A dungeon, it held.
A labyrinth, it contained.
A warren, it housed.
The Crimson Emperor, bequeathed him by the Palestar, was perfectly appointed. It was excellently equipped and boasted the most astounding accouterments. Half star-ship, half space-station, the monstrous construct was suited the needs and the desires of Lord Silk as though built for him, which it had been. For all his sacrifice, in the face of all he had done for the Palestar, this had been his reward and though it reminded the Lord his services had been bought and paid for the inescapable fact remained; that the Palestar had truly sought the perfect gift with which to repay Silk.
In its construction he saw himself; a testament to the old ways yet armed to the teeth with the most modern and powerful weapons. In its use he saw himself; a fortress temple of the deepest solitude which, at a moments notice, could become a machine of war. In its grandeur and its opulence he saw himself; a reflection of his teachers, of Xion, of Maim, of Palpatine. In its simplicity he saw himself; a product of his past, his present and his future.
In it he saw himself.
And yet he knew that for all its possession gained him, the Crimson Emperor was just a thing. It was just a possession and though its ownership gave to him a sense of satisfaction he refused to allow himself any attachment to it. Like everything else, it was merely a means to an end. In application it had brought others in to the fold, brought under his command new assets, new possessions but these too could only be regarded as temporary. Even life was not ever lasting.
A temple, it supported.
A species, it grew.
A seat of power, it represented.
On Xa Fel he also saw himself, saw himself as king, however; the duties of rule, the constant need to manage and micro-manage, consumed him. His studies of the force had fallen by the wayside, his focused meditation becoming increasingly infrequent. It was not enough to simply delegate responsibilities to his subordinates, as was true of the Temple and Crimson Emperor alike. Attention was required, constantly.
Xoverus, priest of the Unspoken, was a frequent voice in his ear. The man, for all his prowess and use, was a going concern and, though loathe to admit it, Silk understood his concerns; Xoverus was just like any other being of ambitious desire, even if that ambition was not his alone, and speaking for a considerable power he was powerfully motivated to see that progress followed. Yet for all his pestering Xoverus was impossible to satiate and again Silk understood why but understanding was not enough to quell his distaste for the way things were. Of the Unspoken converts faith he could not even be assured. Their loyalty was not to him, not to Silk, but to the godly power of the Unspoken.
And then there was the Crone, though she was less of a concern. A witch at heart, her interests lay within the realm of magic and the occult. Silk had, for a time, been able to suffer her ramblings and when that had grown intolerable he had further purchased her patience by offering her the young girls and women of the Xa Fel to induct in to her misguided ways. For now she was quiet, for now she was occupied with whatever malicious ministrations she practiced on her inductees but there was no telling how long that would last.
Even his brothers, the men of the exiled Royal Guard now dubbed Crimson Brotherhood, pushed the limits of his tolerance. They had been loyal to him the longest of anyone he maintained current contact with, had stood by his side on Yinchorr and followed his commands even before their forced isolation. Much of that loyalty, however; had been bought and paid for through the very banishment that had fomented them as brothers. Now that things had changed, now that Silk was in a position of authority, they now sought payment of a more tangible sort. And so, to buy their continued obedience he had given them vast tracts of land, given them titles and ownership. But the soil was toxic and little would grow and knowing this Silk wondered how long it would be before their desires overwhelmed their loyalty... or fear.
Last, but certainly not least, were the ghosts of his past, Xion and Maim. For spiritual manifestations, often taking possession of a physical body when the mood struck, their needs were increasingly bizarre and worrisome. The reborn Necros was, at best, problematic as well though less of a concern and in time Silk imagined he would perhaps even be able to trust the reincarnated knight.
In fact, of all his many minions and their many factions, only those he had truly created could be trusted; his alchemical constructs. But they, as with his droid legion, had needs also. They demanded sustenance and maintenance respectively both of which required sources outside of his direct influence.
The duties of maintaining his kingdom were stealing from his growth in the force. He was, he realized, no Emperor.
“Was it all a mistake?”
His only answer was the silence of his focusing chamber. He half expected either Maim or Xion to interrupt his reflections but detected neither spiritual presence here.
The monolithic slab of onyx loomed before him, judging him.
Where had he gone wrong? Was it in taking Xa Fel, in returning to the planet as conqueror? Perhaps it was earlier. Perhaps it had all started with the initial attack, the dream of Palestar to make a name for himself by putting fear in the hearts of the feared. No, he realized, it had to have been before all that. Before he had taken possession of the Crimson Emperor he had been free of this responsibility, hadn't he? No, again he faced the truth. Before the Crimson Emperor there was the Crusade and before that the instruction of young Palestar. Further back, he gazed, and saw himself leading the band of exiled guardsmen on Yinchorr. And before that? Before that was the Crimson Empire, and Maim.
Had he ever truly been free of responsibility, free of attachment to material possessions and ambitious desire?
Raising from a sitting position he contemplated this even as he strode without purpose from his focusing chamber in to the deep, labyrinthine halls of the Crimson Emperors lower decks. With a slithering hiss and clattering of claws one of his serpent-bred monsters. It sidled up to him as a loyal pet might and, brushing its body against his leg, emitted a sound which might have been pleasant, like the purring of a cat, before Silk had twisted the creature to his own bent vision. With a hand he stroked the creature atop is scaled, wedge-shaped head careful to avoid the barbs dripping with their poisonous ichor.
Walking the halls, alone with his pet, Silk further considered the present.
The corridors of the ship were largely deserted. Most everyone was on the planet now leaving the ship to care for itself in a stable geosynchronous orbit. A mere skeleton crew and host of tireless droids were left aboard along with his bestial manifestations. This, he realized, was something he could get used to.
“I could easily spend my days up here, removed from the tedium of the planet,” he spoke to the creature at his side and it growled in reply.
“You're right,” Silk said, anthropomorphizing the creature. “It's only a stop gap.”
The pair rounded a corner finding a winding, narrow spiral staircase. Pausing, Silk regarded his erstwhile companion.
“Shall we?” He gestured to the coiling darkness and the two started down.
Throughout the Crimson Emperor were many archaic pieces of architecture including spiral staircases, vaulted ceilings, gargoyle-like moldings and so much more. Where modern appointments were installed they had always been camouflaged so as to blend with the Gothic aesthetic. Turbo-lifts were hidden behind seamless walls or menacing tapestries. Power conduits were tucked away, kept out of sight at the cost of easy access in favor of a concurrent theme. Such had been the attention to detail demanded by its commissioner, Palestar, in its preparation for presentation to Silk.
Round and round, further down the stairs wound. Silk, his footfalls almost silent, moved in stark comparison to his many legged friend who, with no need for stealth, bounded down the stairs on his many talons.
Silk realized, watching his pet wind its way down, that with every passing event the halls and corridors, indeed the very core of the Crimson Emperor, were increasingly imbued with the dark energy that was the dark side of the force. In its dungeons the creatures, of which his pet was just one among many, had been constructed. Laboring with Sith spells of the oldest know sort he had built a wide array of alchemical apparatus. Delving in to the darkest depths of his knowledge he had summoned up the incantations that would allow him to meld science and magic through the force, to bend the very meat of life to his own will. In its halls the converts of the Unspoken had walked, had prayed and had gone about their daily business ever adding to the tide. Their church, which rose from the base of the ship through many decks, focused their prayers and spread their dark touch further throughout the ship. The Crone and her coven of witches, her brood of occult women, further added to the mix though the impurity of their misguided rituals lessened the effect. Further and further, the Crimson Emperor was falling in to darkness.
But what of that now?
With most everyone on the planet would the effect begin to ebb? The Temple, built of the same stone that had stood on that very spot prior to the attack, lay along the nexus of the galactic ley-lines which made up the spider-web network of force energy spread across the stars. Perhaps by virtue of its proximity the Crimson Emperor could feed on that.
Silk caught himself.
He was doing it again; thinking like a consumer, thinking as a man who longed for power through possessions and he chided himself for it.
At the bottom of the long, perilous staircase Silk paused again. The creature, its long neck craned around to track his movements, watched him. They had found themselves among the dungeons in the very bowels of the immense ship. Here the radiant power of the dark side was practically tangible as though Silk could reach out and grab it, wrap it around himself as he did his robes. Such things, unspeakable in proper society, had taken place here in the depths of the darkness.
Silk smiled inwardly and, meeting the creatures stare, said, “Home. How does it feel?”
The creature shook its hackles, started off down the row of barred cells, and howled at the top of its lungs. Its piercing howl was enough to make Silk cringe, clutch his ears and try to drown out the sound. They had been engineered and their cry, one of their many weapons, had been brought about by the man now plugging his ears with his thumbs. He smirked at the irony of it.
After a moment he followed.
Passing row upon row of cells, he remembered the many creatures, sentient and otherwise, that had once filled the many chambers. He imagined he could still smell the stink of their fear, he imagined their faces screwed up and sweating at his very glance. These beings, supposed pinnacles of natural evolution, were nothing compared with what they had become under his guidance, his force. What nature had created, he improved on. Where weakness existed, he quelled it and replaced it with strength. And so what if these things, his pets, could not breed? Who cared if their offspring would be either still born or so badly mutated as to be of no use? Certainly he did not. When they died, when age or violence took them from him, he would simply create more.
“Others,” he spoke aloud. “They need tomes, libraries and books to even dream of achieving what I have wrought. Ha!”
“My library,” he laughed. “My tomes and books are all up here!”
He jabbed a finger at his temple, “What good is learning if you have to keep it all in books? Information can be lost, destroyed. But me, as long as I live it will all be up here. This, Maim taught, was the very foundation of knowledge; not relying on archives but relying on your own ability to remember everything, everything that truly matters.”
His laughter carried him through the dungeons, carried him all the way to the turbo-shaft running the length of the ships keel. Locked in that box, zipping along at tens of meters a second, he again found himself stroking the creatures awkwardly shaped head.
“I read once,” he recited to the beast. “That in order to ever truly create anything you must destroy everything.”
From his belt, beneath his robes, he retrieved a small communicator disk. Tapping it with his thumb, the holographic representation of an interface program sprung to life. A compiled image of some long dead and forgotten computer programmer looked up at Silk.
“Please state the nature of your request,” it suggested in a polite tone.
“Message to High Priest Xoverus,” Silk replied. “Meet me in the grand hall in one hours time. Come alone.”
“Message relayed,” confirmed the hologram. “Would you like...”
But Silk was not interested, deactivating the unit and tucking it back on his belt, he smiled at his pet.
“How would you like to take a trip?”
One hour later, alone save for the cold presence of Xoverus, in the grand hall Silk stood with the same monstrous serpentine beast at his side and a large sized rucksack on the ground. His black robe, hood up, masked much of his face in the dark shadows caused by the cowl. Clearly the strange and sudden summons, coupled with Silks odd demeanor, had Xoverus ill at ease.
“I am leaving, for a time,” Silk offered flatly.
Xoverus, for his part, contained any emotional response.
“While I am gone, you are in charge. You are utterly in charge of affairs here, in the Temple, on the planet and for everything else. I will be leaving the Crimson Emperor here to ensure your safe keeping and to which end you will return the full force of my brotherhood to active duty aboard ship and standing at fully readiness should anyone unwelcome pop by.”
Xoverus simply nodded.
“Do what you will as you wish but know that I will return and when I do the state of things will affect how I reward your diligence in my absence. The Crimson Emperor will be tended by the brotherhood, though under your direct command. As to the rest...”
Silk shrugged, “May the force be with you...”
He turned, hefted his bag, and made to depart adding as he went, “... and the Unspoken too.”
And then, just like that, he was gone.
Xoverus, truly alone, contemplated this and, at length, a toothy grin spread across his face.
Silk released the control yoke of his shuttle, leaned back in the pilots chair and kicked his feet up on the edge of the center console. The great endless infinity of space stretched out before him.
With a worry-free smile he turned to his traveling companion and, still smiling, patted the creature on its wedge-shaped head.
“Where to, you ask?”
The beast, for its part, salivated earnestly.
“First star to the right,” he pushed the hyper-drive throttle ahead. “And straight on 'til morning.”
