The Rebel Faction

"5 minutes until reversion." said the chief navigator.

"Prepare to launch all fighters and gunboats upon reversion. One minute after they are cleared, launch all shuttles. Our goal is to get on the planet's surface and defend the temple from attack." ordered the captain.

"What about our weapons?" asked the chief gunner.

"According to our master, we will be coming out of hyperspace on the opposite side of the planet from where the enemy fleet is. We are to fire only if fired upon." replied the captain.

"All right sir. Batteries will be primed but on standby alert." said the gunner with a little frown on his face.

"Captain," came a cold voice from behind Fuller, "I will be heading to the surface as well. You will be in charge until I return. Do not fail me." said Necros, dropping his voice another few degrees for implication.

"Yes sir." replied the captain with a salute and a little gulp forming around his adam's apple.

"Excellent. I will be in the hangar bay should you need me before we launch." said Necros, before turning about and heading down the corridor from the bridge.

'It's been long, too long since I've enjoyed the rush of combat, and my blade has tasted my enemies's fear'

Putting his death mask into place, his cape swirling about him, Necros let out a booming laugh as he headed for the shuttle bay.

As the Apprentices began to gather, Vicirus allowed himself a moment to watch the enemy beyond the temple entrance. They were fanatical, a unified a seeking to destroy their common foe, working as one and surging forth like a tidal wave to swallow the Sith completely. It was inspiring, to say the least, and enough to cause the Sith Master to wonder at the expense of such a wide spread web of Force contact held in place… surely such an effort was not without a down side?

Two very specific leaders came to the fore, immediately displaying themselves as they led the charge to the temple. Both were known to Vicirus, and both had now earned the death that turning on fellow Sith would incur. It was assumed when Silk departed the planet, that he would continue his fanatical lunacy elsewhere, away from the impressionable Apprentices; yet, for some reason, he sought to claim his right to an Order he had no longer had title within, nor had any right to own.

Silk was a Sith of lower status, by every means, and while his power was fierce, he still remained a soldier first. Silk was as ready to lead the Sith as a warmonger to attempt to dominate the entire galaxy: the Sith simply did not move in that predictable manner; and if history has taught but one lesson, it is not to rely on power machines in a bid to eradicate everything in your path.

Such efforts had always proved futile, eventually.

Even if the Sith were to perish under this attack by Silk’s forces, it remained that the enemy charging the temple would merely be destroyed at another time. When you waged war, you bred defeat; it was a simple fact, and no single army could claim that they were completely victorious, no matter how twisted their sense of judgement was.

One of the Apprentices spoke, reverting Vicirus from his reverie, Xykarn’s voice piercing the veil of thought the Sith Master had succumbed to. “What would you have us do, Master Vicirus? If we stay in place, the attacking enemy will have us pinned within the temple…”

“Yet, if we move to meet them in such an open area, we will either be cut down by their craft, or caught in the crossfire,” Vicirus sneered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Youth bred stupidity, as well as naivety, besides which the young man wasn’t accustomed to battles being waged beyond the reach of his lightsaber. “No, we stand more of a chance being pinned down in our temple, simply because the enemy will be forced to enter and pursue us…”

Surely Vicirus didn’t need to mention that the Apprentices vast knowledge of the temple interior would serve them well in the close confined battle to come? Yet, for those that remained deluded by illusions of taking down hordes, upon hordes of enemy soldiers, there remained the need to instil a sense of mortality within them.

“We cannot fight so many, it remains that simple,” The Sith Master stated, his eyes glowering at the flood that rushed ever closer, almost at the steps of the temple. “We must force them to fight on our terms. Currently we are without reinforcements such as they have, and it will be a time before our allies arrive yet, if they do.”

The Apprentices clearly didn’t like the words being spoken, but it was far from the Sith Master’s responsibility to praise them for truthful fact. None the less, within the temple, within the many corridors and hidden crevices, a real chance could be taken to survive as long as they were able; and if help arrived in time to make the subterfuge worth the effort, then so much the better. Either way, Vicirus was not planning on handing the Sith to Silk on a platter to be picked apart on the open battlefield…

“You each know the temple like the back of your hand,” The Sith Master continued, giving each Apprentice a steady glare. They would do their best, they would do what they were trained to do. “You will fight the enemy within our walls, within our corridors and our hidden passages… you will move like wraiths through the darkness they cannot hope to completely remember. Each of you is aware of how to use both weapon and Force in a unified effort, and each of you will fight to the last… the Sith shall not die here, nor shall we pass the Order to a madman out to prove himself!”

Motioning, Vicirus began to lead the Apprentices back from the entrance. The enemy had arrived, and it was time to divide and conquer. The Sith Master moved swiftly, his duel lightsaber hilts held in each hand, silent until activated. He paused at a point in the corridor, motioning to a specific stone.

“Remember the face of this stone, as there are many scattered throughout the temple with the same face,” Vicirus said, knowing that most, if not all, had passed such a fact by without notice. The stones themselves were hidden within a mass of stones with similar markings, and unless one knew of what to look for, there was near to no chance of locating a passage stone. “They can be on any portion of the wall, but when touched, all activate a hidden doorway that often leads to the next section of the temple opposite your location. Use them wisely, try not to allow the enemy the same advantage, and use them when they are most effective. Now, fall back, spread out and destroy the enemy… we must use all that the temple offers if we are to defeat them.”

As the first enemies began to rush into the temple, stomping boots of armor thundering up the stairs leading to the heavy carved doors, Vicirus activated his azure lightsabers. Stepping through the throng of Apprentices, the Sith Master took the lead of the group, charging the beings entering the temple, the Force filling him and then overflowing as he called upon every aspect of his power to fuel him for the coming conflict. It was a sensation that almost seemed foreign to the Sith Master, as he had rarely had cause to call on so much Force energy, but the feeling was addictive and he held reservations about the Apprentices being able to withdraw from such an exhilarating over-sensitization…

But that remained a problem for another time, specifically after the battle at hand.

Recon, Vicirus sent through the Force, calling upon the old Sith Master who had remained from the foremost of the enemy. Begin your meditation, make our students excel where the enemy falters. Once I defeat the immediate threat to the charge, I will begin my own attacks on the enemy through the Force…

Almost instantly there was a burst of vigour that pulsed through the Sith Master, as a deeply trained Battle Meditation began to flow from within the temple, flooding over the oncoming enemy forces in waves. Speed, strength, co-ordination were all increased, the Sith brothers coming together and being made aware of the other…

“For the Sith!” Vicirus roared, slicing headlong into the thinned enemy numbers that sought to cram through the doors that were smaller than their charging formation. They were being funnelled, and this had been exactly what the Sith Master had been planning…

The broken ground all round the temple was freshly turned with the impact of explosive shells and orbital fire. Black, cracked earth was punctured with smoking craters, giving the landscape an alien and surreal feel. The already darkened motif of the Sith temple was only enhanced by the smoky wreath that now surrounded it, the latest bombs flashing bright under the carpeting fog.

Out of that fog swept Dacian Palestar, marching for the open gate of the Sith Temple. Behind him marched the black-suited Void knights, the picture of stoicism that went beyond sanity. The Crimson Brotherhood, the Unspoken, the various functionaries and adepts, the hand-picked soliders and minions, all could be seen emerging from the mists of war.

This uniformity did not last, however. As they approached, step quickened and blades itched for blood. Though Dacian and his retinue remained composed, soon groups of Unspoken fanatics broke off at a run, disappearing into the smoke as the voicless whispers of their god drove them to battle. Distantly could be heard the advance of Silk and his elite brethren, the actions of this group totally autonomous from Dacian's forces.

From the scaley black mask that perched on his brow Dacian stared out at the temple, sizing it up as they approached. Before them, just visible through the smoke and fire, he could see that the Sith had gathered. He recognized faintly the man that stood at the forefront, and next to him all others were negligible. The temple master looked down upon the approaching crusade with contempt, speaking to his subordinates before retreating with them into the temple. As if spurred by this apparent slight, the crusade army picked up the pace.

It was Dacian who reached the temple first, and saw the great doors lying open. A few bodies lay strewn around the stone entryway, but otherwise the peaceful silence belied the deadly darkness that resided within and the fiery death that continued to lance into the upper halls of the building. Another rumble shook the structure and a black paraphet of stone came rumbling down. The bombardment was working.

Still composed, Dacian and his knights marched up the steps leading to the great doors, passing where once Dacian had come as a learner. Now, as a destroyer, he lead the first great incursion of the Crusade into the temple itself.

The sound of battle could be heard, distantly. Despite their multitude, Dacian's army was quiet - straining to hear even the most whispered command of their master.

"When you find the master," Dacian declared, his voice of even tone. "Ignore him. Destroy the lesser apprentices. Leave the true Sith to me." The sabers of Dacian's bodyguards ignited simultaneously - in Dacian's case, 'me' was often a flexible term.


The wilds that surrounded the Sith temple had much in common with their dark residents. They were forbidding, harsh, and uncomfortable even at the best of times. With a full-scale invasion underway, this was not what most would consider 'the best of times'.

Nevertheless, even a forbidding wilderness wouldn't produce a deadly spiked pit trap. It was a sign that the rogue Sith was resourceful, cunning, and most likely knew it was being followed. The maiden examined the trap.

The maiden wasn't Dacian's perfect agent for nothing. Exceptional amongst the absolutely loyal Void Knights, she still preserved the slimmest part of her former self, subverted not by torture and brainwashing, but by her own nature. Whereas the brutal training methods used on most knights produced fanatical drones, the maiden's faint trace of humanity combined with the absolute and ruthless efficiency of the Knights gave her unique status.

Amongst those skills that made her so valuable to her master was her blindness. A piece of fabric was tied tight over bloodied sockets, but this was no true disability. Where others relied on their sense - either natural, or Force-born - the maiden shared Dacian's own principle of not becoming dependant on any one skill. Where others were blind, she could see.

So it was as she inspected the pit-trap, still fresh with the blood of the dead knight. The Force left no trace, no hint of passage, meaning the agent responsible was an expert in stealth. What little joy left in the maiden's life came from finding that which was hidden and exposing it. As close as she could feel it, she relished the upcoming hunt.

Satisfied with her inspection, she climbed from the pit and turned to address the three remaining knights. "Fan out," she stated flatly. Verbal communication was unnecessary between those slaved to Dacian's will, but it was for others that she spoke. "Find the rogue. Beware its' traps and trickery, then return."

The three knights turned promptly on their heels and strode off in different directions, cutting through the underbrush and peeking behind trees. Once she was sure they were gone, the maiden climbed the nearest tree and there waited.

She brought to mind the jungles of Mandalore, there where she had - in a different life - hunted through the trees for beasts, keeping herself low to the ground, listening for the faint whisper that was life. Sitting in the tree, she made herself small, as then, as if to escape the world, and thence disappeared almost entirely. No emotion meant no life. No image in the Force. She was as invisible as her prey.

She would wait, watch, and see if the prey would take the bait.


Dacian's contingent marched up the shadowy halls of the Sith temple. Behind, distantly, could be heard the advance of Silk and his troops. Between the two, the temple was now filled with wild-eyed fanatics, dour darkside adepts, and a cavalcade of hand-picked soldiers. The only question was, where were the Sith?

It did not take much longer to find them, as the first sounds of battle reached Dacian's ears. Some of the rabble that had preceded his forces had been found, and even now the massacre of these lowly fodder could be heard echoing from above. Now Dacian's stride was quick, taking him up black stone flights of stairs in order to reach the corridor where battle was being fought.

There at last did he see them, the Sith, awaiting battle. They meant to squeeze him through the narrow confines of the temple, forcing his men into a pointless meatgrinder. Even now as their dark master, pulsing with power, skewered a wild-eyed Unspoken fanatic, he was already scanning the oncoming mob with bloodthirst in his soul.

"For the Sith!" the master roared, charging anew into the oncoming Palestar Crusade. Dacian, lightsaber in hand, was happy to oblige.

All at once, Dacian and the Void knights charged towards the oncoming Sith. Though they surged and roared with violence, not even the most crazed warrior dared get between Dacian and the Sith master, who now locked eyes across the dark chamber. They were both in the lead of their respective tides, like elemental forces waiting to collide, lightsabers poised to strike.

And so they did.

Thunderous noise erupted at last through the chamber as blades met blade. Dacian, though he was slight when compared to the augmented might of his foe, was cunning and quick, and quickly melted back against the first few blows - thus was the Sith master surrounded on all sides by Void knights rushing to stay by their master. Around them flowed Ordese wildmen, Unspoken soldiers armed with blade and blaster, soldiers of the crusade, all crashing into the crazed and Force-addled Sith apprentices who tried to accompany their lord.

Yet there was no comparison, for a fully-fleged Sith Lord was a presence that carved its' own path on the battlefield, and though Dacian bended all his power and all his focus to drawing the master's attention, it was only thanks to the support of his dozens of knights that he held.

The Sith apprentices, on the other hand, were being shown no such courtesy, and though the crusade parted as a river around the two great powers, they surged forwards again to press the lesser lights. Quite soon, a gap began to form between the Sith Master and his charges, even as the ground became slick with blood and the wails of dying crusader fodder broke the noise of battle.

“There are moments which define us,” spoke the Dark Lord of the Sith, Maim. “These moments are upon us always.”

The oppressive figure, draped in his brooding fashions, loomed before his apprentice, speaking.

“Silk,” the Sith Lord went on to add, “With every breath we take, we are changed.”

An odd, off putting recollection, thought Silk presently. His eyes still lingered upon the field of battle but his mind, the body ethereal, wandered through a quagmire. Why, for example, in the heat of battle did he dredge up memories best left for the quiet moments of meditation?

About him was a world of combat, a torrent of violence, a tapestry of war. He required focus, not the distracting hallucinations of years past, to solve the puzzle laid out before him. Simply attempting to translate the actions of so many and of it find a uniform norm could become an insurmountable feat in and of itself, never mind involving ones self in it.

Tactician and shaman that he was inspiration remained not long absent.

From the chaos he would paint a portrait in the force and in it incorporates all the variables, all the factors known to him. And upon completion, stepping back, behold the greater image and from it divine a more complete understanding. Knowledge was the key, information the first step towards victory.

“Hold,” he beckoned of the retinue about him. “Establish a perimeter.”

An elite cadre of converts and crimson brothers, they balked not only acting according to the will of their Sovereign. Only half-way across the field of battle with their ranks pushing forwards and line holding to the rear, the group ceased their forward push though those not attached to their commands continued to surge forward. At their center remained Silk who even as they moved to establish a protective barrier was moving slowly to his knees and pressing shut his cobalt eyes. Though their actions were largely for show, as no heavy return fire had yet been provided, the formation alluded to a practiced position known to them all and coordinated for maximum defense.

Silk, kneeling and with eyes closed tight, slowed his breathing. Turning his focus inwards, first he removed himself from the noisy ruckus which abounded. In his minds eye beat his heart and with each pump, sent waves of himself outwards, radiating through the force. His presence made no attempt to disguise itself or to move in stealthy fashion but rather, like the growing waves of a typhoon, rush heedlessly forwards. With each successive wave it garnered strength from those it passed over, reaching further even as Silk slowed his heart-rate to a near stall, quelled his breathing but to where absolutely vital.

Slowly the image began to coalesce.

Here, he saw Dacian Palestar – like his namesake radiant in the dark side of the force, a super-nova pushing ever outward. The youth, now closer his peer thanks to the hand of the Unspoken, was moving inside the temple preceded by parts of their legions. As had become the common practice in such times Silk immediately lent his attention to the man. A part of him still believed, as he had on Yinchorr, that he was the future of the Sith. There, upon feeling his touch, Dacian replied in kind and though Silk knew him to be verging upon combat, had power enough to provide him an image, a motion picture complete with sounds and sensations, such that Silk felt, in that fraction of a moment, as though he were actually there.

Another presence came to Silk then and at first he was unable to confirm it, as he had been before, but relied upon his memories to believe; this was Darth Vicirus, Vance Jas. And the Sith Lord was uncomfortably close to his comrade, Dacian. They would meet again and for the first time, in combat. Soon, so soon…

But, a Sith Lord himself, Silk would not allow himself to dwell.

In the world of the real, his voice but a mere whisper, he commanded, “Establish an uplink with the Emperor.”

Bowing and kneeling came a communications technician. He, genuflect, proffered the communicator array to his commander in chief, uttering, “At your will, Lord.”

“Speak to me,” Silk demanded of the device. “What is your status?”

From the unit came the familiar voice of his adjunct. “We are meeting no further resistance presently. Moments ago we detected an outbound transmission from the local vicinity but were unable to acquire the signal… even so it was likely encoded.”

Silk had little doubt that it had been a plea for help, a call for aide sent to the masters of this Sith Order… the Empire. The idea of it filled him with contempt; that such a grand Order should be reduced to shambles of its former self and kept in the employ of heretic unbelievers who, of their own volition, controlled Jedi and Sith alike within their own structure. These Sith were to him a plague that threatened to breed complacency among them. They required cleansing. The Sith, eternal enemies of the Jedi, working alongside the same to further the ends of a fallible regime. It sickened him.

“Was our package broadcast?.” Silk smiled outwardly, “And made sure of the appropriate destination?”

“As you commanded, Lord, the communique was dispatched upon arrival. It should be in Imperial hands by now.”

Returning the device to its human tender, Silk snatched the man by his shoulder and pulled him close directing, “You will stay at my side and keep an open channel with my ship at all costs. If you fail me, death will find for you no solace.”

And then, shoving him away, the Sith Lord rose. His unseeing, his all-seeing eyes remained cloaked behind their lids still indicating a connection yet prevailing in the force. Though Silk was versed in the ways of the Battle Meld, he did not favor it as a leading tactic as most Sith had. It required full concentration to establish and maintain, and to do so would remove some of his use here… a sacrifice he was not willing to commit. However, as he had learned on Yinchorr, there were alternatives. And so his contact persisted though not on the level of Jedi Masters past, for now he would rely on his mastery of combat mediation.

Between him and Dacian were enough relays, adepts and apprentices of their own ilk, that the two could maintain a flowing, real-time sense of things. And though they shared much Silk was not accustomed to Void Knights kept as personal guard for the Palestar in much the same fashion as Dacian himself was unaccustomed to spreading his awareness across Silks elite brothers-in-arms. But in this exchange each was granted a distant yet vital feel of things.

Once established, all having transpired in the space of perhaps ninety seconds, Silk opened his eyes once again and, inhaling deeply, exhumed his sword from the dirt in which he had previously embedded it. The hilt felt cool under his palm, it spread a sensation of resolve through him – a sensation bestowed upon him once by Maim and now embodied in the sword that was his prize.

To the radio-crony Silk bellowed, “Order the shields raised,” speaking of course of his vessel. “Stand ready for combat. We are soon to have guests no doubt. Continue focused bombardment and stand by for my word of cessation, I want those foundations shook!”

Alongside his orders his men would organize their defensive screens while retaining bombardment detail. Doubtless they would demand the pirates comply, upon threat of death… or worse and in the face of the Emperors guns, would comply for their own mutual benefit. Any alarming changes could be directed to him through his men, and he through them. Perhaps a little more assured of his play, Silk once again struck forwards.

Ascending the temple steps he was met with the hardened resolution of Dacian. Knowing the meaning of this, Silk redoubled his speed lest his eager ally be cut down by the skilled swords of a true Sith Lord. But, upon entering the temple (an strange feeling it itself after so long) realized it would be no easy trick clearing a path to his charge.

The halls of the temple, those that he could glean from his position, were crowded with attackers pouring in to the Sith defenders. In their rut the legions of the Crusade had exposed themselves to weakness. In the confines of the temple the Sith held superiority counting easily ten of his men for every one of theirs, the numbers were working to the disadvantage of Silks force. A lack of coordination, he could sense it, was coming quickly and so, saving combat for another moment, set about the task of organizing their assets.

“Crusaders,” his voice thundered through the halls, reverberated with force-borne energy, and bore through the skulls of those prone to it. “Hear my command!”

“Men of the Emperor, arrange yourselves in line! Ready your weapons and provide coverage for our bestial allies. They have no fear, only the mad resolve of animals.”

Even as he shouted aloud Silk could see his orders taking active effect. Unspoken Converts, their hands upon battle-rifles of unparalleled caliber, began moving to form lines. One man stood while another kneeled before him. A human meat-shield with rifles at the ready they began pouring focused fire against the Sith defenders. Versed in the combat techniques of such warriors, they knew that only sheer numbers could over-come a trained Sith (or Jedi) and so laid bare their triggers to the task and even as bolts bounced back their way, moved another man in to replace him.

Under the covering fire of these faithful fanatics the Ordese pushed forwards to join their victims in melee combat, clawing and biting like creatures spawned of the depths. And behind them, though few, a number of Silks own moved to keep the coordination he demanded. They barked orders, clashed swords with sabers and brandished pistols at close range and cut down with impunity their counter-parts on the side of the Sith.

Spinning, his back covered by his own guard, Silk cast his eyes upon the offensive perimeter facing the temple and cursed. With a hand unseeing, he reached out and closing it, grabbed for his radio man.

“Prepare an outward defense perimeter,” he snapped. “We have the temple secure you fools! Prepare for attack from without now but spare your guns for any who break through our lines!”

Shaking his head, casting off the man as he would something distasteful from his mouth, Silk returned, again, his attentions to the battle raging within the temple. So too did the structure itself continue to tremble as blasts continued to rain down from above. Satisfied, but for the moment, he scanned the horizon for a likely target and, thrusting past his own guards, clutched saber-bearing snot by his shoulder, pushing through the apprentices distracted defenses, and plunged deep his sword through the chest of the same.

Gurgling his death rattle, blood welling up about his lips, Silk took great joy in watching the life fade from the eyes of his selected enemy, a man who had become too entrenched in his defense that, being separated, had been an easy victim for the Sith Lord. The eyes of the boy going dim, Silk staring deeply in to those baby-blue pools with his own ever devoid, asked, “Who is next then, who shall it be?”

From his side, now standing almost shoulder to shoulder, Dacian Palestar roared, “All of them. Kill them all!”

**


To Baron Grand Admiral Desaria, T;

A reckoning is at hand.

It occurs on Xa Fel, the planet of your fuax-Sith.

We, the true Sith, Crusaders of the Palestar, have come to cleanse you of this pestilent nuisance.

My name is Dioan Silk, Sith Lord and Imperial Sovereign Protector to the Dark Lord Maim and the Crimson Empire for which he stood. You know me and we have met, face to face.

I took from our meeting a great many things. One – that you are not a man with whom to trifle. And two – that you took of me much the same.

Know this, Grand Baron of the Empire; this conflict is internal and need not spread to your stars. We of the Palestar have no designs upon your great New Order, but we will take from you these Sith you call as dogs. As pawns of the Empire, I expect they will come to you for defense, pleading as further evidence of their fallibility.

I ask you as a soldier, do what you know to be correct. And if, upon the field of battle we should meet, know that your demise will be meted out with the honor and diginity it deserves. In kind, should mind befall at your hands, I ask the same.

Lord Silk, Palestar Crusade.

Gloria Imperium

The shuttle sped over the planet's surface, barely fifty meters off the ground, barely five meters from the tops of the trees whizzing by below. In the pilot's seat, Necros finished setting in the autopilot course for the shuttle, then unstrapped from the seat and headed aft into the cargo bay. Waiting for him there, besides the corpses of the looters or mercenaries whom he had orchestrated the deaths of, were two of the beasts that had gorged themselves on the crew men. He had brought them along, mainly because he felt they would be useful for the tasks ahead.

He could feel the presence of others on the planet now, as he approached the temple's position. Already he had passed the gouged and smoking craters in the forest where starfighters, both Sith and...enemy Sith??? had crashed after being shot or otherwise brought down. And the enemies attacking the temple, he could feel two distinct presences, both radiating dark side energy. It seemed to be a Sith insurrection. At first he thought it was Lord Darksword, making the long awaited move to take the throne away from Master Vicirus, but why destroy everything you want to conquer?

But the presences he felt didn't belong to the Dark Lord who reigns on Corellia. These two were different and distinct presences, but somehow familiar in a way. Then there were other presences around them, soldiers of these unknown dark lords, mindless beings who were being driven onwards by their lust and hunger for conquest. Finally, there were other, smarter presences in orbit, and as the curvature of the planet continued to flash by, Necros could see a rain of turbolaser bolts descending from orbit into and around the temple. Orbital bombardement, from a capital ship of some kind.

Where were the Imperial defenses that had been left on the planet? Necros opened the secure comm channel that had been given to the Sith by the local Imperial commander.

"Captain, captain, come in, do you read me over?" asked Necros, then once again.

No answer.

Well, that could mean any number of things. Most of which will lead to the captain's execution if he is still alive after this is all over. By Necros's own hand, if necessary.

Okay then. Time to head to the Sith temple and see what he himself could do to help his brethren.

Using the force, he activated the switch that lowered the shuttle's ramp. An alarm went off in the cockpit, warning of the air drag pressures of the lowering ramp and the fact that it was open during flight.

Ignoring the alarms, Necros waited until the shuttle was over one of the many underground entrances into the temple, then leapt clear of the ramp, again using the force to slow his descent until he hit the ground, creating a one or two inch indentation on the ground with his boots. Speaking of which, he could hear the sounds of a lot of boots, footsteps to be exact, heading in his direction.

Necros turned to see a young apprentice, leaking blood from dozens of places on his...no...her body, and she was running directly torwards him, a whole host of enemies after her. He did nothing for a time but to study them, both through his eyes and the force, see what these enemies were made up of. Various words to describe them floated by his mind as he processed the information. Fanatical, zealous, mindless..., were some of the words, but their minds were warped by ones of higher power than he, so he could not control them as he normally would those who were mindless.

He could hear the screams of the approaching apprentice now as she drew near.

"Master Necros, please, help me, there are too many..." she gasped and coughed, out of breath...and time. Her wounds are too serious for her to live, even with the aide of the force. The higher masters may have been able to help, but by the time they get here, it will be too late...if they survive...

Withdrawing his lightsaber, the Hel-Hemarde, from his belt, Necros thummed the activation trigger, and the blade thrummed to life, sending waves of dark side energy coursing through him as the souls of the beings the blade had damned to hell came to life again. The apprentices eyes grew wide with hope, but alas, it was a false hope.

With a single stab forward, Necros sent the blade straight through the heart of the apprentice. It was an act of mercy, nothing more, nothing less. One would say the Sith were incapable of such mercy, but it was only torwards their enemies that it was so, not their allies and friends. Necros's eyes, so normally cold and menacing, turned soft as the apprentice looked at him with eyes that, only a moment ago were so full of hope of survival, turned down with pain, shock, and betrayal.

"You have done well, my apprentice. Now, join the force, and become the food needed to sustain your brothers and sisters in the combat to come." he said simply, no apologies, no regrets. She would understand, after she ascended. As he withdrew the blade from her body, she collapsed to the ground, dead before lifeless corpse hit the ground.

He did not draw any energy from her body, the way he normally would after killing an enemy. He did not feed off of her pain, her fear, her hatred. He forbade his blade from sucking up her soul into it's collection. But he did not blame himself for her death. No, there was only one person(s) to blame now.

Necros turned then, to face the fanatics who had been running after the apprentice. They had given pause, seeing him kill one of his own, and thought perhaps that he was an ally. They gathered there, easily a hundred in number, milling about in confusion.

His eyes narrowed, and with him holding the blade at guard position, began to advance on them. Perhaps sensing the hatred for them emanating out of his body, the aura shifting through the force, they identified him rightly once again as hostile, and again advanced in his direction, snarls and war whoops cutting through the silence of the night air as they ran headlong torwards him...and their demise.

The first two to reach him struck outwards with their spears, trying to gouge him on their hands. A slight movement in the force, provided by his right hand, nudged the tips of the spears away from him, and they were close enough to where he could slice through them both with the blade, cutting them in half amid-bodies. Their corpses had no sooner hit the ground than the others were on him.

Necros abandonded any hope of fighting them with a consciousess mind, and instead gave himself to the dark side of the force, surrending his mind to instinct alone.

Back off, I'll take you all on...

Slice, dice, parry, dodge, he did, as spears, pikes, maces, and weapons of all sort came in at him from all angles. The tide of enemy combatants swept over and around him, engulfing him, surrounding him, and trying to destroy him.

Headstrong to take on anyone...

One down, two down, three down, and not all by his lightsaber blade either. He used the enemies's own weapons against him, and the force was more of his own ally than it was their's. A force shove, a force pull, lightning, all came into play as the enemy horde continued to swell up against him.

This is not where you belong.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he came to a standstill, the blade thrumming at his side. He was hurting, through the tide of enemies, although he was good, he wasn't perfect. There were scrapes and gouges littering the skin surface of his body, blood running freely down into the ground below. That pain would have crippled a normal person.

He didn't let it get to him, he merely absorbed it, made it a part of him. De-activating the blade, he turned to see enemy corpses littering the ground, their blood flowing into a nearby creek and staining it red with their life essences.

Turning back to face the temple, Necros entered into it, to face his destiny.