Requiem for a dream

[Zereth Lancer]

The spherical ship led him to Corellia of all places. This city haunted him, taunting him with how important it was to him, if only he would let it. He could still feel the traces of the survivors of the Sith Order, but he ignored them, and instead wrapped himself up in shadow and sailed by, undetected by even the most outreaching of them all. No one could feel him when he denied them entrance to his mind, the trace of his body, and the heat of his soul. Instead, they were left leaderless, to die out. If they could not survive on their own then they had no right to live. Nature had a rule, survival of the fittest. This had never been his mantra. He had always given equal opportunities and never held on over the other. And yet, he could not oust nature. The mother of life did as she desired, within the rules prescribed to her by Master Order and Lord Chaos. The Mother is only a servant of the two all powerful sides of everything, Order and Chaos. She exists opposite Death. She gives life, Death takes it away. Death is the final judge on any matter, and she chooses to end the lives of the weak with the hands of the strong.

And so he served death, the ultimate power. Even Master Order and Lord Chaos fear Death, for he who controls the end of life holds the entire galaxy in his hands. Master Order can still the raging beast, and Lord Chaos can corrupt the noblest king, and the Mother can give life, but she cannot grant life to the dead, she can only instill life in a vessel. Death can take life, steal it away in a moment, crush mortal binds, and hearken any and all to the pits of Hades.

All are wise to fear him, but very few ever do. Instead they go about their lives as if they are in control, but rather they are only alive by the graces of Death. The complex paradox that Death the continuation of life has gone beyond the comprehension of the galaxy. Not all are blind. The Jirai know the deep concepts of Death, they know how it thinks, how it acts, how it works, and as such they have become it's greatest servants. The practitioners of Jiraiya live to die, live to kill, live to serve Death. They kill as Death dictates, but only who Death deems is worthy of the ultimate punishment. They do not kill needlessly or without reason. Their only license to kill is in serve defense, and sometimes not even then. A Jirai never strikes first, but always strikes last. But only the finest of the Jirai can understand Death's words with clarity. The zhenyan, the true thoughts of Death, are only heard by those who have nothing, who are nothing. They are the instruments of Death, and can hear him the clearest. The Pyō they are called, the soldiers of Death.

He was once one of them, a Pyō of the Jiraiya, and, technically, he still is. He can feel the presence of death, hear the whispers of Death, and sense it's desires. He could not longer hear the words clearly, but he did not need words to know when Death wanted the end of a life.

And Zereth was in the mood to grant it's request.

The spherical ship of the Cyborg set down in a degenerative urban area of town that looked more a slum, except the buildings were cleaner. The people of Corellia were too proud to let their planet look less then content. Pity the meek will inherit the galaxy, and the proud will wallow in self pity while they melt into the background of history.

The Star of Oblivion set down, and it's loading ramp was instantly lowered, and Zereth was quick to move down the length of his ship and down the ramp, and out into the sunlight. He blinded a few times, his black flecked red eyes looking around wildly for the first sign of ambush or a trap, but there was neither. The cyborg simply exited his craft and walked into a nearby house. Zereth followed, only to find himself standing on a large metal plate. Without word or reason, the plate shook and began to descend, taking Zereth and the cyborg downward into the earth. A turbolift, really.

The lift took them down several meters into the earth and then stopped, it's door opening to reveal a large white expansion of space. A large room with white sterile walls and hundreds of bright white lights. It was almost blinding, but because of it he was able to see the lone inhabitant of the room quite clearly. A silver haired man with smoked spectacles and a black rubber surgeons gown. Zanon.

Now that his eyes were adjusting, he could see the many instruments and equipment, both medical and scientific, that filled the room. He could hear the buzzing of the many machines, and the raised heat levels were quite easily detected. Such technological superiority hardly impressed him at all, but he was curious as to how Zanon was keeping such a large consumption of energy from being detected. He was either generating it himself or sucking it from the city above, either way there should be power outs or an energy spike, both of which would be easily detected. In the end, such hardly mattered save for a healthy mental exercise. That was for another time, though.

He let his eyes bore into Zanon's, but all he got in return was his own image reflection on the man's glasses. He said nothing, he was not in the situation to do so. Instead, he would hear Zanon's terms, and kill the man if he did not like them.

Death was hungry, it wanted to be filled. It wanted a soul, and Zanon's would do just fine...

[Zanon O'hara]

With a single gloved finger, which may or may not have been the middle finger on his right hand, he pushed up the nose of his glasses, because all the grinning was making his facial muscles fall apart, and his nose was hardly able to keep the weight of his glasses up anymore. Those thick dark lenses are not made of air, by cracky. Actually, it felt more like balancing two obsidian coins on his cheek bones. He was half expecting them to cut into his face at any given moment. Such was the price of fashion, or at least that's what the salesman said when he bought the glasses.

Zereth was looking as fashionable as ever. The black clothing and the red cloak. It was a wow moment. He looked every bit like the sinister creation he had, well, created. Though, he did notice that the man's pants were a bit tight in the groinal region. Maybe Zereth was gay too. It was possible. He never did program a sense of sexuality into his little munster. Zereth might be prone to humping banthas for all he knew.

He'd have to do something about that if he ever got Zereth under the knife again. One way or another.

Rather then launching into an incredible internal monologue the likes never seen before by man, instead he decided it might be more prudent to actually speak instead of monologuing in the privacy of his own head. What fun is it when no one can hear your mad ramblings through your skull? Maybe he could put a transparent plate on the side of his noggin so that everyone could see what was happening inside his head. Zanon: two points, not-Zanon: no points.

"Well, well. So pleasant of you to join us Zereth. I see you had no troubles getting along with your newest brother. Neo-Genesis is quite a bit of what I had always wanted you to be, without actually being you at all. Pity he lacks your genetic strengths, and that sassy sense of fashion, and your natural penchant for destruction, and your force sensitivity, and your intelligence, and... and... and...and..., yeah. You get the picture. Sometimes I think I should have made you into a female. We could have had so much fun together, but instead I got myself a different female to entertain my sick and twisted ideals, or so my mother would say if she was still around, may she rest in peace. It is time we brought this full circle and complete the family. I'd like you to meet your new sister. I believe you already know her. Hehe... haha.... Buahahahaaa!"

He grinned all the wider and hit the button on the controller that was hidden in his pocket. All he had to do was smack his leg in the right place and hit the button. Nothing happened. He smacked the pocket several more times before remembering he put a safety case over the button so that he didn't accidentally hit it prematurely. Quickly, he pulled the remote from his pocket, remove the cover on the button, and pressed the button. The button itself was big and red, and flashed after being pushed. He liked flashy.

Behind him, the mass stealth field generator turned off to reveal the woman who had been Ashe Seiris. She was dressed in a black robe with red accents. A hood sat lightly on her head, and a metallic circlet circumnavigated her head. Her eyes, cold and empty, stared off into a distance that did not exist. On her belt she carried a pair of sais made of Zanon special untra-dense metals. The sais could withstand a lightsabre impact without melting. The con was their weight, but that was removed by anti-gravity generators placed through the core of the weapons, making them as light as their normal metal counter-parts.

"Now Susan. Use that marvelous body I gave you and destroy Zereth Lancer."

[Ashe Sieris]

‘No! Run, Ashe… Stay away from there!’
Why am I back here? I left Yavin four for good. Why am I hearing my master’s voice? Why can’t I breathe right? Can’t see, can’t breathe. Can’t control myself? This is not Yavin… where am I? I am inside me? A prisoner in my own mind?

‘Zereth… Where are you, Zereth?’

This last line of thoughts drifted through her mind and into his. But he could tell it was not Ashe controlling the being he saw in front of him. It was hardly recognizable as Ashe, what with the nose and mouth mask across her face. The woman’s eyes half opened. Pale gray purple irises turned the pupils to look at Zereth. If this was Ashe, it was not the woman he remembered from months ago.

Her now black bangs fell down in two strands on either side of her face as she gazed at Zereth. The creature in control of this body blamed him for all the torment that she had gone through. She took two steps forward so that she stood equal with Zanon’s chair. This being in front of her, the one her master called Zereth, had infected her and her master’s chambers, bringing disease and infestation with him. She would not allow this sickness to remain within their home, infecting them with its virus and infecting nature.

The true mind and spirit of Ashe was incased within herself, laying back on that table the first day that Zanon had brought her in. Strapped down and helpless to the crazy old man’s sick and disgusting playtime. She was unaware of what was going on in the room that her body stood in. Constantly going through the pain and torture that Zanon had put her through, replaying it over and over again. Hopeless that someone might come save her. Zereth… That was all she could think about. Keeping him safe and away from here. Little did she know that he was already there, and her own body was prepared to fight him.

Her body spoke, the voice emanating from behind the mask. Cold, monotone and soulless. Not the caring and happy voice that he had discovered the first day of meeting Ashe. For this was not that woman. Merely the shell and prison to the one he truly sought.

“Dr. O’Hara. I shall remove the disease carrier from our home before he infects us with his sicknesses…”

She stepped forward, taking up the two blades given to her by Zanon, Ashe’s purple lightsabre no where to be seen. She walked with a purpose and intention to kill and extract the disease from their home. But still, her eyes were emotionless and soulless…

[Zereth Lancer]

What the hell? One moment there was nothing, and the next, there was Ashe, standing alone behind Zanon, dressed in a strange robe with a pair of archaic weapons in her hands. The weapons themselves were made of a dark metal too dark to be standard durosteel, or even ancient steel. It was the dark metal that he had come to associate with the blades of the hunter-killer monsters that invaded Korriban. Ultra-dense steel that could take a lightsabre blow. He always did wonder how it felt to use such a weapon, but had never gotten the chance in the mad rush to escape Korriban. But now he was being pitted against Ashe, who was succumbing to the old man's will. How Ashe had come to be in such a position was beyond his comprehension, but he was adamant to get to the bottom of this.

His katana rested gently on his back, ready to be drawn at the moment's notice, but it went unnoticed. Instead, he slipped his hand into his cloak to his side, where his lightsabre's rested. His hand first slipped around Darkstar, the silver and black handled weapon he most commonly employed, but he paused, and instead moved his hand deeper to grasp another sabre. His hand withdrew with a black hilt clenched in his fist. The lightsabre hilt was like onyx, black with streaks of pearl and gold. The handle was extended to better accommodate two hands.

"This time I'm going to put you in your coffin for good, Zanon." He promised as his mind ran over the internal switch on his lightsabre, causing the weapon to come alive in his hand. The silver-blue beam shot out, blinding those looking upon it for a moment with it's brilliance. Silver was never the gem of choice for a sith. It's beam is cool and elegant. Not a sith's weapon, but a Jedi's weapon.

His free hand came up, clenched in a pincer movement with hsi thumb and forefinger. Channeling the force through his fingers and using the movements to further channel it, he caused the air around Zanon's throat to grip tightly to his flesh, pushing inward until he could not longer intake breath.

Zereth's eyes burned brightly in his head as his rage encompassed him.

[Ashe Sieris]

Ashe looked over her shoulder at Zanon. For half a second, it seems like she is not going to do as he commands. But then, she turns back towards Zereth.

"Remove yourself, infestation, from our domicile or you shall be removed."

She started to walk towards her, swords in hand. She flipped on around, prepareing to attack this person. The mask over her mouth and nose made it difficult to read any emotion she might be feeling right now. But, beings all he can see are her eyes, the only emotion he could possibly read was Death. She was a shell with no soul or spirit. Just a shell controled by a mad man.

"Remove yourself now or you will be exterminated."

[Zereth Lancer]

Zereth's hand continued to contort, narrowing and expanding as he toyed with Zanon's throat. Oh, how easy it would be to just close his fingers and rupture the man's esophagus. Man if frail, so easy to kill. A force induced bubble in his brain, the snapping of his spine with a tug, the squeezing of his heart, and of course suffocation. Life, already easy to take away, but easier yet with the aid of the force. Any wielder of the force held life itself in his hands at all times. It was how one wielded the responsibility of such power that separated the tyrants from the saviors, the evil-doers from the goody-two-shoes.

Some skirt neutrality, ghosts to the reality, that power is not a joke, or a grievance, but the power to choke, or to bless.

His grip eased back and for several moments the only sound heard was Zanon hacking and coughing as his pinched esophagus filled back out to allow the passage of oxygen once more. The man might consider himself luck to be alive, but that was not the case. Rather, he was unlucky to be alive, because now he would have to deal with a much more personal, and painful death. He wanted to see the life drain from the man's eyes, watch his skin pale and feel it chill. He wanted to be every much a part of Zanon's death as death itself. There would be no quick painless death for Zanon. The man would atone for his sins by going under the needle, scalpel, and knife, as he had done to countless others. He would feel the pain he exacted on hundreds. He would die, and then he would be brought back into life, just so that he could experience more pain. Over and over again, until the very atoms that compose his body become unbound and drift apart. The remains would then fall to the ground like a handful of carelessly spilt sand.

They say revenge is bittersweet, but for some it was as sweet as any wine.

Shifting his eyes to Ashe, his body became rigid as he crouched his body, spread his legs, feet apart. His hands rested at his sides, one empty, the other clenching his sabre tightly. His red eyes focused on her, his mind set itself on the idea that he was about to kill her. If it was the only way, then he would do it. His heart would harden into stone as he delivered the finishing blow. It was a necessary sacrifice. Zanon had to be destroyed. His blight on the galaxy had gone on long enough.

He said nothing. He did not need to. His actions spoke for him as his lightsabre sprang the life, the silver-blue beam piercing the air as it stretched to it's full length. The steady thrum marked the silence, the calm before the storm.

[Zanon O'hara]

Greay Bouncing Breasts, GraniteSlugMan!

Why was it that every time he turned around he had someone grabbing for his throat? Was there just something about him that made people want to choke him, or was it some new trend among young people? Of course, Zereth is not young, but you'd hardly be able to guess his age by looking at him. Damn, he still looks like a young man, and a smarmy one at that. If there was every a moment in his life to be gay, well, he'd have to share that moment with Zereth.

But digression comes next.

The choking was nearly reaching the unbearable marker when he was released. Whoo! Fresh air filled his lungs with a cool, refreshing feeling that was something akin to standing in front of a fan with your trousers down around your ankles. But business first, then pleasure. Or both at the same time, which is what he usually did, which explained why he smacked Susan on the tush as he stood up.

"Now keeeeeeel him."