And the beast said, “Come and See.” Part: 1.

[Tear]

Hurom, the capital city of Thule is an ancient city. It’s buildings grand and towering, it’s stone streets worn and cracked. It was a city built for worship, without the trapping grandiosity of religion. Instead it’s building were dull and durable with quality in mind over the pursuit of aesthetics. Except for one unique characteristic; it was a city of black stone. The buildings built in it’s founding were fashioned from charred stone collected from the local mountain ranges. Mountains that over countless millennia were continually bombarded by lightening storms. The locals took to calling it the Obsidian city. A nickname which had persisted after the Empires arrival.

Much of Hurom changed after Tear arrived with his Imperials. Streets were rebuilt, cracked stone replaced by duracrete. Towers shored up and reinforced. Factories were raised wherever space permitted. Farms expanded and pushed to their limits. At the center of the city stood an ancient Sith temple. Much like the rest of the city it had been built more like a fortress then a place of worship. It too was re-purposed. Built into a palace, still a place of worship but no longer for the Sith. it’s pyramid shape rising high into the clouds and licked at intermittently by forking tongues of lightning. It had been expanded and improved upon, like much of Thule, it was to be the center of a war that never came.

Tear had arrived with a gospel. That the Empire’s time had come and gone. That just because this system spun along the fringe of the galaxy that it was meant for more than to become a forgotten dreg of civilization. It’s commercial districts were re-purposed to the war effort. It’s markets rationed their goods. It’s streets were patrolled by soldiers. High above the city and its thunderous clouds shipyards and space stations were a hive of construction and building. However, this promise of war never came.

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In the palace gardens sat a circle of boys and at it’s center was a man, not just a man, but a king. All of them, king included, had their legs crossed with hands on knees, their backs straight, and their eyes closed in meditation.

“Who is god?” Spoke the man at the center of the circle.

“I am.” Spoke one of the boys.

“I am.” Another challenged, and another, until they had all said the words.

“Why?” The King questioned.

“Because we have the strength and resolve to shape all of creation. We have heard the message. We are strong.” The boys replied in unison.

“Show me.”

The violence that followed was short and brutal. Child attacked child, their bodies young but trained, ribs were cracked, noses broken, nails clawed and teeth took bites of flesh until only one stood. His chest rose and fell, ragged breath spilling from the boys body. His left eye had swelled shut and his face was caked with dirt and blood. His hands were still balled into fists as he approached the King.

“Why is conflict important?” The king questioned as he rose to his feet in front of the boy.

The boy paused and looked back to the other children before answering. “It separates the weak from the strong.” The boy’s brow furrowed and his skin tingled as he felt a familiar presence approaching. “Master, your Viceroy approaches.”

At the edge of the Garden the large unmistakable form of Naberius approached. In his wake a cloud of flies buzzed and swarmed among the garden. “That is my brother.” Tear replied, “Go. Help yours. Class has ended for the day.”

The boy gave a pained swat at a fly that had landed on his eyelid. “Let the insect do it’s work.” Tear chastised before ushering the boy away to the other children.

“Viceroy Naberius.” The boy inclined his head as he past the robed shape of the Chistori hybrid. The child’s eye was already mending from the work of the nano-insect tending to it.

“First born.” Naberius acknowledged the child before turning to the King. “Your Grace.”

“Please.” Tear dismissed, “The children aren’t bound by the platitudes of the court on this field, and you know you aren’t either.”

Naberius gave a toothy reply that may have resembled a grin, if he was human. “Their training goes well. I believe my swarm is tending to three broken bones and a punctured lung.”

“It does. Their focus is improving, along with their strength, and that boy sensed you before he heard you. One of them even used the force to shove three others off him during the fight. It was impressive if not desperate.” Tear’s gaze was still on the children as they helped each other off the field.

“And your yours?”

Tear gave Naberius a glance. “My training.” The king’s jaw clenched as he bit at his cheek out of frustration. “I can no longer see our path since the vision aboard the Abaddon.”

“How long do we wait? We must take action soon. Your people gr-”

“My people?” Tear cut the Chistori off, “If they were my people they would see the wisdom in my patience. Instead they incite to riot because I don’t throw their lives away in a war we would lose.”

“We would not lose.” Naberius countered. “The vision you experienced on Cortoa was not wrong. Our fleets would engage the Empire. Weaken them. Peace would be brokered. The drug, Bliss, would be distrubuted across the galaxy as a substitute for the weakened supply of kolto and bacta. Then we-”

“I’m familiar with our plans Naberius.” Tear began to walk from the garden, his viceroy quickly moving to match his stride. “The galaxy has already adapted without our action. Peace has been reached between the Empire and the Rebellion. A cold war has set in. Supply lines and trade have become strained. Borders are guarded fiercely. Bacta and Kolto supplies are fluctuating. The vision continues despite our action. As the galaxy adapts so do I. We will be better prepared for our role in it.”

“We do not have the time to wait longer. Your troops starve. Your people grow hungry, not just for war but food supplies are only estimated to last another five months. Your forces are too large to support on the few systems we hold.” Naberius’s voice was calm, flat, and filled with booming bass that could be heard throughout the garden.

“Full report?”

“We continue to clone troops using the recovered Spaarti cylinder. After training and conditioning they’re put into stasis as we can’t afford to keep them fed and active. The White fleet under Hera,” Naberius spat the name. “remains at Korriban. The Red fleet remains at Dromund Kaas, where Darth Atra Volture continues his experiments. The Black fleet remains here at Thule with Ash fleet maintaining security between here and Ziost. All fleets are at half capacity due to food supplies. We can field them for a month at full capacity. Weapons, vehicles, fuel, and all the common supplies of war continue to be manufactured, excess sold to surrounding systems through the black market. Trade with the Cizerack continues but it is not enough.”

“And the Droids?”

“Droid and machine manufacturing continues to expand beneath the ice planet Diado. The foreman there is not comfortable with the expanding intellect they are showing. They’re nearly autonomous now. There have been incidents of them refusing to comply with orders.” Naberius had no need of a data pad. His mind networked and connected to Thule’s mainframe. He saw every Fleet entry, every officer’s log, every quarter masters report all in real time.

“And the Imperial Knights?” Tear asked, stopping at the edge of the garden.

“Their campaigns against dissidents haven’t taken them this far into the outer rim yet.”

“And they likely won’t.” The Inquisitor, now a king, stepped down from the raised garden. The hard obsidian floor slapping against his feet with each step. “Miranda has made me Executor of the Empire. If they stray too close I’ll steer them away.”

“You waste time.” Naberius barked, remaining at the edge of the garden.

“No, my friend.” Tear continued, not looking back, “I maneuver.”

[Tear]

They called it the Dead Garden. A square patch of green built into the colossal obsidian ziggurat at Hurom’s center. The garden was lush and vibrant, a sharp contrast to the measured perfection that surrounded it. Susevfi dark vine spiraled up trees. Its flowers dark and purple and protected by thorns. Foulahn belladonia, a yellow wild flower, favorited by the many insects that crisscrossed over the garden. That dull buzz of activity existed throughout the garden save for its center. Within that void sat a circle of children with one man at its center.
“The bugs. They avoid you master.” A boy stood breaking from the circle and approached, his feet padding softly over the grass.

“They do.” Tear answered, his eyes closed in meditation.

“I’ve noticed most creatures avoid you.” The boy continued forward, bringing himself closer.
Aggression. The former Grand Inquisitor could sense his student’s intent through the force. His emotions sizzled and spat like a live wire. He was angry, anxious, and afraid. His young voice thrummed on a low string tone, stern and direct. “They fear you, but for what and why, I cannot understand.”

Tear’s eyes crept open, pupils of corrupted gold looked up at the boy, his body silhouetted by Thules setting sun. He looked fifteen physically, but behind those young cheeks and bright blue eyes was the mind of a man of at least thirty.

The rest of the children sat stoic, a select few choosing to open their eyes. Despite the children’s rigid backs and calm masked faces, their hands began to tighten over their knees. It was clear their sibling’s agitation was infecting the rest of the unit.

“You have something you wish to say?” Tear asked, noticing several other children moving to stand.

“Six point two million troops. Twelve Capital ships. Four hundred and twenty-four support ships. Six thousand and eighty-nine attack craft. Two hundred tons of food stuffs. Eleven thousand canisters of Rhydonium.” The boy continued to count off a statistical break down of the Black Orders Military. He never took a breath.

“I know the numbers.” Tear cut in.

“You do. Yet, here you sit. While you know the statistical probability that every day, hour and minute spent not engaged with the enemy weakens our position.”

The former Inquisitor said nothing.

“Silence?” The boy hissed through clenched teeth. “You have failed! These plans you hold,” The boy reached down digging fingers through the grass and ripped out a handful of soil. “USELESS DIRT! Wasted! These people you cultivate now realize your promises are worth just as much.”

Tear’s back straightened, the boy had finally gotten to his point.

When Tear had arrived on Thule and established his roots through the ruins of the outer rim, he came with promises. Promises not only of rebuilding that which had been ravaged by the galactic powers of the galaxy, but that of revenge. The Empire, the Alliance, Core worlds, prosperous worlds, the backwater planets believed the rest of the galaxy looked down upon them. They were only drawn upon to bleed in wars that were not their own. And when those wars ended, they were left to pick through the ruins to start again.

Thule had been the epicenter of Tears plans. Here he planted seeds in the form of promises. Their dried roots being fed on a sweet drip of promised vengeance and when ripe, he would harvest them into an army to be spent on his enemies. These people called him a King. They clamored, raged even, for the war he promised and the assured prosperity that would follow in their victory. Boiling blood, however, is not cooled in time. Soon the people began to speak of broken promises, and a false King, a liar King, a Pale King.

Not only had the people grown impatient, but his own troops began to sour. He had lied, stolen, betrayed, and coerced four fleets, crewed by over a million Imperials. Additionally there were the special project clones trained and grown with a recovered Spaarti cylinder. Those of which included this boy and his siblings. Genetically designed and trained since birth to fight a war they now believed may never come.

“The people in the streets, do you know what they call you?”

Tear heard movement from behind. More of the children pushing themselves to their feet.

“The Pale King with a silver tongue. They say you hide in your alone in your temple. Afraid of a vision you had on the eve of war.” The boy wiped the dirt stuck to his palm, balled it between his fingers and glanced to the others before letting it drop to the ground. The ball didn’t bounce twice before Tear felt it. Pain. Tear hissed, twisting to fend off the bite of something sharp sticking between his ribs. The attacker caught his forearm, and pressed on, plunging repeatedly through flesh and bone. Tear watched in the few short seconds it took for the glint of a clean blade to become stained with the thick, dark red of his blood.

Tear wrenched himself free and tried to roll to the side only to find his momentum blocked. His action rewarded with the sharp slice of more blades from every direction. He spun, twisting, and thrashing as the children swarmed, all with blades in hand. Panic seized at tears chest, he reached with grasping hands trying to find purchase on anything and found the edge of a blade piercing his palm and two fingers chopped from his other hand.

It was over as quickly as it had started. Small limbs pushed themselves off Tear’s bloodied and ravaged body. Despite the mortal damage they had wrought they kept themselves out of their father’s reach. Leaving Tear to writhe in blood soaked dirt alone.

“hk..y-you…hhk…” He could taste blood bubbling up at the back of his throat. He couldn’t inhale, couldn’t swallow a full breath, each gasp shorter than the next. “hk…dare?”

“Finish it.” One boy shouted. “Don’t let him steal another word.”

The first boy stiff armed another by the shoulder. “It’s done. The blades are poisoned. Even his silver tongue can’t save him now.”

Tear palmed at several gushing wounds across his chest. “hk..h…fleet..w-w.hk.. won’t follow.”

The lead boy knelt down, still an arms-length away. “We’ve already killed the men loyal to you. And the clones genetically bound to serve you have been modified with a virus to follow us.”

Moments left now. Tear coughed, turning his head and dug his elbows into the wet soil, attempting to push himself to the gardens edge.

“We are wasting time. Finish him.” Another child spoke up, this one a girl, brandished her bloodied knife and stepped forward.

“I want him to know!” The first boy yelled back, clutching his sisters arm and dragging her back into the tight circle.

“You’re wasting time. He’s trying something.”

Tear sucked in a ragged breath, a gurgling reward polluted by more blood than air. It didn’t matter. A creeping numbness had already stolen his limbs and now drained light from his eyes.

“Goodbye Father. We will succeed where you failed.” The boy straightened, joining his brothers and sisters as they watched the eyes of their father go dark and still.