A/N: Here it is, redone and extended, with additional flavored text.
Malachor V…a world of death where millions lost their lives when Alekael gave the order to activate the Mass Shadow Generator back in the Mandalorian Wars—it was all that death that created a wound in the Force. Even years later, the wound festered and created a nexus of the Dark Side. The power of this place could be used to weaken the wills of the Jedi and convert them to the Dark Side.
But Alekael was herself a walking Wound, siphoning life and the Force of those around her to sustain herself. As she tossed the body of Kreia into the core of this planet, she mused blissfully of the events that brought her here: the destruction of Peragus on her order, the takeover of the Telos Restoration Project by Czerka, siding with the Jedi on Onderon, Dantooine, and Nar Shadaa purely out of convenience—it would not have helped her find out why she was stripped of the Force to kill them then. They died regardless at Kreia's hands. Alekael then found and killed Atris at Telos, claimed victory over Darth Nihilus—yet another Wound—and then returned to Malachor V to confront her Sith Master.
The veins protruding on her face twitched in excitement as she could still hear the echoes of suffering that her actions created, each one having set in motion a chain of events that resulted in even greater cruelties at the hands of her victims. The death of Atton at Sion's hand was a mere inconvenience, and all the rest of her companions—save Visas and Hanharr—met their end in their cells when Alekael gassed them. She toyed with them like bugs, before crushing them under heel when they no longer entertained her.
Mandalore the Preserver…the brutish man who sought to unite the Mandalorian clans under his banner, met his end not in battle, but instead pitifully as his lungs filled with toxic gas. That was perhaps Alekael's greatest insult to him: an end without glory.
Mical, also called "Disciple", sought to repair his precious Republic. With Alekael's prodding, he was willing to embrace the Dark Side to do it—he became a Disciple of Darkness. But he lacked the willingness to destroy and replace the Republic, and for that weakness and lack of loyalty, Alekael killed him, too.
But Visas and Hanharr were both unquestionably loyal. Visas swore herself to Alekael's service, and followed her orders with fanatical devotion. When Alekael told her to kill, she killed. When Alekael gave the order to exterminate all life in the cantina on Onderon, Visas did so without a single second's hesitation. When offered the finishing blow on Darth Nihilus, Visas took the offer and struck him down, years' worth of hatred channeled into one stab—it was then that Alekael knew that she would become her apprentice.
As for Hanharr: he was a creature controlled by his hatred, fueled by his crazed slaughter of his people. He "saved" them from slavery. But he was also bound by the life-debts of his primitive culture, and his devotion to such a foolish culture meant he would obey Alekael. He would be easy to manipulate.
Sion was broken into her service—like Kreia, Alekael dug around in his mind and made him relive the torment of Kreia's teachings, at last being broken by his conflicting emotions toward Alekael. Nothing of him remained save for an empty shell, no longer kept together by his own hate but instead by Alekael's will alone. Visas was to be her apprentice—one to take up her mantle when Alekael grew too weak for it.
Such was the way of the Sith…
An explosion originating from the planet's core shook the Trayus Core as Kreia's body was consumed in a satisfying bright flash of green light, and the great Wound of this world was further opened. Smirking, her pale face creased as she opened her eyes, which were damaged in her lightsaber duel with Kreia and left completely black. The Dark Side radically altered her appearance: skin as pale as bone, protruding arteries and veins visible on her skin, her skin seemed to wrinkle as if she were aging quickly, and it felt thin and dry to touch—as though but a fragile layer of silk protected her muscles from the outside world—and her hair, though remaining silk-smooth, discolored to snow-white.
Alekael wouldn't be winning any prizes for beauty, but her decaying appearance was a meager price to pay for the raw power of the Dark Side—power to crush whoever she desired to, power to manipulate others to her will, and power to claim complete dominion over the Sith. Her appearance reflected true power, and that power in itself made her beautiful—the Jedi in all their pathetic weakness would never understand the beauty the Dark Side offered, and neither would the weak-willed.
The Dark Side made Alekael more beautiful than ever before…
There were more sentient beings out there who could feel the Force, ready to be broken by the power of Malachor V—when they embrace the Dark Side, they too would understand its beauty. And then, they would never want to give it up.
Letting her hair down, Alekael reflected on what Kreia said…
"There must always be a Darth Traya. One that holds the knowledge of betrayal…who has been betrayed and will betray in turn…"
Alekael knew betrayal before Kreia came along—the Jedi Council exiled her rather than face their faults. The people she protected in the Mandalorian Wars with the loss of those under her command had been bent on hunting her down for money. Despite being turned to the Dark Side, Bao-Dur attempted to sabotage Alekael's efforts to keep Malachor V intact and paid with his life. Kreia's betrayal taught Alekael all she needed to know about manipulating and disposing of others when they became a hindrance—like her companions had become.
It was time to put her lessons to use…
The board was set. The pawns were ready to be moved. The last of the Jedi was no more, replaced instead by a new Dark Lady of the Sith: a new incarnation of Darth Traya to replace the old hag who once held the title.
Alekael was dead, replaced instead by Darth Traya…
The Republic was on the brink of collapse, even with the situations on Onderon and Dantooine resolved—the time was coming to finish it off and pick up the pieces. There was a threat out in the Unknown Regions of space, and the fragments of a destroyed Republic would need to be reconstructed into something much more powerful. And power never comes without suffering—those who endure and survive will become stronger for it.
The strong survive and the weak die in agony, as it should be.
When the strong unite under the Sith, they will be ready to face the threat.
"My master," the dry voice of Visas Marr said from behind. "We await your command…"
Darth Traya turned to find her Force Sight flooded by a sea of red as what remained of the Trayus Academy's students knelt before her in subservience. From the brutal Sith Marauder to the silent and hungering Sith Assassin, they all gathered before her, with Visas and Sion at the forefront.
Though Traya could no longer see flesh, she already knew how the Dark Side affected Visas. From parched lips, pale white skin with veins showing, to the scarring under her veil worsening, Visas' face was a reflection of the suffering she had endured under her original master, and her desire to make others who wronged her suffer, and she was willing to serve Traya unflinchingly to do so. It made her as beautiful as Darth Traya was…
As welcome as Visas' servile attitude was, Traya was sure to make her self-reliant in order to take up her mantle—whatever the means. She would teach her ambition, to crave her power—to bend others to her will as Traya had.
"Our time to crush the Republic will come soon," Traya said. "But there remain those who can feel the Force—they must be found and brought here. I have need of them…"
"We obey, Master Alekael," Visas said. "Our lives are yours."
"Alekael is no more," Traya said. "The woman before you is Traya, Dark Lady of the Sith…"
"Yes, my master," Visas said.
"Rise, my apprentice," Darth Traya said. "The rest of you are dismissed."
Master and apprentice stayed behind as the students of the Academy left. The faint blood red glow settled on the faces of the two blind Sith as they remained facing each other.
"You feel it, don't you?" Darth Traya asked. "You've become a Wound yourself—what you witnessed at Katarr left its mark on you. It's festered, and will gradually become a Wound like me."
"Yes, my master…"
"Being a Wound," Traya started, "can be a great benefit, though. As a Wound in the Force, your master failed to feed on the Force within me. This world is a Wound that bleeds the Dark Side, weakening the wills of the Force Sensitive, and can be used to convert them to the Dark Side. My Wound is why you follow me without question—someday, I will be departing for the Unknown Regions. I will teach you to utilize your Wound to influence others for when that day comes, and to create echoes in the Force that will linger for centuries."
"I…I will accept your teachings, master," Visas said.
"Very good," Darth Traya said. "You shall teach others as Kreia taught me. The way of the Sith will perpetuate itself through you—and in my absence, you are to lead the Academy."
"I shall carry out your will, master," Visas replied.
"My apprentice, let us get started…"