Hero of Coruscant, Butcher of Anobis.
*Death. Though Arcanus did not desire to court it's embrace, his foolish headstrong charge into the mass of flesh and bone before him took him down that path. It was too late for him now, to turn and flee to safety. He was committed. His suit's auto-senses prowled through those arrayed before him, their forms outlined in a yellowish hue. Targeting reticules appeared over several of the closest cultists, his armour deeming them the most dangerous of threats. Inhaling deeply, the Wayward knight surged forth into the melee - his pilfered lightsaber singing hungrily. The crimson blade arced through the air, hissing with a barely contained rage as it brought about its new masters wrath. The smell of scorched fabric and cindered flesh hung heavily in the air, after several corpses dotted the freshly fallen snowscape.
His heart was cloven in two at his honoured crews betrayal, for there was no words to describe the horrors of treachery that had befallen him. It all started with the death of his wife, a friend turned foe and a blade carving the throat. He endured what no man should, as he watched the fallen son of the Order open her neck for him to see. Arcanus was helpless to act, bounded and gagged, alone and unarmed. His silent screams fell upon deaf ears as her life bubbled away before him. It was in that lesson - the hardest of any to come - that Arcanus understood the disassociation the Jedi had made with attachments. The loss, bore heavily upon his heart after the attack. His mind was fractured and the seed of darkness had implanted itself in the cracks. The wayward knight became more radical after the death of his loved one, willing to put the lives of thousands at risk in order to route out a single whisper of the Sith.
In one of those moments, he had birthed an evil that would set the galaxy aflame. And for that action alone, he would finally be pushed over the edge. Anobis was alight with fire and smoke, cries of agony echoed throughout the capital's streets. Destruction was all about him, and normally he would reveled in the chaos - considering the damage an acceptable loss in the long run. But, something was different. He felt as if a veil was lifted from his eyes and the same sorrow that had gripped his heart upon the death of Kiana, when his eyes prowled the devastated landscape. What he believed to be his inner voice, later manifesting itself as his most trusted source of clarity, manifested in that moment. It called him a monster for the horrendous act he had committed, and Arcanus grudgingly agreed.
He was a Jedi no longer, and he was fooling himself in carrying the title.
Blinking the iron grip of despair from his mind, the ebony clad warrior's conscious returned to the battle at hand. His singed flesh stung with the heat of tears, freshly fallen at the memory. Exasperated breaths surged forth from his lips, despite the straining of his suit to calm his laboured breathing. Arcanus' fingers tightened about the grip of the pilfered weapon, the augmentation cracking the outer casing. All the sorrow, all the rage, everything flowed through his system as the fueled the building bloodlust. The sound of a primal growl resounded in the back of his throat, roaring over his suit's voxcaster. His anger soared and the telltale sound of cracking metal echoed in his aural amplifiers, signifying that his newly acquired weapon had shattered under his bionics grip.
Uncaring, he surged forwards and grabbed the nearest cultist by the throat. Several microservos spun into place and the metallic fingers crushed the screaming zealots windpipe. Blaster weapons discharged all about the ebony clad warrior as he tossed the lifeless corpse to the ground, several marks of carbon scoring stood out amidst the midnight hue of his armour. In kind, small plates upon his forearm folded back to reveal a twin blaster laying beneath his augmented flesh. Snapping into place, Arcanus open fired. His damaged eyes flickered between targets as his suit feed him the calculations. Each salvo brought a fanatic to the ground, their bodies filled with smoking holes. As his charge ran dry, the weapon retreated into his arm and the small plates reforged the dark visage of his arm.
As more bolts tore through his clothing, Arcanus could feel the concoction of stims and adrenaline mix. His body trembled in delight as he felt the liquid surge through his veins. The bolts dissipated against his armourweave fabric and tore through the cape that donned his shoulders. He stood in the spitting image of Darth Vader, his rage causing everything he saw to fade to red. Another feral scream bubbled from his lips as the last of his sanity had slipped away, Arkania would be the death of him in one way or another. He was to die here, it was a fact he knew in both his blood and mind. There was no escape, only the last moments before his pillar of light faded from the universe all together. If this was to be his end, he mused, he would make it such an end that it would be worthy of remembrance.
His glazed eyes were drawn to the altar and the man that stop atop it. Though the colours of the robes he wore we clear, Arcanus saw nothing but the hateful hue of crimson. His legs pistoned into action as he charged towards the circle of offering, his mind settled upon a singular purpose. He would kill everyone and everything to abate his rage, and this man, this Dark apostle would be the first of many. It was then that something caught his attention, a glint of beaten copper out of the corner of his eye. Turning to see a fist fill his vision, Arcanus was forced back with the blow shattering the metal encasing his wounded head. His neck snapped backwards as the momentum carried him from his feet. The icy kiss of winter fell upon his burned flesh, though drugged beyond recollection that was the most painful experience he had endured since being interned.
The red haze that took hold of the wayward knight's vision faded to darkness, at the tune of familiar laughter.*
*Everything was unfolding according to his design. Every piece upon the table was moving in tandem to his will. The zealots in his service died in droves either by the hands of the monsters he had created or by the machinations of Arkania's defenders. The beasts he had forged from the mere essence of the primordial annihilator, rampaged throughout the city spreading it's noxious infection like a disease. Even his coven about him had begun taming the wild mechanical beasts, focusing upon the shred of sentience that remained within. He was alone atop the summoning circle, and had nothing save nature's wrath to keep him company. Atop the parapet, his eyes prowled over all that occurred before him, and as they did so his lips curled into a cruel smile. Bedecked in sapphire and brass, Lord Ahriman stood above them all - as was befitting a Lord of the Sith. The storm tugged at his robe, causing its tails to flicker in the wind.
This is what he lived for, moments in which he had seen his plans come to fruition. Where the screams of the dead and dying had brought his senses to another level of pleasure. He closed his eyes, reveling in the chaos his worshipers and the warp spawned beasts were creating. It was then that his eyes shot open, an unexpected piece surged onto the gameboard. A pair of dragons had come from no where, and spat fire upon his cult. This was an interesting turn of events, he mused as his helm tilted back. He wondered what it would be like to ride one of these magnificent beasts, to stride amongst the stars upon wings of flesh and blood. Though he knew it would not be upon these two beasts, for they were no doubt vassals to Lady Concordia's will, and would kill him should he take a careless step in their direction. However, his eyes darted to the massacre below and fell upon one of his technofiends and his cruel smile faded into a malicious sneer.
With a grunt of effort, he forced his mind free of it's physical shell. Tendrils of his soul eagerly clung to his corporal form as his mind raced towards the beast bound by metal and magic. Wrapping himself intimately around it's mind, drastically changed by it's transformation, Ahriman found what could once be considered the reek's central cortex. Once inside, he turned the beasts gaze skyward. With a feral mechanical growl informing it's master that it graciously accepted it's commands, he withdrew to the safety of his crude flesh. Rolling his eyes to rid himself of his disorientation, the Sith Lord watched with renewed interest as the Technofiend roared with a primal fury. He had ensured that this beast thought of the dragon as an affront to everything it had every known, and as the moment of raw fury had passed the beast took off. Technobeasts and Cultists alike were thrown from their feet as it trampled it's way to the nearest building. It's claws pushed off the duracrete and imbedded themselves into the steel framework of tower. Using it's digits, the metal clad beast climbed to the building's summit and waited.
As one of the dragons had swooped past, the daemon beast made it's move. Vaulting from the roof top and seeking to bring the dragon down.
Ahriman snorted in approval, as his gaze was drawn towards the melee before him. The rapport of a dual linked blaster resounded in his ears, and it's bearer was the subject of his interest. Nothing else matter now, for the strider of suns had shown his face. His trap had worked, and now it was time to close the maw that had swallowed them all. Issuing a command to his most favoured acolyte, the Sith lord watched as Arcanus had torn through his ranks. He did not want to see this Jedi dead, at least not yet. Had he wanted him dead, Ahriman would've struck when the wayward knight was bound by steel atop a medical slab. Drifting back - Ahriman remembered the smell of sterile antiseptics and the stench of scorched flesh. Within that cramped room he watched the Arkanian doctor, Sylas was his name, perform a miracle. Necrotic flesh piled in the corner and glistening bionics attached to the Strider's wounded form, signaled that Sylas was finished with phase one. Phase two had shaped Arcanus to Ahriman's design, the spitting image of Darth Vader brought to life by the Galactic Republic, the irony.
When he had awoke, there was something in the wayward knight's mind that snapped. Many assumed the augmentations did not hold true to Sylas promise, but I and I alone knew the truth. I had constantly fed Arcanus images of his dead wife calling him a monster, and when he awoke the anger that his form had barely contained exploded outwards. I had vanished before his rage had escalated, but as I walked away I could hear the screams of those that I shared a room with, just moments before. The doctor and many high ranking officials died that day, and it was a blow that the Republic barely recovered from. Now, seeing him react the same way as he had back then, it brought a smile of pride to my lips.
As Varro had subdued the Strider of Suns, Ahriman's attentions fell upon Arhiia Concordia, this world's Queen. Her lithe figure had a feral charm to it's albino hue, and he felt the cringe of desire building at the back of his throat. For some reason, his aging body had trembled beneath the cloak about his shoulders, eager to force her into his embrace. Yet as he felt her aura, that feeling of desire transformed into disgust. Though she was the beauty of winter personified, Ahriman could not help but hate her for what she was. Perhaps if he had bound her petite figure in irons and stripped her of her Jedi garments, maybe then the feeling of revulsion would fade.*
"Lady Concordia!" *He cried, his voice cutting through the chaos about him.* "Do you like what I've done with your world?" *A coarse laughter emanated from his dry lips, barely audible above the din of battle.* "You can not hope to stop a demi-god, Arii." *He said sensually, the words being carried upon the wind and fell upon it's target with a lovers caress.* "Submit, and Arkania will be spared!"
*His laughter faltered as he felt the weakness from before overtake his limbs. Taking a mouthful of chilled air, Ahriman's gaze fell to a Cultist that had dared to climb his altar. Irritation filled his thoughts as he extended a hand and feed upon his life's essence. The man aged a thousand years in the blink of an eye, and Ahriman felt rejuvenated. The now ancient corpse fell from the parapet into the chaos below, and with that he turned towards the Arkanian Queen once more.*
"What say you Ice Queen?!"