He didn’t know why, but the sounds of battle excited him.
His tortuous feelings toward it all amused him somewhat; he just loved it.
The last sounds of his victims failing gasps for air as he held them by the throat at arm’s length; making them stare into the dark, deep, empty tunnels of his yellow bloodshot eyes.
The torsion of their bodies as he inflicted countless means of torture unto their breaking minds, sneering as he watched their eyes, fingers, toes, all succumb to trepidation, then fall to exhaustion.

He truly was, a murderous psychotic.

The corridors of the Ebon Hawk themselves, were in a continuous state of stark misery; each footstep what took place across the transparisteel slates echoed the decades of pain and suffering what had occurred on board, over time.
The post of The Exile was statuesque. Kneeling on the cold ridden floor not moving a single muscle throughout his whole body, creating a sense of a deathly stillness in the air around him.

As he dove further and further, deep into the Darkness of the Force, he spread his gaze across the distant galaxy that lay before him. Searching for helpless minds to intrude upon and then integrate his and their minds as one, to shed the layers and pierce the inner most core of their depthless soul.

He truly was, a servant of evil.

The past few months, swirled around him in feelings of anger, of hate, of power, and of loss. As he traversed the galaxy, going from planet to planet learning the secrets from what he was forbidden, he learnt the true power of hate. He lived on it; fed off of it. Using the pain and misery as fuel to take away all what had made him disconnect.

He made them pay, he made them suffer, he made them look into his eyes as they died; he made sure of that. But after all what he had done, after all that he had accomplished, he felt not whole, but still incomplete until that one last mission, that last objective had been done. He made his servants, he shown them the true power and true meaning of what it meant to be a Jedi. It was not to protect, but to steal. Take what was truly theirs, the galaxy. They had the power, it could have been theirs, and it should be theirs, but not yet.

“This is what you have wrought,” whispered Kreia in his mind, as he remembered the last words she had said to him, “countless murderous, slayers, assassins, born of war that has as always taught the wrong lesson. You showed them life without the Force, and instead of showing them truth, power. All you showed them is how the galaxy may die.” As he remembered laying there, on the grass in the council chamber of the Jedi Academy, straying in and out of thought, he heard the words echo in his head, over and over again, “This place will hide you from the Sith for a time, enough time for what is needed for what must be done,” ‘What is it that must be done?’ “You were my last hope,” Kreia continued, “The only one who could change what is to come, and now you have left me nothing. And as you lay there, I pray that you finally listen and truly awaken. Stay here and die, apprentice, among the wreckage of what his left of the Jedi. It is a fitting grave, that is, until the Sith come to end you.”

But something made him stop and think, what it was exactly he didn’t know, but it was annoying beyond all comprehension. As he sat there, ripping through countless beings of unimportance, he felt her. He knew she was there, she knew, that he knew she was there; but they did not talk, no word was said for however long she waited, standing there, gazing in wonder at what she had succumbed to love. Something, she could not have.

Through all of the wills of life he had been able to bend to his own, she was not one of them. Her choice was one of own will, not from his; he could not truly understand this.

As he stood there, leaning against the cold, empty walls of the entrance, the remembered her last encounter with the witch. For she gelt Atton was right, she was a witch; bending and withering The Exile’s mind to what she saw fit, in hoping to achieve something what they did not know.

“So, you wait,” she said to her, “Like a shadow.”

“Yes, we are alike that way, Blind One,” replied Kreia.

“I would have though that you would walk with him, amongst the Jedi. But that is not the way of the Sith, is it?”

“Do not speak to me of what it means to be Sith!” hissed back Kreia, ‘you, of all people have no conception on what it means to be Sith. I have watched you hunger, and doubt and drowned in fear, and I have born it all silently, I have felt your lusts that you’re longing and that spark of hope and that longed to crush it. You could have been strong! There is a core in you that light shall never touch.”

Perhaps the old woman was right, perhaps wanting The Exile had made her weak, blinded to what could have become of her if she had looked away and stayed away.

“What do you want?” he asked, still not moving from the ground.

“I want to know something,” she said

“Well, what is it!” he demanded

“Do you feel it?” she asked, quietly; even as vague as she was, he knew what she meant.

“A little,” he said, dismissively, “But that is not something which to dwell on at the moment. The power is immense, I can feel it even now as we speak.”

“Once, we get to Malachor, will I ever see you again?” she asked

“You cannot see in the first place, so why ask?” he scoffed. She let the harshness of his joke slide by.

‘Just because I cannot use my eyes for sight, does not mean I cannot see,” she said softly, “Your denial is as visible as a Krayt Dragon in an open plain.”

“Well, thanks for that fine metaphor to describe my so called, ‘denial’” he said

“I have fought beside you, killed for you, sacrificed for you. Does that not mean anything?”

“You are my servant, because you choose to be. I am not keeping you here.” He said

“I know,” replied Visas, “But you cannot just sit here and lie to me. Not after all what has happened.”

He stood up, turned and walked right up close to her. So close she could feel his warm breath on her neck, “And what has happened?” he asked

“I thought I needed not to say. That you would have known.”

“Well you thought wrong, didn’t you? It is only a shadow of an empty shell that you love, nothing can fill this space, never was and never will be.”

She turned and walked away, holding down her feelings, not wanting to show what he has made her to be. Not wanting to show him this weakness.

As she walked, she finally understood, after all this lost and thoughtless debate with herself, she finally knew what had occurred. She walked back to him and said quietly, but firmly, “I now know why.”

When he did not answer her, she said with meaning and without hesitation, “You are gone to the galaxy, you are no longer what you were and for that I pity you.”

She turned and walked away after saying, “You are lost."

And that was what he truly was.




THE END