eyes danced with sadistic glee as they reflected the crimson light between the two Sith.

@Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

“You belong in an asylum,” The tiefling growled at the Sith Master.

Altair had dealt with enough Sith that fought with sabers and the Force to know what to expect. With the bit of distance between them, he knew it would be some sort of offensive attack. He braced himself for a push or a coil around his neck and was pleasantly surprised by lightning instead. As the streaks of crimson came at him, Altair charged forward and towards it. He abruptly jutted his left forearm up vertically, catching the lightning in the Queen’s Gauntlet. The lightning fired directly full force back at Asminys who likely didn’t anticipate the artifact.

The tiefling wouldn’t wait around, closing the distance. The Force charged throughout his entire body, empowering him for Matukai. If Asminys attempted to throw him now, he would have very little luck. Altair sacrificed a follow up offense to close the distance and hold fast.

Meanwhile, his Imperial soldiers began to execute a protocol Altair had set in mind should things go south. Troopers began to march on the spire, prepared to engage and kill all of Asminys’ guards and military forces. Their main targets were the Sith that helped oversee Asminys’ ‘regime’.

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

Asminys had not anticipated the commander's deflection of his lightning, but the fact that the Sith soldier charged forwards was enough of a tell. One does not just charge forwards into lightning unless they were suicidal, or they had a plan. And the Commander did not seem to be the type with a deathwish. The flow of power running through Asminys was cut off as he twisted, pulling his left hand back to grasp the top of the thrones back while slashing upwards with the blade held at his waist. The lightning collided with his blade, crimson on crimson as he deflected the lightning up and away to crash violently against the ceiling, leaving it smoldering and cracked.

Asminys actions continued in one fluid motion, spinning tightly around the throne on his arm to place it between himself and the charging Sith, blade continuing around as he came to a stop to cleave a chunk of stone off the top of the throne with a horizontal slash as he let go of the throne. Altair's charge would be met with the solid hunk of throne hurtling at his body from short range as he closed the distance between them, the severed chunk of stone flung with a gesture from Asminys, propelling it with enough force to crush flesh and bone.

"No prison can hold me." Asminys voice came as a savage growl, more a beast than a man. His twisted mind wouldn't allow him to even consider the thought that he might be insane. No, everyone else was just wrong.

Outside, the living soldiers that guarded the Spire quailed at the sight of Imperial soldier's marching on their master's quarters. A few stood their ground and began to fire at the incoming soldiers, but most broke and attempted to flea before being gunned down by the droids that also manned the walls.

@Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair had been expecting many things, a chunk of the throne flung his way was not one of them. He managed to punch forward with a Force imbued hit, shattering the bit of debris into smaller pieces. However, the impact was still enough to send the tiefling flying back from the force of it. Several bits of the debris slammed into his chest and shoulder, hard enough to knock the wind from him, leaving severe bruising. One of them struck against the helmet, busting his lip open. He tasted a burst of copper in his mouth.

The tiefling dropped into a crouch, the point of his tail dragging along the ground to slow his backwards skid. Altair coughed through the helmet, a wheezing noise with his exhale. However, he didn’t back away, coiling the Force abruptly around the Sith Master’s cybernetic legs to harshly yank them towards himself. The goal was to drop the man and drag him closer. If Asminys held fast, the harsh pull would likely still tug badly where machine met flesh since he couldn’t actively use the Force through prosthetics.

The Imperials were baffled at the sight of their enemies fleeing, not used to such behavior. The commanding officer made the call to fire on the droids instead of the fleeing troops. He knew how Altair thought - the tiefling would rather spare the soldiers that ran instead of gunning everyone down.

The commotion began to resound far away and echo from the lower levels of the spire. Asminys’ comlink would be blowing up as his delegated Sith frantically attempted to get a hold of him.

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

Asminys grinned as his improvised projectile broke against the Commander, sending him skidding away. A normal man would have been struck down, broken against the stone. This Imperial was no normal man. Not one of the lesser beings that filled the ranks of the Empire. Here was someone worth killing.

His heart sang the song of battle as he felt the stirring in the force and the sudden yank against his legs. Asminys did not fight against the pull, instead he snarled as he twisted, planting his hand on the armrest of the throne. With an exertion of incredible strength, Asminys pushed his core up and launched himself into a flying drop kick towards the Imperial's abdomen as the tiefling dragged Asminys' prosthetic legs towards him.

His free hand came up off the armrest and reached towards Altair as he launched the kick, eyes locking on the Commander's visor as he reached out and jerked the man by the belt with the force to drag him forcefully into the kick in which his metal feet would strike like a battering ram. His lightsaber blurred as he flew, held free to defend against any surprises the Commander might have.

@Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair rose to stand as Asminys whirled in towards him, releasing the pull as soon as he realized the man planted his hands on the armrest to launch his kick. The tiefling didn’t resist the tug forward, but he did plant his tail into the ground to slow the skid forward and pivoted on his right foot so the kick just barely missed. With Asminys now caught in an awkward position with legs extended out, Altair grasped onto both shins before the man could retract them back or reposition himself, yanking harshly to completely disbalance his upper body and interrupt any saber attacks. Without warning, the tiefling unleashed a burst of lightning directly into the metal legs to completely destroy them while he held them. The effects would travel up the metal legs and into his body.

The Imperials from below ascended into the higher levels, bursting into the area where the Sith were positioned. They had received no feedback from Asminys and they began to panic. A fierce battle ensued as the Sith used offensive Force attacks and the Imperials fought back. Thuds and crashes could be heard from the throne room to signal the fight getting closer.

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

Asminys eye's would widen in shock as the Tiefling slowed his pull and just barely dodge his flying drop kick before proceeding to grab Asminys' shins and yank him further forwards. Asminys began to twist his torso and swing his saber at the Tiefling's face as he dodged, an awkward chop across his body, until the lightning hit.

Sparks popped and fuses... fused within his prosthetic legs. Servomotors melted and the flesh and nerves began to feel as though they would catch on fire. His saber swing would fall short as his body seized with the lightning, his arm threatening to go limp and only partially under his command as pain surged up his thighs and into his chest.

A partial swing, with the hilt almost bumping against his left thigh, but the blade was long enough to reach. The upper third of the saber blade would intersect with Altair's right arm just below the shoulder as he poured lightning into the falling Sith master, deep enough to score flesh and muscle, possibly even cleave bone or take the whole thing off. Certainly enough to disrupt the Tiefling's command of the force and end the agony. Asminys tried to get his left arm underneath him as he fell so as not to slam wholely into the ground, his vision beginning to blur as his back arched and he stared at the spiderweb of cracks on the ceiling above.

Outside the throne room doors a pair of Sith retreated behind the guardian droids that lined the hallway, making for the great double doors and deflecting blaster fire coming from behind them. Sith soldier's poured into the hallway, blasting droids, a few falling from return fire.

The Sith, a hooded Zabrak and a masked Kaleesh stopped to pull open the doors with the force, the Kaleesh taking a blaster bolt to the back as the doors crept open. The Zabrak slipped into the opening, deflecting blaster fire and glancing behind him to see a lightshow of power as Lord Asminys fell, lightning dancing over the fearsome Sith. A sly grin crossed the Sith's face as he saw opportunity in the situation.

With Asminys out of the way, there was only one thing between him and power... And a solution up above. Dodging into the room, the Zabrak sith raised a hand towards the cracked and ruined ceiling that had been earlier blasted by Asminys power, grasping the loose stones and trying to wrench them free and down onto the pair of Sith masters fighting underneath.

@Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair poured his anger and rage into the lightning, giving into the darkness as he focused on causing Asminys nothing but pain. He was doing everything against what he professed to stand for - Sith that didn’t let themselves be governed by the darkest sides of the Force. It cost him almost at once as he missed the saber coming his way. Though a last ditch effort from the Sith Master, it struck Altair’s arm, cutting through armor, skin and flesh.

The tiefling cried out in pain as he abruptly released his hold of Asminys, his right arm temporarily useless. Smoke rose from the arm as he felt the agonizing burn and could smell the stench of his flesh cooking. It had almost cut through to bone to sever the limb and he wouldn’t be doing anything with that arm for now.

Altair gritted his teeth and used the Force to hurl Asminys back towards the throne in a fit of rage. The goal was to crack his head directly into the coveted throne he sat upon moments prior. Behind the visor, rage and fury coursed through him, his amethyst eyes tinged with gold.

The tiefling heard the commotion behind him. He glanced up right as the debris came down. He sprang backwards, Asminys likely already out of harm’s way from Altair throwing him. The debris mostly missed, but one or two heavy chunks collided with him. The tiefling collapsed to the ground, coughing as he slowly and shakily got up to his feet while covered in soot and sporting several more injuries.

As the Zabrak attempted a follow up attack, the Imperials spilled into the room. Bolts flew everywhere as the windows shattered. The Zabrak was distracted away from his earlier attempts as he spun to engage the Imperials.

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

Pain.

It was all Asminys knew as lightning coursed over him. Over his metal. Over his flesh. It cut to the bone. Sparks filled his mouth. He tasted blood. Blood and lightning.

The all too familiar reek of ozone and seared flesh filled the space as the lightsaber tumbled from his grasp. Asminys vision swam. The room hurtled past. The pain ended and hatred bloomed in his chest as he flew, but whatever consciousness the Sith master still retained ended in a sudden explosion of stars as Asminys head whiplashing to crack against the cut back of the throne.

Asminys sagged into his throne, eyes fluttering for a moment before going shut, the world dark. Smoke rose from his flesh. Heat radiated from his prosthetics. A dribble of blood ran down the spine of the chair. A new set of imagery was seared into his flesh, lichtenburg figures that jagged violently up his bare stomach, chest, and shoulders, marring the tattoos there. The King sat quiet and limp, his tattooed and scarred chest barely rising.

-----​

The Zabrak sith's assassination attempt on Altair had failed, and he was swiftly set into a life or death dance of blade and blaster bolts. His focus on his survival was so intent that he did not see the cloaked figure step out of a secret doorway hidden in a pillar behind him, her presence within the force suppressed and obscured. He did not sense the murderous intent that was so deftly hidden. Did not see the arm raise or the blaster pistol she held.

With the flash of a crimson bolt, it was all over. The last Sith of Asminys' cohort was put down without mercy by a blaster bolt to the back of the head. The chamber fell into silence and the newcomer holstered her pistol, turning to walk towards the throne and with an air of confidence and authority, as if she had every right to be there, and the rank pin on her cloak insisted that she did. The symbol of Imperial Hand visible to the more observant soldiers.

She came to stand above Asminys, looking down on him with her face hidden by her dark hood. Only the shock of red hair would be visible to Altair, not the look of familiarity and sadness that played across her face as she beheld Asminys crippled and beaten form. Her gloved hand brushed the crown of his head gently for a moment before her eyes steeled and her expression hardened. Turning her head to look at Altair with eyes as red as the hair that framed her Annfyn face, she spoke.

"What will you do with your predecessor, King Altair?" Her voice was cold, yet melodious. The hint of a smile played at her lips, a smile that did not reach her eyes. She surveyed the damage to the other Sith master coldly. Battered and bruised. A searing and smoking cut to the arm. Was that all that her prodigy had mustered in this last battle? Perhaps her fear of the Cadre raised sith had been too great. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she would do well to not underestimate this newcomer.

@Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Theme​

King Altair. The title sent chills down his spine. It still didn't register for him yet.

Altair didn’t react outwardly as the newcomer barged into the room and dropped the Sith that attempted to intervene. He was wary of her, but he was prepared to deflect any bolts that came his way. The cold visor of his helmet regarded her in silence. His soldiers filed into the room by now, all of them with their weapons trained on the woman. Altair held up a palm to command them to halt and hold their positions. He didn’t miss the Imperial Hand insignia, but he would question her presence here later.

For now, his focus was directly on the fallen form of Asminys sitting limp on the throne. Altair’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon the Sith Master that completely squandered every opportunity he was given. He drove his people into despair, alienated his kingdom and left the entire south Sith territories open for attacks. He had let his people starve and die senselessly in the hundreds of thousands. His own soldiers abandoned post first chance they got. He held no loyalty, no respect, he ruled with his own madness, letting his paranoia govern for him.

Disgust. It was the only thing Altair felt at that moment. When the woman's question came, the tiefling grimaced beneath his helmet. It was then that he reached with his uninjured arm and took the helmet off, casting it down with a thud. This revealed his tiefling features for the first time, along with his gold tinted purple eyes. The repulsion was clear on his face as he took purposeful steps towards Asminys.

Without warning, Altair lowered his head and slammed directly into Asminys, piercing right through his chest with his pointed horns. He viciously gored the man, piercing through his heart and lungs and ending him for good. The tiefling slowly drew back, blood dripping from the horns as he leaned in close to gaze into the vacant, dead eyes of surprise etched forever in the Sith Master’s last seconds.

“Men…monsters…and tyrants,” Altair stated quietly as he spoke to the dead man, adding to his earlier answer to Asminys.

The tiefling wasted no time in grasping the corpse of the Sith Master and tossing off the throne. Altair spun and took a seat on that throne, placing his arms on the armrests and a boot on the back of Asminys on the ground. It was then that he looked at the woman.

“I will make an example of him.”

Altair gazed out at his soldiers, his visage calm and his tone icy.

“Open trade channels with the neighboring Imperial territories,” He ordered them, “Bring food, provisions and supplies into this city at once. Open the borders and contact ISCRA (@Altaris) and Star Guardians (@LilyNion ) to arrive immediately.”

@Arcangel

 

[Asminys]

The world was a haze of darkness, like black fog rolling over Asminys. His head hurt. body hurt. His everything hurt. Even legs he no longer had hurt. There was silence in the darkness. Try as he might, the Sith master could not lift the fog, could not open his eyes even as consciousness trickled back to him.

A new sensation pierced through the void. A touch. The touch of leather, a caress that was so utterly foreign to the man. Only one memory of such a touch stood out in the foggy haze of Asminys mind, a memory from before he could remember. A gentle caress, the singing of a lullaby in a language that seemed familiar, but that he could no longer remember.

Words pierced through the veil of darkness that consumed him. A voice, cold and melodious. So utterly familiar. It rang over his senses like a splash of cold water to the face. His lids barely cracked, the world blurred as he sat slumped on the throne. He tried to open his eyes further, tried to move, but his body did not respond. Whether his neck was broken or his nerves merely fried by lightning, Asminys knew not, but there was one thing that even his battered mind was certain of.

These moments... would be his last.

Try as he might to resist fate, there would be no stopping the inevitable as he sat there battered and broken. Every moment of his life had been spent avoiding this moment, while inflicting it on so many others. A saner man might have felt sorrow, or regret. Asminys felt only rage.

Altair's twin horns gored him, tearing through his lungs, piercing his heart. Asminys felt a final spike of pain, his eye shooting open, blood pouring from his mouth, one final surge of hateful darkness coursing through him as he tried to stop the inevitable. A hand grasping weakly, grabbing one of the horns as he bled out on them. Altair would not see, but Asminys roiling golden eyes glared at her. His other hand reached for her, trying to muster one final attack, trying to wrap his grip around her throat to choke the life out of her, the one responsible for a lifetime of suffering.

She held his gaze as he died. The hate in Asminys eyes cooling as the light began to fade from them. His hands fell limp. His head lolled back onto the throne and he stared up out of the open hole torn in the ceiling to see a blue sky. The world started to fade, darkness closing in one last time. This was it. This was the end. No awakening in the pit of despair after yet another battle in the crucible. Not more hatred. No more killing. No more pain. An end to his tortured existence. "Thank... you..." Asminys rattled dryly just as his vision faded and the world went cold. Just one... final... death.

@Sreeya