Miserly Reborn
You stumble across the ruined and cracked surface of Malachor V, falling here and their, and screaming. The scars that cross the surface spew deadly poisonous gas all around you, polluting the air with toxic misery. The rain pounds down on your shoulders, and drench your tattered robes, streaking like comets across your skin. You Approach a small mountain and begin to climb, shoving your hands into the seams and placing your feet on an outcrop of rock.
When you reach the top of the black obsidian mountain, you see clearly see just what a hell hole Malachor V has become. To your left, you see a massive tornado ripping up peaks and earth, lightning and thunder flash around it and strike whatever the tornado misses. Smaller tornadoes follow behind the bigger one, like a pack of Boma beasts following an alpha male.
To your right, meteorites and comets crush mountains, blowing tops right off and marking the earth with craters. Volcanoes blast up and rear their heads; magma and pyroclastic flow ravage the already ravaged land and drive storm beasts into their caves. Its chaos and you can feel every little creature die as it succumbs to the elements. Another boom of thunder crashes through the clouds, this one striking the ground closer than you would prefer.
You begin a melancholy descent down the mountain as the spirits of the dead unburied here; scream out at their cruel fate at the hands of the newly christened Darth Revan. Reaching the end, the screams intensify in your ears, and a wave of clarity seemed to take hold of you, and the screams seem to quiet.
And then there is nothing. It is silent, the thunder still lashes, but there is no scream. The lightning still whips, but there is no crack, the hail that has recently formed cuts, but there is no sting, no pain. Your ears pop, but there is no sound to make it. Your bones rattle, whether in fear or pain, you don't know. Your eyes widen, but there is nothing there. Your mouth seemed to dry up and nothing gets it wet again. And you know.
You know it's because it is approaching.
It is a lifeless thing. A shell of hopelessness and despair, its bone white mask seems to bore into you as it approaches you. It has no real form, only the outline of a man, but not a true one. It gives off a black shine as it stops four meters in front of you. It speaks in a sharp hiss, in a language no one can understand, but him. But you know what he wants to do as he activates his vermillion blade.
You activate your green one, even when you know you can't win, over a week of perilous survival and without food, with the rain only barely keeping him hydrated. You feel so weak, in contrast to your usual projection of confidence. It attacks with a simple stab to the chest. You parry… barely, but even this simple movement seems to take away all your strength and you stumble.
It seizes the advantage; it grabs your wrists and concentrates. You suddenly disappear inside its body, and it is all alone. But then, something happens, in the eyeholes of its mask two eyes open.
They are yellow…
And so Darth nihlus was born into hell.
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This is how nihlus became a sith lord on Malachor V.
-wakkomonkey9258