The Duel of the Fates II: The Downfalling of Goodness [OPEN CHALLENGE]

[NeuroMortis]

<center>This is for SERIOUS roleplayers only!</center>

Darth Death strode triumphantly around the massive bridge, wringing his hands in anticipation "FINALLY the jedi scum will be mine!" he said laughing like his black heart would find no bottom. "I have them right where they want them! Prepare my shuttle!"

The planets' surface was caked with the black crust of lava from the ancient volcanoes that sat like dark ominous mountains under the triple moons that saw the light of day only twice a year. Darth Death made his way among the treacherous edges of the plates. Even HE sweated here.

And yet it was his home, more home than the orphanage had been, and with less resistance. He remembered back:

"You're out of control!" his foster mother, Princess Leia Organa-Solo-Calrissian-Calamari-Yees-Hyphen-Mothma snapped at him. "If only you could use your talents for the good, like your uncle!"

He smirked now as he stared into the burning pools that reflected his hatred of the jedi. He knew back then he could never be like the weak jedi and their puny rebellion. Now HE had the upper hand!

But he felt a presence like he had not in a long time, and he readied his sabre, Li'l Rushdie, in his cybernetic fist...

"COME OUT HERE, JEDI!" he screamed, frightening the lava dwelling creatures into their dark firey holes. "I COMMAND YOU!!!"

[NeuroMortis]

No one came.

Darth Death fidgeted.

He turned quickly to strike at the attacker, leaping from behind!

But, no. No attacker. No behind. No nothing.

“WHERE ARE ALL THE JEDI!?!?” he shrieked, waving Li’l Rushdie about, gesticulating at the horizon with clenched fist, the good one, the one not cybernetic, although in some cases the cybernetic one was the “good one” because it reacted faster and never got tired like his other one did, but in other situations, like seducing women, the real hand was better—unless the woman liked cybernetics, in which case he rose to the occasion.

He remembered the last time he’d been fooled, lulled into a false sense of security. He’d been at the orphanage, levitating over the toilet when he’d been jumped by five hostiles who left him for dead—he would have been, if not for his keen sense of telepathy and his catlike reflexes; instead of dying, he ended up fooling them by feigning a kidney stone had passed, and by biting his own tongue he made them believe it had ruptured his spleen.

He chortled to himself now.

“HAH! YOU’RE ALL AFRAID OF ME!!!”

His voice echoed in the canyons, the valleys, the grottoes and the dells. It reverberated throughout the wild landscapes, the chaotic topography, and the discordant demesnes of the deep. He reveled in his supremacy.

“IS THERE NO ONE TO FACE ME? NONE WHO WILL SET THEIR BLADE TO THE TASK OF BESTING ME IN COMBAT?!?”

[NeuroMortis]

Four days later, his voice cracked and hoarse, he finally found his shuttle.

"HnAHgh! THgouGHT YhOu c-*cough*-ould HIDE MnY SHipf!"

His feet, blistered and aching like the time he tried to impress a young Mara Jade with his firewalking skills, cried out for relief.

"Relieve us! For God's sake, we're your feet!"

Darth Death shook his head; he'd been hallucinating again, due to all the sulfuric vapors choking the atmosphere--but he wouldn't let that stop him.

"**I** am your GhOD, you FhEET!"

That would quiet them, he knew.

This ruse hadn't fazed him; he was still the most feared Sith Lord in the Four Quadrants, though few admitted it. He could tell, though--obviously--that those who pretended not to fear him actually feared him more, because somewhere, buried underneath the training and disciplines, the raw power of the Dark Side revealed to them his true nature:

That of the Garou.

True, he'd been embraced as Brujah in the Deep Core, but once he gave himself over to the Dark Side, the calling he'd so long denied won out over the temporary inconvenience of vampiredom.

He reached into his cloak, past the bandolier of thermal detonators, the case of frictionless throwing stars, his chain-railgun (named 'Ham Tyler'), his walking stick that had the VibroSword in the handle that was carved to look like a bust of Dengarr, his best friend before the whole sordidness of the rebellion came to fruition, into his inner pocket--

He cursed, silently.

He turned, glaring over the landscape.

Somewhere in the miles of twisting, harrowing moltenness, he'd dropped his keys.

He cleared his mind, and allowed the Dark Side to guide him...

[NeuroMortis]

Chody, the thrice-exiled Ewok Sith Lord, glared menacingly over a cracked ridge of black obsidian lava-like stone at his outraged competition.

He squatted again, breathing through the AtmosPhilter that kept his little body alive…

<font color =red>peeeeeee………poooooooo………..peeeeeeeeee……….pooooo……</font>

..and wished he were back on Endor, slaughtering his kindred with the pointed ends of a thousand sticks.

“That Darth Death was no match for me when last we encountered eachother’s blades…”

He stroked his jet-black sabre, Chauncy Hortenzio de la Al Monde-Roca, and wheezed softly to himself.

“…and this time, my ruse shall be his undoing…”

He waited for just the right time to strke, reaching out with the Dark Side…

In the middle, their Dark Sides collided, tangling in the darkness like two Sarlaacs fighting in coal-like sand! They both screamed, clutching at nothing, for the Dark Presence of the Dark Side held their Dark Bodies in thrall.

Suddenly, a slow shadow crept over the horizon.

[NeuroMortis]

Galactic Overlord Ubermunchen was not pleased.

The entire crew of the Epsilon-Class Star Destroyer, The Universe Is My Chew Toy, dropped to the deck, irrevocably dead.

He fumed for several minutes, strolling about to the corpses, kicking them in various places to vent his formidable ire.

After bringing them back to life, he spoke to Ensign Tim:

"Now, tell me again where Death Darth is?"

The Ensign gulped huge amounts of air imperceptibly.

He could not, however, hide his fear.

"D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-dar-dar-da-dar-dar-darda-dardada--"

"SILENCE!" Ubermunchen shouted, and Ensign Tim went white as a snow covered marble statue of a stromtrooper.

Ubermunchen glowered manacingly.

"I said, tell me where Dearth Dath is."

The Ensign swallowed his tongue, dropping lifeless to the floor once again.

Galactic Overlord Ubermunchen called upon the monstrous power of the Dark Side, which he wielded the way a gun wields a bullet when one has been trained in the use of such guns, and now owns one that he uses to shoot things with, and the way he's learned not to jerk the trigger, but to squueze off the rounds, one by one, until the clip is empty and he has to reload, but he uses that time to think about what a good shot he is--THIS is how Ubermunchen commanded the Dark Side of the force to his beck and call.

Ensign Tim shuddered to life once again.

"Ensign, it would be a shame to keep bringing you back from the death of death, so I will ask you one last time: Where is Darth DEATH?"

Ensign Tim breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"D-d-dada-dadarth-darth-darth D-d-d-Dea-dea-Death is d-d-d-d-do-down on the puh-puh-puhlan-puhlanet suh-suh-suhhir-sir!"

Ubermunchen nodded slowly, crushing the man's skull to a pulpy spray of brians and bone matter with a mere wave of his death-laced fingers.

"The PLANET, eh? Which--"

He stared at the slumped, headless Tim torso, then regarded the fine red dew coating his black jodhpurs, his black cloak and his black tunic and his black hair above his black eyes and black eyebrow. He fingered his sabre, named 'Blackie', and reached out with his mind into the Dark Side of the Force...

"I...will FIND you..."

And the "The Universe Is My Chew Toy" rumbled inexorably toward it's fate...