The Rebel Faction

Xireon waded through a field of fire, deflecting what blasts he needed to with his hands, the others whizzing harmlessly by. Whispering incomprehensible words as he walked, calling on the innate golden fire within him and twisting its energy to his will, the Sith threw a glance at the nearest security officer, as his eyes began to glow a sickly shade of red. Too quickly to be seen, a dark band of energy shot from them, striking the officer in the chest, knocking him back.

From the place the spell had struck, the skin slowly began to turn black, flesh decaying and sloughing off involuntarily. Turning frantically to one of his cohorts and grabbing hold of him, the man screamed in agony. This proved a folly action; the spell jumped from one Gotal to another, the blackness spreading like a plague on both of them.

Both fell to the ground, dead. The volume of fire directed at Xireon and Zerxes was now significantly decreased. The two Sith bore down on the remaining security officers, now terrified beyond belief. With another blast of golden fire from his hands, one of the Gotal was sent flying backward, flames consuming him until his charred remains were strewn across the duracrete.

"Kill the last of them," Xireon ordered. "This bores me."

But Xireon was no longer listening, having shambled away from his student to one of the many Gotal corpses now littering the ground. Oblivious to his apprentice's words, the Sith pulled from what few pouches his belt held a small stoppered vial of clear liquid, and containers filled with several other substances.

Pouring a shaking a variety of substances into the vial while muttering inaudible words, he did not respond for a great deal of time. When finally he poured the contents of the tube onto what lay before him -- seemingly the body of a stout, male Gotal -- it was with a flourish, continuing to mutter scarcely audible incantations.

As he did so, the point at which the liquid touched seemed to burn, blackening as if by flame. Finally, the liquid had been poured, and Xireon stood, the spell completed. It had been an immensely complex one, though appearances deceived. The liquid itself had taken months to prepare, the substances had to be mixed at particularly the right junction. The power of the dark side had to be channeled with utmost skill and force.

And now, slowly but surely, the skin continued to rot away under the grasp of the spell's virus. It turned to a sickly, paled gray, decayed and with flesh beneath often exposed. Veins and arteries popped out grotesquely, contributing to an overall sickly appearance. The fur of the creature rapidly fell out, leaving the skin beneath visible, but with patches of hair contributing to the rotted look of the thing.

Xireon glanced back at Zerxes. "Perhaps we can persuade them to fight with a little more... gusto."

Xireon finally stood, pulling his cloak tighter about him as he stepped back from the rotting, decayed corpse. Either by design or a bizarre twist of fate, a cold wind blew sternly through the city square at that moment, pulling the garment closer still about the Wraith's sickly-thin form.

Spontaneously, the corpse before him began twitching, as if by some sort of reverse rigor mortis; shaking violently still, it began to crawl to its feet, springing freakishly to 'life'. It took a step, unsteadily at first, then with more confidence. Grunting ferally and swiping at the pieces of dead flesh which hung from his bones, the creation, the monster, stood still at last.

Xireon turned back to Zerxes, whatever emotion he may have had hidden behind the mask of the collar which covered half of his face. "Like that," he said, quickly glancing around the corner. More security forces were heading down the street in armored speeders. "Each of these buildings is filled with life," Xireon observed. "They are hiding. Expecting their pitiful armies to save them."

The Sith nodded to the monstrosity before him, and quickly, the corpse turned and ran towards one of the many dead bodies littering the square, leaping upon it, biting and tearing. Blood and saliva made their way into wounds on the corpse, and in seconds the monstrous creation had moved to the next.

And so the true nature of the spell came to light; not a passive reanimation, but a virus of some sort; the corpses violated by Xireon's beast decayed and rotted just as the original had, slowly getting to their feet. In moments, at least a dozen of the corpses stood, grunting and growling. Finally, the speeders of the city's defensive forces slid into the square, armored officers leaping out of them and training their weapons on Xireon and Zerxes.

"And we're off."