The blazing sand burns his feet though his worn boots. Wind rips at him constantly, beating him down. The sun seems to be evaporating every bit of moisture in his body. But none of that matters. All that matters is
"Him".
Every action the now worn Sith had taken ever since that man had cleft him asunder had led to this day. And so he continues on. Even as he seems to be trudging further and further into nowhere, that single thought remains. It drives him. Fuels him. Eats him alive then spits him back out hungrier.
"Revenge. I must have it. I must have him."
How could it not? Every step he takes is a cold, metallic reminder of why he marches on. That man took everything from him. His power. His place. His birthright. All gone. Given to another. All that was left for him after that day was hatred.
The fight was almost too easy. The Master and Padawan were barely match for him together; separated they stood no chance. He felt the hatred oozing out of the Padawan as the boy waited and watched as he dispatched the boy's mentor. When the Padawan came charging out, he was impressed with the boy's skill and his rage. The boy even managed to slice his saber in half, a terrible prologue. But the Padawan could not control the power spawned from grief and ended up hanging on for dear life at his mercy. For a moment, he reveled in his victory. He taunted the boy. That moment rent his life beyond repair. He was stunned as the boy mustered strength from a deep recess he had not sensed. And before he could muster a counter it was too late. He was numb as he fell threw the deep recess of Theed. The only thought he could form was,
"Failure."
That failure drives him through the desert. He only thoughts he had for the next many years were of survival and vengeance. When his brother found his twisted form, he was nothing more than rage and hatred confined in an organic form. The only thing that changed when Mother brought him back from the void was his focus. Now instead of a raging hot fire burning in his bosom, there was a cold, blue flame searing his insides that gave him direction.
The path of vengeance was a slow one, and it took many surprising turns. But every cold decision, every merciless death all led him father down the path he was taking. All the power he gained, the armies, the wealth, it was nothing if he did not get what he wanted most. After many attempts and many gambits, he had that man in his grasp. He got to watch as that man had the joy of his life destroyed. And he was the cause. Never before had he felt so alive than when he saw that man collapsed on the floor in agony. Oh the plans he had! But they were cut short. Ripped away by
"Master."