AN: Alright guys, this one is a bit of a calculated risk, so...enjoy, I hope. Also, I'm really sorry about not responding to you guys. I read every comment, and I really take what you guys say to heart. But answering them all takes a while, and it takes away from my writing time, and I think that you all would like it best if I get these things out to you. I'll try to be better in the future. The rest of this fic is pretty much planned out, so I may have more time to respond. That's it! Enjoy!

Chapter 69: Maul

He scuttled down the corridor, his body quivering in rage and fear and hunger and pain, his eight, misshapen, patchwork legs clinking over scrap metal and refuse from the furthest reaches of the galaxy. Everyday, more was delivered. Everyday, the planet shifted with the accumulation of garbage and filth. Everyday, the pile grew and grew, and one day, it delivered him. His rightful place. The low king of the galaxy's forgotten and discarded. His frantic clawing and clambering had created the tunnels deep within the ground, if it could be called that. Even as deep below the polluted surface as he was, there was no dirt or earth or sign of anything other than a floating ball of waste grown so big, it had become a world in its own right. He made the tunnels, the lair beneath, and he feasted on the poor souls that feel below into his domain. Or, he thought he did. If he thought at all. Which he did not.

The voice called out to him again. He did not know this voice. He did not want to know this voice. It sounded...angry. Everything sounded angry, sounded wrathful to his sensitive ears, every sound, every creak, every crack made him wince and flinch and scurry away in fear, keeping to the shadows in a frantic attempt to stay hidden, to remain undiscovered and left alone and in peace. He shrieked, tightly grasping his head as his arachnine legs slipped and stumbled upon smooth, worn metal and loose debris, taking him up walls and upside down in the tight, cramped network of tunnels. He never managed to get the grasp of these legs. He never thought he had control, didn't have control over them, and he never did. They moved on their own volition because they weren't his. His legs had been stolen from him.

He pulled at two elongated cranial horns, two of many upon his head that grew upward and jagged, far larger than the norm of his species and made it look as though he wore a wicked crown. He had no recollection of how he had come upon these legs, no memory of who attached them, or who they belonged to. If they belonged to anyone at all. If they did, the poor fool was dead. Mercifully dead. Luckily dead. But he survived. He survived because he was strong. He survived because he was hateful. He survived because he was nothing. He survived because he was unworthy of mercy. There was no mercy. Mercy was a delusion of the weak. He was not weak. He was just nothing.

"No!" He snarled when he heard the voice again, closer than before, and he scrambled away when he saw the shadow of the man, tall and menacing and holding something...something. Sudden pain forced his chest to contract as he heaved a dry sob, the towering creature rounding the corner and bathing his tunnels with red light from the glowing stick he carried. He remembered...he remembered...

"No!" he shrieked again, louder this time, and this time, anger gripped him, fear fading to the presence of rage and hunger and madness, and his eight legs carried him down one tunnel, cut across another to duck into a third, and he was behind the creature, and he pounced, mechanical legs whipping out and striking the humming stick away from the horned humanoid and bringing him to the ground, frantically clawing at his face as his legs fought to tear the metal away from his body. Metal always tore away from creatures like these. Tear away the metal and they were exposed, and then they got to be afraid as sharp legs pierced into them, and they got to die as their soft, fleshy skin was torn open. They were always soft under the metal. Always.

But they weren't always so strong, so aggressive, so skilled. The metal would not come off his chest, the sharp points of his legs would not pierce through him, and the creature's strong hands grabbed hold of his legs and used them to flip him over and toss him aside. The anger fled as fear took over, and he scrambled to right himself, and with screams and howls of terror, his many legs carried him down the corridors and away from the frightening thing in his domain. And still it called to him, still cried after him, still followed. He grasped his head as he sobbed, his body writhing atop the unbalanced arachnoid body and the long, scurrying legs as he entered his lair, a large, hollowed out cavern where a raging fire burned in the center. He didn't know how the fire got there, who started it, who kept it going, but it was always there, always burning.

The yellow skinned creature entered this sacred cavern as well, and he felt himself begin to shake once again. "No!" he growled, his voice gravely and cracking. "No, no, no, no!" It was the only word he knew, the only word he could find himself saying. He knew other words, but they were distant and foggy. They belonged elsewhere, to another man in another time. He snarled when the creature began speaking again, and as he twisted and turned upon his mechanical prison, grasping his head and pulling his horns, one word that was spoken came through clear.

Brother.

"No!" he shrieked again, covering his hands with his ears and thrashing, the coarse bandages tightly wrapped around what was left of his body scraping and scratching at the sensitive skin underneath. "No!" He did not know this word. He didn't want this word. It was for someone else and not for him. He was alone. He had always been alone. All there had ever been was rage and pain and fear and hate and hunger. There was never anything else. If there had been, he didn't remember, nor did he want to remember. And still, the cruel creature said it again.

We are brothers.

"No!" he shouted again, his rough, angry voice giving way to helpless, maniacal laughter that dissolved into hopeless sobbing, his hands clutching his head as pain and desperation settled upon him. "No. You don't know..." he whimpered, his voice high between sobs, and pain gave way to anger, as it so often did. "You don't know anything!" he screamed, his legs taking him backwards up the slope of one of the rounded cavern walls and scuttling behind a large, twisted piece of metal. He came around, rushing forward and stopping before the burning fire, the pit between him and the relentless intruder. "Never!" he growled, leaning over the blaze, and flames licked at his skin, but he did not flinch. Everything was always pain, everything. Nothing could hurt him because it already did, everything was already pain. "Never..."

He laughed again, a throaty chuckle that turned back into sobs, than back to laughter as fear and anger alternated within him, tugging at his chest and at his damaged mind. It was damaged. He was damaged. His legs, his legs were one thing, but his mind...

He screamed between clenched teeth, a frantic wheeze as he struggled to dig within his mind, but pain and anger kept him from getting very far. He was nothing. He was broken. Again, the creature spoke to him, long sentences he could not seem to grasp, his legs flailing and slipping and knocking garbage around. He looked this way, that way, but not at the creature, never at the creature. He clutched his head as he scrambled to a darkened corner, hunching over so far he could feel the stub of his torso lift from its fastenings. He felt the creature slowly approach, and he laughed frantically, his shoulder shaking as they turned into dry sobbing again.

"How long have you been here?" the tattooed face asked softly, slowly, and he understood the question, knew the answer.

"Years and years and years..." he chanted, his voice quiet, the frantic screeching and sobbing leaving it husky, but the rough, animalistic growl had vanished in the moment. He didn't remember, he couldn't remember. Remembering was pain. Remembering was hatred. It made him strong, but he was not strong. He was nothing. He remembered, though. It was driven into him long, long ago. In another life. Another body. One that was whole. "Through victory, my chains are broken." He said it without thinking. He used to believe it. Then victory was taken from him. Stolen from him. "The chains..." he growled. "The chains are the easy part." He felt his chest quiver, and he looked back at the creature behind him, and his voice cracked again with pain and emotion and fear. He was lied to. He was never told what the darkness would do to his mind. He was never told that he was simply there to be used and consumed. He was never told where the real struggle was. He laid a long finger on his temple, his hands shaking and he grabbed at his head. "It's what goes on in here that's hard..."

He lapsed into sobbing again, his head aching as the creature spoke again. Again, the word brother. Again with peace. And relief. Peace was a lie. There was no peace. There would never be peace. He was taught this long ago, would never, ever forget this. Pain and anger and hate had consumed him and eroded his mind, but he would never forget what he was. "Always remember I am fear," he said aloud to himself, his voice smoothing out as he used it, as he chanted the lessons from his past. "Always remember I am hunter. Always remember I am filth." His voice cracked, his arms trembled, and he gripped his head. He had learned this too. He had learned this when he found himself here. When he had been changed. When he had broken. When he should have died. "Always remember I am nothing." Finally cracking, he raked his long fingers down his tattooed face, his pained sobs renewed, and he growled as anger overtook him, the mechanical legs giving out underneath him. They were not his. They need not obey him. His!

"Your legs..." the creature had said, and rage unlike anything he felt before rushed through him. It was...familiar. He did not remember this rage, this intensity, though he immediately felt it was always there. He snarled as he remembered. This sensation was not new. This sensation was always. When he thought about what was stolen from him, his anger flared and allowed him to grip life and hold on to it. It was all anger and rage that kept him holding life, kept him snarling and raging and existing. A burning loathing so deep that it staved off death itself for one purpose. One day, his wrath would come to brilliant satisfaction. One day, he would pay this injustice back a thousand fold. One day.

"That scum! He took them from me!" he snarled, his wrath allowing him to draw up his strong torso and give life to the legs beneath him, his hands clenched into fists so tight that his entire being shook, the tips of the mechanical legs clattering on the heap of scrap. "He took them!"

"Who? Who took them?"

"Jedi..." he hissed, rage and hate dripping off every single syllable, his head pounding in pain as his hatred took form within his broken mind and was given a name. "Jedi..." he said again, softer this time as silent, seething wrath overtook him, a deep pit that had been growing within him for years and years, though before had no focus beyond clinging to life in hope for a future where he would avenge his wasted life. Now, this newcomer, this...brother had allowed him to find center in a place beyond simply living, and his tattered consciousness had offered him something to cling to. Jedi. He shivered and bent low, his body shaking as clarity returned to him.

The creature said something again, but he did not listen. He could not listen. A single word was repeated within him, over and over and over without end, forcing him to see nothing but the focus of his wrath. "I must ask for mercy, Master," he muttered, but quickly shook his head. "Mercy is a lie, a delusion of the weak to make themselves strong. I ask not for mercy..."

Again, the creature spoke, and he grabbed the vile, hated thing by the neck and threw him against one of the many scrap plies, and he bore down on him, raised up to his full, towering height on eight long, thin legs. "Pain and hatred and anger and nothing, and through the filth, through the grief, Jedi!" he snarled, his red hands wrapping around the intruder's neck and he looked into pale yellow eyes. He remembered eyes like those. Eyes like his Master. Eyes like his own. His grip loosened, hands sliding away from the creature and balling into fists that he held out before him. "Revenge," he said softly, his rage focusing once again, and for the first time in as far back as he could remember, he felt the cold, wrathful calm of obsession. "I must have revenge."

Savage had searched for weeks for his brother. Weeks alone in a galaxy he didn't understand, looking for a brother he never met. The Sith did not prepare him to deal with the galaxy. They taught him to rule with fear. The Nightsisters did nothing to prepare him for it either. They just taught him to obey. His life with the Nightbrothers also did nothing for him. They taught him how to fight, yes, but the Sith taught him better. They taught him to...submit. After all, the Nightsisters would have no use for him, or any in his clan beyond keeping them as slaves if they wished, and to aid in the production of the species when the time was right. They had no further use after they had done their service to the Nightsisters, and they were killed after the child was born, unless the child was remarkable. Than they would do it all over again. Girls were raised as Nightsisters, taught to use the strange magic that they had commanded for ages. Boys were returned to the Nightbrothers where they would be taught to fight and be complacent slaves to the women that owned them.

Not even Talzin had prepared him for his task. She had simply sent him on his way with a magic trinket and the knowledge of a brother that could help him become stronger. He had failed, after all, betrayed by Ventress and her schemes. He wasn't even angry at the Sith. He hated his Master, yes, but Dooku had taught him, promised to make him strong, refined him into a weapon, albeit a crude one, but tempering took time. Time he would never have because a Nightsister had chosen to use him for betrayal. The Sith had a right to be angry. The Sith had a right to demand his death. His Master, Darth Tyranus, for having been betrayed, and the other, the younger Darth Lumis, for having sensed betrayal, only to be proven correct. Now, because of his massacre at a Jedi Temple and Republic outpost on Devaron and the murder of the Toydarian king, the Jedi were after him, as well as the Sith. He needed a teacher to help him become stronger or he would surely die, and Mother Talzin had pointed him in the right direction.

And it had taken weeks for him to find his way to the Outer Rim world of Lotho Minor. Weeks of following a faded trail with Talzin's magic, week of trying to avoid Separatist and Republic detection to keep away from the Sith and the Jedi. Weeks of watching out for the bounty hunters trying to collect the hefty price that had been set upon his head. But he had done it. He found the world, and he had found his brother. He found Maul.

Or, what was once Maul. What he found was a rambling, incoherent mess of organic tissue and poorly fitted cybernetics driven to madness by hate and rage and pain and isolation. And this jittering, fearful mess was supposed to be the mighty Darth Maul? Apprentice to the Lord of the Sith until his defeat, this creature should have been magnificent. Instead, he was little more than a savage, feral animal, a beast driven to insanity by the Dark Side of the Force, clinging to the shreds of his life with the pure power of his singular hatred. He had lived, but such pain, such darkness had taken his mind from him. He could not learn from such creature, so Savage had the loathsome task of dragging frightened, angry, hateful Maul through his network of caverns and back up to the surface.

The struggle only got worse from there. Maul had sputtered and hissed in the bright sun, shutting his red and yellow eyes against light he had not seen in over ten years and screeching in pain and fury as his hands clawed the ground, his eight legs held together and hung over Savage's broad shoulder as he dragged him back to his ship. Once inside the bulky vessel with the door safely sealed, Maul had been released and immediately scurried to the cargo hold and hid among the mountain of crates, muttering to himself in his insanity, alternating between laughing and sobbing before returning to his ramblings. Savage let him be. There was nothing he could do for his brother, so he resolved himself to return to the one who had helped him to begin with. Mother Talzin could cure Maul. He was certain of it.

As they flew the many hours to return to Dathomir, Savage listen to the screams, the laughter, the wailing, the clashing of crates as they were knocked over and thrown about the cargo hold, and slowly, very slowly, Maul's ranting he become quieter, more focused, until he began chanting only one word over and over and over again like it was his lifeline. Hours faded away, and all Savage heard from his brother was deep, consuming obsession as he hissed and muttered, gripping his head and rocking back and forth in his insanity.

Kenobi.

Savage didn't know this word, this...name, but he was certain he had heard it before, though he couldn't place from where. He must have heard it from Dooku. The Nightbrothers never had any need to discuss people outside the clan, and Dooku was always in talks with people, commanding an army and handing out targets to his assassins. He suspected this was the Jedi that had removed Maul's legs, filled his life with purpose and meaning as he was driven toward revenge. By the time they came out if hyperspace above Dathomir, the name had been said so many times, that Savage could have sworn that even in silence, he heard the name echoing in his mind as well.

"Kenobi," Maul muttered, the low hiss reaching Savage in the cockpit as he lowered the ship onto the planet that he hardly recognized. The red earth was black with ash, the dark trees burned to flaky, brittle charcoal, and even before he left the ship, the whole planet felt...wrong. Savage didn't particularly care, but there was a darkness here that he hadn't felt before, a very different feel in the Force from the strange grip of the Nightsisters. This was the Dark Side, pure, undiluted, pulled to the planet like light into a black hole. A loud, clanging echo sounded through the ship as Maul trashed in the cargo hold, and with a sigh, Savage powered down the ship and went back to fetch his brother.

"We're here, brother. Come."

"Kenobi," he snarled, pulling crates in front of him to hide himself from sight. Savage rolled his eyes. "Kenobi..."

"Fine. Stay here then." He slammed his fist on the controls on the wall, and the large, wide unloading door hissed open, the broad ramp extending to the ashen ground, and Savage stepped out into the cold, dark night. He gripped his arms against the chill. Dathomir had never been so cold, so dry, as if all the moisture in the air had been burned up with its forests. All around him lay bodies. Thousands of them. Old, ancient corpses, the cold, rigid bodies of the recently deceased, the dismembered pieces of droids all lay strewn about wherever he looked, the ash in which they lay untouched and undisturbed as if the lives of an untold number were simply cast away and forgotten.

A soft wind touched his skin, raising ash up into the air as a green mist swirled around him, forming and taking shape, though never fully forming. Before him, pale green and translucent, stood Mother Talzin, her hand extended to him, the expression on her ghostly face kind, sympathetic. "Savage," she said softly, her body slowly forming from the mist as she became less ethereal. A moment later, and she had fully formed, though Savage could feel that she was somehow changed. No less powerful, to be sure, but her mighty presence had been...lessened.

"What has happened here?" he asked looking about as the woman began slowly walking toward the ship.

"Dooku sent his allies to destroy us," she said calmly. "But we will survive. We always have."

"They are all dead?" he asked, and the witch nodded.

"The Sith revenge was more complete than I could have imagined. Their young commander was committed to our extermination." A sharp, piercing cry echoed through the vast, empty expanse, and Talzin looked toward Savage's stolen freighter. "You found him?"

"Yes," Savage growled softly, quickening his pace to stay beside the floating witch. "He is...damaged." They stopped at the ramp, peering into the cargo hold where they could see Maul's glowing eyes hiding among the crates. Talzin waved her hand in the air, green mist forming between her fingertips and shaping it into a glowing sphere, and it left her hand and drifted in toward the gibbering, twitching former Sith apprentice.

"Then let us fix what has been broken."

Talzin turned and began floating away back through the ash and smoke, and Savage watched in wonder as the ball of mist floated out of the ship with Maul in tow, his arachnoid legs unsteady and swaying as he followed entranced and reaching to grab at the light that led him. Savage quietly followed behind. He knew it was the right decision to bring Maul here. Even if the Nightsisters were dead, even if the Nightbrothers had been executed as well, Talzin survived, and Talzin looked after her own.

They walked the distance to the Nightsister's Temple and entered the cavernous ruin. Even this place did not remain untouched. There were bodies, or pieces of them scattered alongside long, deep gouges in the hard stone. Claw marks, from the look of it, and Savage couldn't help but wonder what sort of horrors the Sith had unleashed here. It was foolish to have angered them when they both seemed to be born from the Dark Side. Perhaps the darkness commanded by the Sith was simply different than that commanded by the children of Dathomir. Perhaps it went beyond that. This may have just been some foolish grudge between two powers destined to clash. Savage didn't know. The methods of the Nightsisters were beyond him.

They came upon an alter surrounded by broken mechanics and a glowing pool deep within the cavern, the same table upon which Savage was made into what he was now. He hadn't always been large and strong. Once, he was much smaller. Small like Maul, and far thinner, but Asajj Ventress had deemed him worthy, and he had been taken here to be transformed into a slave of her making. By Talzin. If Talzin had the power to turn a young man into a beast, than she could certainly turn a beast back into a man. Savage had been enhanced greatly by the Nightsister's magic, and now that same transformative power would be used to restore his brother.

With a quick touch of her long, pale finger to his forehead, Maul shuddered, rose up upon his back four legs and fell back on the black stone slab, his mechanical legs folding in toward his stomach as he squirmed, groaning in pain and bloodshot eyes rolled back into his head. His cybernetics shuddered, and than slowly began breaking apart and detaching, sliding uselessly to the floor until only his organic body remained, neatly severed just above the waist and covered with rough, scarred tissue.

"What now?" Savage asked, his yellow eyes roving over the pitiful half man as he groaned and gasped with pain.

"Now," Talzin whispered, drawing a circle in the air just above Maul's head, the green mist swirling and gathering and forming a round, shimmering disc, "we begin." She reached her hands through the pale green light, and her hands became shadows as they passed through and touched Maul's head, and gently, she pressed inside him. Maul's body tensed, squirming as the witch combed through his mind, and Savage watched with rapt attention as she removed her hand, a long, black swirling mist pulled out of the screaming Zabrak's mind, and with a look of disgust, she tossed it away, and dipped her hand back inside his head to repeat the process.

With a look of satisfaction, Talzin tossed aside the last shreds of the madness she pulled from Maul, and with a wave of her hand, the red body, veined with dark lines of corruption and covered in jet black tribal tattoos, rose into the air, the green mist swirling around him as he was engulfed. Gesturing wildly with her hands, the witch pulled wires and components from Maul's discarded legs and from the wrecked droids around them, and Savage watched as the woman wove together the wiring with Maul's body, the thin lines piercing the scarred stump of his torso and binding to muscle and bone and nerve. The plating and the bolts floated to cover the exposed wires, forming together and carefully connecting to build a pair of powerful, clawed cybernetic legs.

The mist intensified, and Maul's body shuddered as he began to scream, a wretched, unholy thing that made Savage shiver at the sound. The loosely fitted mechanical legs were suddenly covered in molten fire and hardened quickly to rough, jagged stone. As it fell away, the superheated metal of Maul's legs could be seen, a dark and shining silver that looked freshly and masterfully forged. He was slowly lowered back to the slab, his chest quickly rising and falling with pain, and as the mist disappeared, his breathing evened. Savage slowly, carefully approached his brother, looking upon the bright red skin, cleared of the dark black web of corruption that ran through him, his elongated, jagged cranial spikes reduced to the small, smooth horns that ended in sharp tips. His eyes opened, blazing yellow rimmed with red, the bloodshot whites of his eyes cleared, and Savage saw focus within him.

He looked up to thank Talzin, but the woman was gone. There was no mist, no sign of her presence at all, and for a moment, Savage thought that perhaps she was never there at all. She had to have been, of course, but were Maul not laying restored upon the slab, he would have thought her simply dead with the rest. Perhaps she was. Stranger things had happened on Dathomir.

Maul was staring at him. Carefully, tentatively, Savage asked, "Brother?"

A swift, strong hand lashed out and grabbed Savage by his chin, and Maul propped himself up with his other hand, moving the other Zabrak's face this way and that as he appraised him. A furious scowl came to his face, the fine muscles under his eye and beside his mouth twitching as he snarled, "Brother." He sounded almost...angry. Disgusted that he should have to address such a creature, but the feeling quickly passed when the red hand released his face and came to gingerly grasp his head, his eyes closing as he attained his bearings. It was expected, he supposed. Maul had known little more than fury for years and years.

He sat up, moving his metallic legs, clenching and releasing the claws of his feet and getting the feel of their function. They felt...foreign. But at the same time, they were his. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, drawing his cybernetic legs to his chest and gripping them tightly. "It has been..." he began, his voice soft and smooth, as it had once been long ago. "It has been so long, and my path has been so dark." He looked back at the man that called him brother and slid his legs off the slab. "Darker than I ever dreamed it could be." His clawed feet clutched at the ground, and slowly, he stood, only to fall to the cold floor with a hiss of frustration.

"But you survived," Savage said, coming around the alter to help the other to his feet, but angry yellow eyes told him to stay back. Maul pushed himself to his knees and slowly rose, swaying on the double jointed legs as he found his balance. He took a few tentative steps, feeling the weight of them, adjusting to their movements, and when satisfied, he turned to face the larger man.

"Of course I survived..." he hissed, voice low and angry and dangerous, and without another word, he turned and ran from the cave, Savage quickly following after him. It felt...good. Good to be running, good to be free, good to have his mind his own again. The Dark Side had ruled him for so long, consumed his mind until it was nothing so that he could continue clinging to life. He felt...himself. Ash kicked up with each step as he rushed out into the desolate expanse of a planet he could not remember. He breathed deeply, and he felt it, for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The Force. Dark and cold and oppressive, so unlike what he had remembered. He carefully took it's power within him, snarled in frustration when he found the flow to be slow, weak, a mere trickle off a mighty river. This was a muscle he had not exercised in a long time, and it had atrophied in its disuse. He would have to work to regain his former strength.

"My hatred kept my spirit in tact, even if my body was not," he said when he felt Savage behind him. "I was consumed by my pain, and my hatred, and I became a rabid animal, which is how you found me, brother." Rage filled him again. "Discarded. Forgotten. I have missed so much..." Savage said nothing. He breathed deeply and touched the Force again. His tug was no stronger than before, but he still sat among it, could feel how it moved and pulsed with life. "The Force feels...out of balance."

"Yes," Savage said, carefully approaching the man. "There is conflict in the galaxy. A Clone War." Maul's face seemed to fall at that.

"I see," he said almost sadly, with an aching and a longing that Savage could not place. "So it has begun without me..."

"...you can begin again," Savage said gently, shuffling closer and holding his lightsaber out to the forgotten apprentice. Maul eyed it with envy, and Savage could feel jealousy, anger and hatred pour off of him in waves. Maul extended his hand, intense focus through his rage on his face, and the lightsaber shook, straining as it slightly began to float, and then shot quickly into the air, spinning into Maul's hand.

"I was apprenticed to the most powerful being in the galaxy once," he said, tight with cold, seething anger. "I was destined to become so much more, but I was robbed of that destiny by the Jedi, by Obi-Wan Kenobi." His yellow eyes narrowed as he felt the Force run cold.

"Then you must have your revenge, brother," Savage whispered, taking a step closer to the red skinned Nightbrother.

"Yes..." Maul said softly, a faint, cruel smile on his lips. This Jedi was alive. He had to be. His fate, his place in the Force was stolen from him. Surely the Force would keep this wretch alive. His future was clouded and uncertain, but once, he was promised to rule this galaxy, and now he would have that chance. After he killed this Jedi, after he set the Force back on its original course. He breathed deeply in his resolve. "Yes. We will start with revenge."