Rain. Hot, falling like hail. It stabbed at Darth Nox's face and diluted the sweat and blood dripping from his brow. His dark hair matted into his eyes, the clean, trim beard in which he prided himself frayed into a primal, burnt mess. The wind would have sent lesser men over the ledge. A constant, harsh crackle filled the air as the water hit his lightsaber, hissing. The caustic vapor that snaked from the blade stank of ozone. The red glow only accentuated the fury in his eyes. Every breath was his own personal hell: he could feel where the blasted thing sliced his side. He needed attention fast, sure that at least three ribs were broken. Possibly a punctured lung. Smoke coiled in through his nose, burning everything in its path. Hate pulsed through his veins like acid. Passion was old hat to him, but this was different; true loathing. Nox pressed his boot harder into the monster's neck, relishing the weak pulse underneath. He ached to kill it. With every fiber of his being.

And sensing his thoughts, it laughed at him. It was cold and harsh like Zash. Dark. Like it should be coming from the mouth of a smiling demon. Something in Darth Nox began to stir. That crooked, knowing laugh infuriated him, but there was something else too, something familiar. Pushing it down, Darth Nox, Dark Lord of the Sith, Thronebreaker, Dreamwalker, and Member of the Dark Council hovered his lightsaber over its mask, readying himself for the final blow. It too was scarred, it's black armor was cracked in several spots, revealing burnt flesh. This...thing...needed to blade hummed loudly. Darth Nox hissed through clenched teeth: "Any last words?" The mocking laugh grew in intensity. If this really was...Darth Nox shuddered. No. The beast seemed unaffected, as if it were humoring a child. The laughing suddenly stopped. Its words bore deep into Nox, straight into his heart. "You were my greatest disappointment." That phrase. For the second time in his life, he felt true, animal fear. His olive tan face blanched to a milky white. He steeled himself as best he could. He prayed his voice would not break "This blade has taken the lives of vermin more worthy than you. You are nothing, I am a member of THE DARK COUNCIL-" Nox discovered he was bellowing to the burning creature before him, "-I AM SITH. Beg for mercy imposter, and I just might grant you a quick death." There was only the wind and the caustic hiss from his lighstaber. Life itself held its breath. "You dare make me beg you insolent little brat? You are not Sith, you are a coward, Argiosul, a pathetic, jumpstart SLAVE!"

He could only whisper, "No-" before he was falling, falling, falling. The last image in his life was the now clear face of his monster.

Mother.

Argiosul awoke drowning, gasping for breath. His hands quickly went to his neck, gnawing at the collar that was no longer there. Old habits die hard. Sighing, he sat up in his bed, savoring the fear, letting it envelope him, and evaporate into the night. It meant he was still alive. Yet this was the seventh dream in a month. His last bout of night-terrors had been before he left for the Academy. Argiosul didn-no, DARTH NOX didn't know what this meant, and that infuriated him. He had buried his slave name, his mark of shame, and put it to rest with his other ghosts. Her laugh still haunted him, softly reverberating around the chambers. He shuddered, sleep was out of the question. Darth Nox tossed aside the sheets, grabbed his gown off the floor, his feet walking the well worn path. The cold-tile helped wake him up. His complex by the Citadel came with a gigantic display of the galaxy. It was spectacular. Hundreds of little lights, each one with millions of little slaves looking up and dreaming. At least, that's what Argiosul used to think. It was in the stars he found something bigger than himself, more powerful. Something worth study. Not hope, or the promise of a better life, he had given up on that long ago, Argiosul instead found the promise of revenge. He knelt before the living Force, closed his eyes, and lost himself.

The night of his acension to the Dark Council was the greatest of Argiosul's pathetic life, for he could finally die. He was now Darth Nox, and moreover, Lord over most every other being in the Sith Empire. After ordering his followers to their respective new posts, the rest of the night was a blur. He remembered a feast, where Corellian Red flowed like water. It could've been the wine, but he was pretty sure Khem and Xalek were both in high spirits, trading war stories and scars. Both of them monstrous titans, yet now almost jovial. Then again, it was the first time in years he had been drunk. Countless bottles and plates, all of the finest quality. Why shouldn't they have been? They earned it, this was the dawn of something big. They were going to change the Empire, the Sith, and tonight was just the first step. Talos was babbling on about all the archeological expeditions they could comission now. Darth Nox couldn't wait to secretly approve each one. Andronikos tried to convince anyone who'd listen a week in Nar Shadaa was a good idea. He was possibly a loose cannon, but he was still the best damned pilot Darth Nox had ever seen. And Ashara? A smile flicked across his lips in the dark. She demured quietly to all the conversation around her, but locked eyes with him all night. God she was beautiful. After everyone had stumbled to their respective chambers...It was frenzied, lustful, ravenous. She couldn't bear to be in the same room with him for days after, but the emotions that hung around them both were more intoxicating than the wine. The crew sensed it too, trading awkward smirks between the two. They loved it.

More memories swirled about. They played at the same time, past and present, the distinction blurred. There was the Dashade kneeling before him, the first time anything had done so. His old master hitting him. Zash revealing her true form. Sharing his body with the ghost of Sith long dead. Seeing Ashara dance with her saber, and feeling a pang in his chest as they battled together. Standing over Thanaton's corpse. That fateful night so many years ago when he discovered he had lightning in his veins...

Then an ear-splitting screech. He couldn't hear his own screams. An apparition stood before him, leaning on the wall. Clean shaven. Simple tunic and leggings. Collar at his neck. The three vertical slave brands on his face that had faded over the years now raw and fresh. And that damned, knowing smile.

The screech stopped. Argiosul the slave began to clap. "Lookit yoo, mi'lord. Gotcha bunch of little underlings to kneel 'fore you, fancy title, nice sword. Almost forgot all about me, dinnitja ya bastard?" Darth Nox could only look up with hate in his eyes. He had worked for decades to kill that rolling drawl, to perfect the Imperial accent. He raised his hand, commanding a storm of wrath to immolate this lowly slave to oblivion. But it did not come. The power in his core was silenced. He was just a kneeling man with his hand in the air. The apparition chuckled."Come this fahr, almost makes ya think you're worth sum'n." He smiled, approaching. "Yoo of all people should know, boy, Sith aren't made," He clenched Darth Nox by the throat, pulling him up to his face, hot breath smothering him, "-they're born." The slave tossed him across the room, hitting the wall. Darth Nox struggled to his hands and knees, and spat blood onto the floor. "Come back home, boy, alohne." Darth Nox spat at him, "Why should I?" Argiosul was already backing away. "Aquinare thought yoo might like a graduation present. Ta!" With a flick of his hand, the apparition melted into the darkness.

Few Sith had the power to create and send a physical apparition, much less one so powerful as to block his force powers, or so...vocal. Either it was his sister or another sith truly knew his past. Neither option was appealing. The crew found Darth Nox sitting against the wall the next morning, bruised and lost in thought. He shrugged off their help, pushing himself off the floor. They stared. It had taken too long to earn their respect, a moment of weakness like this was a major setback. Ashara whispered, "Are you allright my lord?" Darth Nox's voice came out cold, flat. "I'm taking the Fury. Don't wait up."