...and wait he did.
For five years.
Five years, two months and fifteen days, exactly, since Melchius had left for Hutt Space. He'd stayed in contact with Xaxior, though in that five years he could not return to his apprentice's side.
Why? Because it had been five years, one month and four days since Zakuul had appeared to choke the galaxy into submission.
Xaxior knew it had been this long. He had counted. It was strange, many thought, that Xaxior was so unstable that he could not control his actions, yet he could keep count in his mind of how many years, months, weeks, days, even hours and minutes it had been since something happened that he remembered.
And there was much for Xaxior to remember ever since that day, five years, one month and four days ago. When the Eternal Empire attacked, Xaxior was ordered off of Dromund Kaas and onto Manaan, where he was assigned to help defend an arms factory allied with the Sith Empire.
It was there he was introduced to Darth Irritius, the owner of the company that oversaw the factory. Irritius was an acquaintance of Melchius', and knew much about Xaxior - Perhaps a bit too much, it seemed to be, as instead of attempting to control Xaxior's instability, Irritius encouraged it.
Xaxior's time on Manaan was severely damaging to him, and incredibly empowering to the madness dwelling within his mind, which, at the end of the battle, essentially became it's own person.
The battles afterwards only proved to further separate Xaxior and his "other self" from each other, both having their distinct tendencies, chosen words, and tones of voice.
Eventually, he accepted that this person was inside of him, someone that embodied all of who Xaxior knew he should not be. When he was ordered away, Xaxior would simply allow his other self to take over - it was a better option for his remaining sanity, he believed, as this version of himself was mentally equipped to not only accept the task of murder and warfare, but to enjoy it. Attempting to do this himself would destroy what was left of him - his true self.
His state of mind could soon be determined based on what he was wearing. When his other self was in control, he wore a mask. When he was in control, he showed his face.
Now, here he was, years later, sitting on his couch, mask off, watching a show on a wall-mounted monitor. There was little to do, with Zakuul in charge of the galaxy. Little to do, that is, until the doorbell rang.