Ruin sat in his chambers alone. He had sent the Black Guards away in a fit of rage, screaming at them to clear out as loud as his quavery voice could. He could not recall the why of it; he just knew they had to go. He reclined in his throne and the rigid curve of his spine met the ice cold stone. Before it would have been a mild discomfort. Now, it pained him to his very core.

He sent Eradicus away some time ago to scout the ruins of the citadel. It was a threefold purpose: the boy needed to be sent away for a time, Cronos wanted the abandoned tower explored, and Ruin wanted to sate his own curiosity. Though now, he couldn't quite determine what he had even wanted to discover. He slumped forward and thrust his pounding head into his hands. Though Cronos' voice had long since left the confines of his skull, there was a lingering malice that was left in his wake. Ruin was plagued at day by ceaseless pain, at night by torturous terrors that warded off sleep.

The Dark Lord of the Sith was alone.

There was a time he hated it, resented it. His moods grew sour and fickle, volatile and quick to change. Now, he embraced the loneliness of lordship. At long last, his creed had come to fruition. There is only me. He could not bring himself to care about the rest. Only those four little words at the end mattered now. This was the end, and at it was Ruin alone. Even Cronos, in all his ancient power and wisdom, had retreated from him. The ancient lord remained in his tomb as to avoid the prying eyes of Ruin's men finishing their excavation. Sometimes, he would project himself and visit, though never with a clear purpose.

This quest for power beyond measure had cost Ruin everything: his Dark Council, his apprentice, even his own flesh. He wondered if perhaps his sanity had been taken as well, if that was why he was plagued by bouts of terror and fits of rage.

His thoughts went to Darth Hopel, and the steaming hole his lightsaber had opened in the old man's throat. I did what had to be done. Though that was what Ruin told himself time and time again, he was never quite sure it was true. Hopel had been the first to call him mad, yes, and the fact that Lady Bestia had gone to him for protection was insulting enough in itself. They conspired against me. It had to be done. But Lord Hopel had never steered Ruin wrong. He had been made chieftain of the Lost Tribe of the Sith for a reason, a reason that Ruin would now never be able to understand. More important still, Lady Cinder had always trusted Hopel's judgment and counsel.

Lysara...

He regretted everything with her. His foolishness, at the request of that damnable disembodied voice, had left her behind on Korriban for dead, or worse still, turned back to the Jedi Order. Her turn had never been absolute, though he tried to make it so. Passionate as she may have been, hateful Cinder was not. The Dark Side, for her, was always a means to an end, a way to slake her boundless curiosity. He had tried to get her to understand it could be so much more. Perhaps when she comes here she will finally understand. He might succeed where I could not.

She was coming, that much he knew. He felt it in his bones, coursing through his blood just as it did through the Force itself. Cronos had said as much to him, but knowing the truth of it was a different feeling entirely. They would duel, and only one of them would remain. It was an inevitability, the goal from the first day he trained her. The apprentice would succeed the master by way of blood. That left the boy. Why did you hide him from me, Lysara? The loose end would need to be knotted, either in blood or bonds. If I needs take a new apprentice, so be it.

A chill swept across the room and the trickle of sweat from his brow nipped his fingertips. Ruin set his hands down and opened his eyes. All the torches snuffed themselves out, leaving only trailing fingers of smoke. Cronos appeared in the center of the room, a gleaming apparition of shimmering gold. Flakes of white appeared glowing within the translucent mass. Every time he appeared like this, Ruin felt as if the Force itself died a little around him. He thought he could hear it cry in pain, in hushed whispers and whimpers. Is this what it is to truly bend the universe itself to your will?

"Lord Ruin," Cronos said as he approached without a sound. The only sound that ever came from his projections was his voice, deep and booming with a certain defined charisma. Ruin had made a quip to him once about giving speeches. "Breaking minds is a more efficient means of persuasion," he had said back.

"Lord Cronos." Ruin eyes grew heavy. Sleeplessness gnawed at him, and his eyes were the first to feel its effects. Underneath two giant bags had settled in place, wrinkled and swollen and dark. "What is thy command?"

"Your squire has found my temple." Cronos drew the sleeves of his robes together and paced around Ruin's throne in slow steps. "You will relocate to the tower immediately."

"Immediately?" Ruin stammered out the word. "Why?"

"The why of it does not concern you." Cronos stopped before him to glower down. "Though there is ought that does."

Ruin fell out of his chair, landing on the stump of his right arm. He slapped the other against the ground over and over as he prostrated himself before Cronos, shouting "Tell me, tell me, tell me!" as his voice quivered.

"Your apprentice will return soon. Though I fear she has made a few friends." Ruin thought he saw Cronos' face twist into a smile, though the features on the projection were always murky and unclear. "Have you felt it, Lord Ruin?"

"I feel your power over the Force itself," he said. He let out a labored breath. "How it recoils in disgust at your very presence, how it cries in pain. It blinds everything." His breath came out in puffs of smoke. "Please tell me everything."

Cronos turned his head away.

Ruin felt his insides twist over themselves as he was dragged across the stone floor. He tried to hold onto the edge of a table, but it was no use. He went flying until he landed against the railing of his terrace. A sheet of solid ice atop the metal began to freeze his chest. He opened his eyes and saw he was looking down at the ground far below. The snow was coming down fierce and instantly attacked his eyes.

"Sith do not grovel," Cronos said from behind, "nor do we beg." There was a tinge of bitterness behind the words that Ruin had not heard before. "Just this once, I shall explain things to you. I will forget thy weakness in this moment.

"Your Shadow Hand will come here soon enough. The reunion shall be bloody, just as you predict. I pray it is not your blood she sheds, though perhaps I will welcome it. The others you may deal with as you see fit. It would be a more effective lesson for Lady Cinder to put an end to things yourself. If you cannot, summon the boy back from his fool's errand and have him play the executioner instead of the fool.

"Your other apprentices are dead. You did not feel their demise?"

"Lady Bestia... has died?" Ruin tried to force himself up from the railing, but felt a dark power holding him in place. "Lord Kaos?"

"Dead," Cronos said simply. There was a sharp whistle and suddenly, he rematerialized in the air in front of Ruin's face, his spectral beard almost touching Ruin's nose. "Just as you wanted. What does it matter?"

Yes, but... "But I would have felt it." Ruin cared little for Kaos, but Bestia's loss stung him more than he thought. She had been more than a suitable surrogate for Cinder. "She is still alive."

Cronos stared down at him, his face blank. "I care not of the outcome of this reunion, Lord Ruin. Know this: when the circle is complete, things will change. You are unfit to be Dark Lord of the Sith. You could not even rule a small council, let alone an empire. You are weak.

"Despite this," he continued as he passed through Ruin and stepped out behind him. "You set me free."

"My lord, I can prove to you I am fit to lead, let me do so." Ruin finally wrenched himself free from the railing and took a knee. Cronos kept his back turned and his head held high. "Tell me how and I will make it right. I have failed, I know this. Let me correct my mistakes."

"If Ajunta Pall had groveled before the Sith, he would never have been Dark Lord." Cronos looked back at Ruin over his shoulder. Only the pulsating red eye in the center of his head was visible. It looked clotted and engorged, like it would weep blood at a moment's notice. He muttered something under his breath, too low for Ruin's hearing, then said, "Alas, it seems the strong must languish in shadow whilst the weak sit the throne."

"My lord?"

"Yes. This is the way it has always been." He stretched out a hand and Ruin felt his bowels turn to water and his legs to limp strings as he went flying across the room. He made a fleshy smack against a wall before sprawling backwards, covered in blood. He raised a finger to his nose, feeling a mashed fruit instead of the spear that it had once been. When he looked up, Cronos already loomed overhead.

"Ensure your Lady Cinder knows well that I am the Dark Lord she seeks. Tell her this when she runs her blade through your chest. Make haste to the citadel and prove to me there is a reason to keep you alive." With that, he vanished.

As the last of the specter's words rattled in his skull, Ruin felt darkness overcome him. He blacked out at once. He did not know when he came to, only that Eradicus was squatting over him, shaking him with his clumsy fat paws of hands and shouting in his croaky voice for a medical droid. Ruin wanted so much to berate him, to put the boy in his place. But he knew Cronos was right.

Darth Ruin was alone, weak, and he was no Dark Lord of the Sith.