DarthAnt66
Dying, Tenebrous observed with mild surprise, was turning out to be not only pleasant, but wholly wonderful; had he ever suspected how much he'd enjoy the process, he wouldn't have wasted all these decades waiting for his foolish apprentice Plagueis to do him in.
So, even as he lay gasping around the icy barbs that pierced his lung, Tenebrous smiled. Even with the jerking and convulsing in his body's last reflexive rebellion against the fall of eternal night, even as organ systems shut down one by one to maintain the last shreds of light and life within the vast intricacies of his brain-massive beyond even those of other Biths, a people justly legendary for their intellectual prowess-Tenebrous found himself particularly enjoying the incremental disappearance of his own midi-chlorians.
His Force-perception was even more acute than the magnifying powers of his enormous eyes; in the Force, he could feel each individual midi-chlorian wink out in turn, a spreading wave of darkness, like stars eclipsed by the silhouette of an approaching ship.
Or falling through the event horizon of a black hole.
Ah, darkness. Darkness at last. The darkness he had dreamed of. The darkness he had planned for. The darkness that was his one true love. The darkness he had taken as his name.
Was he not Darth Tenebrous?
His vision dimmed. His hearing became a rush of wind like static on an electrovoder -and then silence. The sole sensation registered by his quivering flesh was the rip of shattered bone and slow suffocation choking his consciousness, as his shredded lung could supply only a fraction of the oxygen required by his massive brain.
It hardly mattered. Shielded from suffering by his command of the Force, Tenebrous observed the death agony of his physical form with appropriately Bithan dispassion. And now his impossibly refined perceptions detected the brush of Plaugueis' mind, as the apprentice probed the vanishing midi-chlorians of his dying master with his own use of the Force, as Tenebrous had known he would. Tenebrous had spent decades making sure that Plagueis would be unable to resist doing exactly that.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
* * *
Foolish, pathetic Plagueis.... Tenebrous' Muun apprentice would never comprehend his own limitations. These limitations were only peripherally due to the unfortunate tendency of Muuns, as a species, to measure every interaction as a transaction to be manipulated for maximum profit. No, Plagueis' real weakness was fear. Fear so deep and all-pervasive that the fool did not even register it as emotion-again and again I across the decades of his apprenticeship, Plagueis had insisted that his fear was not fear at all, instead claiming it to be merely rational prudence. But Tenebrous knew the truth. Had always known it. Tenebrous had chosen his apprentice specifically because of it.
Plagueis was afraid to die.
Were Tenebrous the sort of individual who could experience pity, he supposed he might feel some for his apprentice. Crippled by dread, Plagueis would never know the freedom of an unbounded will that was the true legacy of the Banite Sith. And were Tenebrous the sort of individual to be fair-minded about such things, he would have accepted much of the blame for Plagueis' incapacity. As both pity and fairness were entirely alien to his nature, though, Tenebrous instead pleasurably recalled the relentless needling of his apprentice across their long, long years together. He had pricked constantly at Plagueis' sore spot, to make certain it could never heal.
Not even animals fear death, Plagueis. The lowliest beast in existence exhibits more "rational prudence" than you ever have. They fear only pain and injury. Bright lights and loud noises. You are less than a beast. You fear a mere concept- and one you do not even understand.
Thus was the ground carefully prepared. Thus did the seed of Plagueis' fear sprout and blossom into obsession. Thus had Tenebrous skillfully re-directed his apprentice's unparalleled aptitude for midi-chlorian manipulation away from the deepening of insight, from the intuition of the future, and from the amassing of personal and political power-away from any and all pursuits that might have proven inconvenient for Tenebrous' ultimate plan-toward a single goal. A goal Tenebrous had chosen for his own purposes.
The mastery of life and death.
More than a century before, when Tenebrous had been but a Sith apprentice himself, the magnificent computational power of his Bith brain had led him far beyond the simplistic Force studies imposed on him by his Master. He had always been far too intelligent to be seduced by the traditional Sith metaphysical twaddle of dark destiny and the witless fantasy of endless war against the equally witless Jedi Order. Soon he had confirmed to his own satisfaction that the dark side of the Force, far from being some malevolent mystic sentience bent on spreading suffering throughout the Galaxy, was in truth merely an energy source, and a tool with which he could impose his will upon reality. It was a sort of natural amplifier he could use to multiply the effectiveness of his many useful abilities.
None of which was more useful than his matchless intellect.
Like many Sith before him, he had turned his powers toward knowledge of the future. But unlike any Sith before him he had the enormous brain of his people, which combined sheer brute processing power with a level of analytic precision simply beyond the capacity of any other species. The future was always in motion, and while other Sith struggled to foresee the faintest, least specific hints of what was to come, Tenebrous had no need to see the future.
He could calculate it.
While still merely an apprentice, his analysis had shown him the inevitable end of the Banite Sith and its preposterous Rule of Two. His calculations plainly indicated the coming of a shadow so vast it would darken the galaxy entirely- so vast it would mark the end of both Jedi and Sith as the universe had known them heretofore. The rise of the shadow would be the end of history itself.
Tenebrous had not the slightest doubt that the entire galaxy would measure time according to its arrival. Events would be marked by how far they had preceded the shadow, or by how long after it they followed.
Though the exact nature of the great shadow remained occult, the remorseless logic of his extrapolation detailed the coming destruction of the Banite system, and the rise of what would become known as the "One Sith." One Sith! The conclusion was so obvious as to require no confirmation: one single Sith Lord would arise of such power that he'd have no need of any apprentice nor fear of the Jedi. He would take and hold the galaxy by his own hand alone. Without an apprentice- or a Jedi Order-to destroy him, the One Sith would rule forever!
A heady prospect, with only a single drawback:
Tenebrous was not to be that Sith Lord.
So, even as he lay gasping around the icy barbs that pierced his lung, Tenebrous smiled. Even with the jerking and convulsing in his body's last reflexive rebellion against the fall of eternal night, even as organ systems shut down one by one to maintain the last shreds of light and life within the vast intricacies of his brain-massive beyond even those of other Biths, a people justly legendary for their intellectual prowess-Tenebrous found himself particularly enjoying the incremental disappearance of his own midi-chlorians.
His Force-perception was even more acute than the magnifying powers of his enormous eyes; in the Force, he could feel each individual midi-chlorian wink out in turn, a spreading wave of darkness, like stars eclipsed by the silhouette of an approaching ship.
Or falling through the event horizon of a black hole.
Ah, darkness. Darkness at last. The darkness he had dreamed of. The darkness he had planned for. The darkness that was his one true love. The darkness he had taken as his name.
Was he not Darth Tenebrous?
His vision dimmed. His hearing became a rush of wind like static on an electrovoder -and then silence. The sole sensation registered by his quivering flesh was the rip of shattered bone and slow suffocation choking his consciousness, as his shredded lung could supply only a fraction of the oxygen required by his massive brain.
It hardly mattered. Shielded from suffering by his command of the Force, Tenebrous observed the death agony of his physical form with appropriately Bithan dispassion. And now his impossibly refined perceptions detected the brush of Plaugueis' mind, as the apprentice probed the vanishing midi-chlorians of his dying master with his own use of the Force, as Tenebrous had known he would. Tenebrous had spent decades making sure that Plagueis would be unable to resist doing exactly that.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
* * *
Foolish, pathetic Plagueis.... Tenebrous' Muun apprentice would never comprehend his own limitations. These limitations were only peripherally due to the unfortunate tendency of Muuns, as a species, to measure every interaction as a transaction to be manipulated for maximum profit. No, Plagueis' real weakness was fear. Fear so deep and all-pervasive that the fool did not even register it as emotion-again and again I across the decades of his apprenticeship, Plagueis had insisted that his fear was not fear at all, instead claiming it to be merely rational prudence. But Tenebrous knew the truth. Had always known it. Tenebrous had chosen his apprentice specifically because of it.
Plagueis was afraid to die.
Were Tenebrous the sort of individual who could experience pity, he supposed he might feel some for his apprentice. Crippled by dread, Plagueis would never know the freedom of an unbounded will that was the true legacy of the Banite Sith. And were Tenebrous the sort of individual to be fair-minded about such things, he would have accepted much of the blame for Plagueis' incapacity. As both pity and fairness were entirely alien to his nature, though, Tenebrous instead pleasurably recalled the relentless needling of his apprentice across their long, long years together. He had pricked constantly at Plagueis' sore spot, to make certain it could never heal.
Not even animals fear death, Plagueis. The lowliest beast in existence exhibits more "rational prudence" than you ever have. They fear only pain and injury. Bright lights and loud noises. You are less than a beast. You fear a mere concept- and one you do not even understand.
Thus was the ground carefully prepared. Thus did the seed of Plagueis' fear sprout and blossom into obsession. Thus had Tenebrous skillfully re-directed his apprentice's unparalleled aptitude for midi-chlorian manipulation away from the deepening of insight, from the intuition of the future, and from the amassing of personal and political power-away from any and all pursuits that might have proven inconvenient for Tenebrous' ultimate plan-toward a single goal. A goal Tenebrous had chosen for his own purposes.
The mastery of life and death.
More than a century before, when Tenebrous had been but a Sith apprentice himself, the magnificent computational power of his Bith brain had led him far beyond the simplistic Force studies imposed on him by his Master. He had always been far too intelligent to be seduced by the traditional Sith metaphysical twaddle of dark destiny and the witless fantasy of endless war against the equally witless Jedi Order. Soon he had confirmed to his own satisfaction that the dark side of the Force, far from being some malevolent mystic sentience bent on spreading suffering throughout the Galaxy, was in truth merely an energy source, and a tool with which he could impose his will upon reality. It was a sort of natural amplifier he could use to multiply the effectiveness of his many useful abilities.
None of which was more useful than his matchless intellect.
Like many Sith before him, he had turned his powers toward knowledge of the future. But unlike any Sith before him he had the enormous brain of his people, which combined sheer brute processing power with a level of analytic precision simply beyond the capacity of any other species. The future was always in motion, and while other Sith struggled to foresee the faintest, least specific hints of what was to come, Tenebrous had no need to see the future.
He could calculate it.
While still merely an apprentice, his analysis had shown him the inevitable end of the Banite Sith and its preposterous Rule of Two. His calculations plainly indicated the coming of a shadow so vast it would darken the galaxy entirely- so vast it would mark the end of both Jedi and Sith as the universe had known them heretofore. The rise of the shadow would be the end of history itself.
Tenebrous had not the slightest doubt that the entire galaxy would measure time according to its arrival. Events would be marked by how far they had preceded the shadow, or by how long after it they followed.
Though the exact nature of the great shadow remained occult, the remorseless logic of his extrapolation detailed the coming destruction of the Banite system, and the rise of what would become known as the "One Sith." One Sith! The conclusion was so obvious as to require no confirmation: one single Sith Lord would arise of such power that he'd have no need of any apprentice nor fear of the Jedi. He would take and hold the galaxy by his own hand alone. Without an apprentice- or a Jedi Order-to destroy him, the One Sith would rule forever!
A heady prospect, with only a single drawback:
Tenebrous was not to be that Sith Lord.