Star Wars: The Tenebrous Way

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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.

DarthAnt66
His own death was clearly foretold, entirely inevitable, and it would precede the rise of the shadow by decades. His fate was explicit in the numbers, and numbers do not lie. However-as Tenebrous came eventually to realize over his many years of research, contemplation and calculation-it might be possible for the numbers in question to be, well, deceived....

The key, he'd discovered, lay in an obscure legend obliquely referenced in the Journal of the Whills, about a hero fairly typical in most cultures-the sort of promised future savior who appears in the foundational myths of nearly every developed society. What distinguished this particular savior from his run-of-the-mill equivalents was that he, according to four of eleven possible translations, was to be "born of pure Force." After three standard years devoted specifically to exploring all possible permutations of the interpretation, Tenebrous determined that such a birth was indeed possible, at least metaphorically- "born of pure Force" could be read as indicating the creation of a living being through direct manipulation of midi-chlorian processes in an already living being.

And further, as Tenebrous discovered with rising excitement, such a being s Force potential might be limited not by its creator's own midi-chlorian count, but instead only by its creator's level of discipline and attention to detail. Indeed, his calculations indicated a range potentially far beyond his own. With proper execution, the "savior" might have a midi-chlorian count as high as fifteen thousand!

Perhaps even more.

It might be possible to create a being with the greatest Force potential ever recorded!

And-by the application of his own suitably subtle variation of the ancient Sith brute-force essence transfer-Tenebrous could ensure that his own consciousness would be present at the creation of this being, this savior, this Chosen One. And, at the moment of creation-long before the Chosen One could hope to resist- Tenebrous would seize it. Would become it.

With this single stroke, decades after his body's death, he would become the most powerful Force-user in the history of the galaxy.

It was all there in the numbers. He could not possibly fail.

Once his analysis had been parsed to its nth degree, polished into a gem perfect beyond the possibility of flaw, Tenebrous had devoted every second of every day of his life to fulfilling his plan. Nothing would be left to chance. He had exterminated his doddering Master with his customary efficiency, and had embarked immediately on a decades-spanning quest for an apprentice of his own. And not just an apprentice, but the apprentice: one possessed of a very specific combination of particular skills-primarily surrounding the direct perception and manipulation of midi-chlorian activity-but also a range of weaknesses, from short-sighted concern with personal profit to an unconquerable dread of the unknown realms beyond the walls of death.

An apprentice whose sole purpose was to create the being Tenebrous would become.

Thus would Darth Tenebrous, the greatest mind in the history of the Sith, be reborn to rule the galaxy.

Forever.

Now that his body's physical senses had altogether perished. Tenebrous found his perception of the Force to be proportionately heightened. With glorious precision, he could trace the slightest wisp of Plagueis' clumsy Force-probing as his apprentice sought to record and analyze every detail of Tenebrous's death. He could feel Plagueis himself: crouched nearby, his eyes closed, the long spiderish fingers of one hand stretched forth as though to snatch Tenebrous' disappearing midi-chlorians from mid-air.

This was Plagueis' customary technique: a close examination, through the Force, of the midi-chlorian decay that accompanied the physical death of his victims. Tenebrous was by far the most powerful Force-user whose death Plagueis had the opportunity to observe, and he had known all along that his apprentice would apply all his physical, mental, and Force capabilities-pitiful as they might be- to witness each slightest detail.

As though midi-chlorians somehow embodied the principle of life itself, they vanished as life fled. Plagueis had more than once speculated that they somehow migrated from dying cells and returned to rejoin the Force from which they had sprung-more evidence of the apprentice's muddy thinking and pathetically romanticized mysticism, but no matter. The delusion of the student had proven an inspiration to the teacher, and the concept of midi-chlorian migration-flawed though it was-became the key to Tenebrous- master stroke.

Amidst the billions upon billions of individual midi-chlorian deaths in Tenebrous' cells were a tiny fraction of midi-chlorians that were not dying.

That would not die so long as they inhabited a living host. These especially tenacious midi-chlorians-Tenebrous had privately labeled them with the indeed, Tenebrous had gone to considerable trouble to ensure it would always remain so.

Instead of actually training his doltish apprentice, Tenebrous had flattered Plagueis' mysticism while pricking his insecurities, sending him off on one useless, doomed-to-fail mission after another. In turn, Tenebrous had invested every available second of the freedom this afforded into designing, creating, and deploying the one weapon that Plagueis would never suspect.

Could never suspect. His own prejudices about the Force ensured Plagueis wouldn't believe such a thing was possible.

Tenebrous created a retrovirus that could infect midi-chlorians.

Midi-chlorians were, after all, merely jesting sobriquet maxi-chlorians-had been altered. Improved. It would not be an overstatement, in Tenebrous' opinion, to use the word perfected. These maxi-chlorians would indeed migrate, but not into the Force.

They would migrate into Plagueis.

To detect this infinitesimal percentage would require the precision of a Bith; it was far beyond his apprentice's limited perceptions-and symbiotic organelles that contribute to the organic processes of the living cells they inhabit. Due to their role in Force interactions, altering them was singularly challenging-they had an unsettling tendency to spontaneously express unexpected and unfortunate side effects-but by applying the full analytic prowess of his vast Bith brain and the preternatural power of his Bith senses to detect and resolve sub-microscopic structure, he eventually succeeded in creating a retrovirus that would transform normal midi-chlorians into long-lived maxi-chlorians.

But that was only the beginning.

With the patient, painstaking attention to the slightest, most insignificant detail that was his hallmark, Tenebrous had encoded his custom retrovirus with his most potent weapon: his own consciousness.

Once completed, Tenebrous had released the virus into his own bloodstream. It had spread throughout his body, infecting midi-chlorians in every one of his cells with gratifying alacrity. Not all his midi-chlorians, though, as the infected maxi-chlorians no longer fully functioned; to infect them all would have cut off his own connection to the Force. A partial severance of this connection was a necessary sacrifice, however, and through an extended process of trial and error, he was able to fine-tune the effect and confine it to the one sector of his Force powers he no longer needed-his ability to sense the motion of the future.

Of what possible use was the ability to see a future he already knew?

Now, dead at last, he could begin to enjoy the fruits of his lifelong labor. In the Force, he could feel that his body had already suffered irreversible brain-death, yet his consciousness remained, fully aware, fully functional, and connected to the Force in a manner more intimate than he had ever believed possible. Freed now of the crude biological processes that mark the passage of time, Tenebrous found he could perceive the measured tick of each individual nanosecond while simultaneously comprehending the entire sweep of galactic eons.

Beside Tenebrous' corpse, as Plagueis carefully observed the vanishing of Tenebrous' midi-chlorians, maxi-chlorians were being subtly and invisibly carried across the intervening space to settle in Plagueis' eyes and mouth, on his skin and into an open wound on his back, where they entered the apprentice's bloodstream and slipped into his cells, releasing their viral cargo of Tenebrous' mind.

Perfect. And what made it even more perfect was that his apprentice would never comprehend the ironic pun of the name Tenebrous had given him: Plagueis.

DarthAnt66
The diseased one.

Driven by the dark side-powered will of the Sith Master, the retrovirus propagated with incredible speed. As it carried his consciousness throughout his apprentice's body, Tenebrous found himself becoming pleasurably aware the he was gaining access to Plagueis' sensorium. He could literally feel what Plagueis felt, both the coldly clinical satisfaction at having successfully engineered Tenebrous' murder.... and the Force-perception that let Plagueis monitor the last vanishing remnants of Tenebrous' uninfected midi-chlorians.

Full access to his apprentice's Force-perceptions! Delightful. Better than Tenebrous had allowed himself to hope. Hmm-perhaps he should have invested some time in actually training the foolish Muun. Tapping Plagueis' Force powers would be more entertaining if they weren't so stunted from disuse. And yet....

As he continued to explore, Tenebrous gradually became aware of the full range of his apprentice's connection to the Force, which was considerably deeper, broader, and more powerful than Tenebrous had ever suspected. He reflected, with a twinge of uncomfortable premonition, that perhaps Plagueis had been right when he contended that Tenebrous had always underestimated him.

Now Tenebrous touched upon his apprentice's powers of foresight, which were also vastly more developed than Tenebrous had believed. For a moment. Tenebrous found his perception cast far forward in time-to Plagueis' own death at the hands of his apprentice, who was himself visible only as a smear of darkness....

A shadow!

For an instant, Tenebrous felt the death anguish of Plagueis.... and felt the searing agony Plagueis felt.... at his failure to have ever created the Force-user Tenebrous was to become! He would allow his own apprentice to kill him too soon....

This could not be. It could not be contemplated, much less allowed to come to pass. Fury competed with panic as Tenebrous threw his mind at the future, seeking to understand how it was Plagueis could be so complacent, so foolish....

So blind.


The searing truth was driven home by the gathering darkness that clouded his borrowed foresight. Soon all he could see of the future was a hazy smear of shadow.... as the retrovirus he had become infected Plagueis' every cell. The retrovirus he had allowed to sacrifice his ability to gaze forward in time.... and had thus robbed his apprentice of his power to sense the future.

Which would seal his own doom as well.

His single-minded pursuit of eternal life and supreme power had accomplished only this. He would be destroyed by his own triumph.

Now wholly giving himself over to panic, Tenebrous turned his will upon undoing the damage he had done. With all his multiplied power, he yanked his maxi-chlorians back out from Plagueis' body in a spray of Force energy from his eyes, his mouth, the wound and every other cell. He had to think-he had to find a way out-or perhaps he didn't. Perhaps there

Perhaps the best he could hope for was the slow, inevitable extinction of his consciousness as his maxi-chlorians too faded and winked out. Then, at least, he would no longer have to squirm in the agony of his self-inflicted defeat....

If his maxi-chlorians were going to fade.

Because it dawned on him that he wasn't sure exactly how long the process should take, but he certainly didn't seem to be losing consciousness. He reached out with the Force-perhaps he could sense something. Anything. Or even contact Plagueis, somehow make his presence known, as his apprentice would never allow him to survive, no matter how reduced his powers might be....

But Plagueis wasn't here. Not only had Plagueis somehow vanished, Tenebrous could sense no trace of him ever having been here at all.... what was happening? How could this be?

The only trace of organic life Tenebrous could sense were some ancient mummified remains....

Of a Bith.

How long had he been here? How long would it take for every trace of Plagueis to vanish? Those remains were years old-decades, perhaps centuries old.

Tenebrous wondered, with dawning horror, if his retrovirus might have somehow mutated, if its effects on the maxi-chlorians might go somehow deeper than excision of foresight?

What if his eternal life would be.... this?

Or worse: what if his foresight hadn't been eliminated, but had been somehow twisted in upon itself? What if his remains were ancient because this was the thousandth time he had relived his death and the shattering revelation of his life-long self-deception.... what if this was the millionth time he'd relived it?

The billionth?

Then he knew, and at that moment he wished he still had a mouth, because he really, really needed to scream.

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....

ares834
Stover ****ed up on this one. Horrible.

Emperordmb
Tenebrous is totally a Makashi master. Sensory acuity. Precision. Efficiency. A love of dueling.

carthage
He needs his own novel in the Legends canon

Darth Abonis
Originally posted by carthage
He needs his own novel in the Legends canon

Seconded, but alas, he will not do it. I spoke to him on twitter and he said unless the Story Group gives him a tub of money, he will not do it.

carthage
You're talking about Luceno or Stover?

carthage
Well there is always Karpashyn...

Emperordmb
In a perfect world, I would want Luceno or Stover to write a novel about Tenebrous, and Karpyshyn to write one about Cognus.

DarthAnt66
Originally posted by Emperordmb
Karpyshyn to write one about Cognus.
You actually want Drew to write a novel?

ares834
Originally posted by DarthAnt66
You actually want Drew to write a novel?

thumb up

In a perfect world, Drew would never write a novel again.

chilled monkey
Originally posted by DarthAnt66
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.

Based on this part here, Sith, particularly Banite Sith, are basically atheists.

Yeah that fits.

S_W_LeGenD
Come on, people. Drew isn't so bad.

Nephthys
He's aggressively mediocre imo.

NemeBro
Originally posted by S_W_LeGenD
Come on, people. Drew isn't so bad. I'm inclined to disagree.

I can't comment much on his plots, characters, themes, or world-building, but on a purely technical level his writing is pretty aggressively bad. Even by the standards of pulp science fiction novels. Or at least, the ones I've read.

Trocity
Originally posted by NemeBro
I'm inclined to disagree.

I can't comment much on his plots, characters, themes, or world-building, but on a purely technical level his writing is pretty aggressively bad. Even by the standards of pulp science fiction novels. Or at least, the ones I've read.

Exactly. To me it's not even what happens in the books themselves ( though that is usually shit as well ), it's just his laughable writing style.

He's pretty garbage, tbh.

ILS
Annihilation was pretty good, can't speak for anything else.

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