Dread Lord Scixosisk Thrax

There are many beings in the galaxy, with many more hopes and aspirations among them. Some dream of becoming famous, living among the stars themselves as galactic celebrities. Some dream of doing good with their relatively limited life spans for whatever misguided reason, hoping that perhaps their rewards are in eternity. Some dream of conquest, and hope only to dominate and control. There are those, however, whose numbers are limited, whose dreams consist of things more frightening to conceive of for anyone else. Dreams of a fate which, reasonably, not a single person in the galaxy would choose over literally any other fate. Dreams of apocalypse, of plague, of death and of madness. These are the dreams of the shell of a being once known as Scixosisk Thrax.

Once a valorous, powerful, strong-willed man was he. Now, only a shell, housing the twisted and tortured still-beating heart of a man who died nearly two centuries ago on this day. This day, when the crux of his plans would finally be realized, and his bride would be claimed from her wretched little home world which at once teems with life and love, and seethes with decadence and greed. It was a place that was the antithesis of everything that he was, he mused often to himself. Of Thrax, not much could be said that was already apparent in his appearance. He was a large Falleen man, at least two and a half meters tall and apparently muscular under his silvery-white armor. His armor was created of a stronger metal of unknown origin, and inlaid with Sith runes and markings, perfectly symmetrical, down to the great shoulderpads, onto which a pattern of screaming skulls was pressed, and from which his long, ivory robes seemed to emanate. At almost all times, his robes seemed to envelop his entire body. Only when he would rest in his throne would any partition be made, and it would be revealed that he was, in fact, wearing armor underneath. Such a thing was not only a deception tactic, but simple vanity. After all, if you are going to destroy a galaxy, there is no reason not to look as though you are whilst doing it. His robe, a relic when he first found it nearly two centuries ago, was now ancient, though in perfect condition. It had been ripped and torn many times, though always seemed to mend itself, similar to its master. The ivory robe, like the armor, was decorated with many horizontal lines of Sithese text, which ran around the diameter of it, separated in equal increments. There were precisely seven lines, and they all seemed to repeat the same phrase, a difficult to decipher incantation, only meant to be read by a two living beings in the galaxy. The robe's cowl entirely shrouded its wearer's face in shadow when in normal light, and since Thrax had not removed the cowl in some time, the majority of those who served him knew him only as a pair of ominous crimson eyes, eyes that at once were vapid and soulless, yet rabid with malice, evidence of a long life of madness. It was in a force-mask that he had first met Nekra Vhiiete but his eyes and all that was expressed within would be all she would come to serve.

Thrax sat once again upon the empty bridge of his flagship, a Sith meditation sphere from days of old. The room was deathly cold. Ice and frost would begin to clog the ship's internal systems after too long. The soft purple glow emanating from the sphere's command console and the various carvings on the inside of the hull were the only light in the otherwise darkened bridge. Thrax sat upon his large throne, gazing out into hyperspace, rolling slowly a spherical object in one hand. The sphere was pitch black, dotted with tiny white dots, and within the center was a spiral formation, constantly twisting. The medium sized sphere resembled the galaxy. Thrax's toying with it had caused a thin layer of ice to form on its surface.

Thrax began to speak aloud to himself, lonely as he was. "Two-hundred years..." he paused for a moment, "and now, you decide to come back. I bet you thought that I would be gone..." he paused again. "No... I told you I was eternal, did I not, Aseva?" His voice, a distorted, severe scowl, echoed in the frosty depths of his ship, where his droids worked mindlessly. "You should have expected this... and you thought that hiding in a human could save you..." At this, Thrax suddenly clutched the frozen galaxy sphere in his palm, and began drumming his sharp claw nails on it. "Now you belong to me again.. and you do not even realize it..."

As he said these words, his Sith meditation sphere, and indeed the entire battlegroup he was commanding, came out of hyperspace in the Coruscant system. Thrax stood, slowly, his bones audibly cracking as he did so. He reached beneath his cowl to brush some of the ice from beneath his chin, and took a silver com-link on one side of his throne into his hand. Into it, he began to speak. His words were heard every bridge in every ship of his fleet. Some were Derriphan-class battlecruisers, some were Providence-class battleships. There were even Lucrehulk-class and Hardcell-class ships among the fleet. All of them seemed to have been raised from past eras, though all appeared brand new. Then there were the more modern capital ships, which could only be described as resembling inverted Victory-Class Star Destroyers, with the point at the back of the ship's hull culminating in a large engine, and two smaller engines on the back of either point near the front. These ships were the largest, most heavily armed of the smaller classes. Two larger ships dwarfed the entire fleet. They were massive dreadnoughts of Geonosian design, presumably, based upon their characteristics. They were long and slim, though still massive relatively. Their gun emplacements were energy globes, which were embedded into the sides of the ship like gems. Their bridges, housed at the very bow of the ship, were globes as well, decorated with the exact same pattern of metallic lining on their surfaces.

Thrax spoke, "My sons and daughters.. the time of your ascension is at hand... go and claim my prize. Find your queen on the planet and bring her to me. Leave nothing unpure. Cleanse. Purify. Do what must be done." When he finished his tirade, he stepped heavily, his robe trailing slightly, to the massive meditation sphere bridge window, and gazed upon his vast legion of the pure and the deep. A worthy engine of my domination, he mused.


On the planet, chaos had erupted. The Cult of Thrax was running rampant in the streets. Its members, now a considerable fraction of the population, tore through the unwashed masses with blasters, swords, blunt objects, and truly anything that could be considered a weapon. Their leader, Nekra Vhiiete, waited patiently in the largest tower of her fortress in The Works, surrounded by her advisors and caretakers, chief among them the ancient chistori mystic Contraso, under whose guidance this particular faction of the Cult had been forged. Contraso was but another hand of Thrax, one of many spreaders of his philosophy, perhaps his most trusted. He waited, with Nekra, for both of them knew what was coming. At long last, they would meet their master in person.

Meanwhile, cultists meshed with Thrax's own warriors and droid minions, causing planetwide chaos in tandem, setting entire floors of Coruscant to burn. The Coruscanti Defense Force was unable to do anything, as some of their number had defected to the cult when the fighting began. Most citizens, if they were not killed on sight, hid in their homes or their starships. The rioting and rampage continued for six hours, until all at once, as if compelled, every follower of Thrax stopped in their tracks. Their lord's Sith Meditation Sphere had begun to descend, like some great god, into the atmosphere of Coruscant. Nekra and Contraso stood up, though Nekra did so with some difficulty, and proceeded to the largest window of the tower, watching the great meditation sphere approach sluggishly, its great eye seemingly staring directly into both of them. On the ground, all of the minions of Thrax immediately got upon their knees in the streets and began praying and chanting in arcane tones, giving reverence to their master. Contraso did the same, while Nekra, on the other hand, silently backed away. She fell to her knees on the floor, clutching her abdomen, glaring back with silent fervor at the great Sith eye that approached her. It was close now. Both the eye and her god.

At the same time, Thrax continued to stare directly into Nekra, moving the sphere with the Force. The sphere scarred and crushed many buildings with its wide wings as it descended through the sky, nigh unstoppable. At last, it had reached the tower, and at this point, the Sphere sidled up to the very window which Contraso and Nekra had been staring for the past fifteen minutes. They continued staring in, for on the other side of their window, on the other side of his own window, was Scixosisk Thrax, the master of purity, the lord of apocalypse. Contraso stood, and when he stood, he extended his arms at his sides. "Master!" he bellowed, "I knew you would hear my pleas! Smite the lady mother! Destroy her now!" Nekra glared up at Contraso, but was unable to do anything about his bellowing in time. Immediately after Contraso's demand, Thrax hurled his frozen sphere through the bridge window of his meditation sphere, through the window of the cult tower, through Contraso's abdomen. Glass pierced Contraso's skin, and he was rent asunder by the powerful frozen sphere shattering against his body, which was thrown back, midway between the window and Nekra. Thrax, mustering a fraction of his physical strength, leaped through his window into the tower, stepped forward slowly, and stopped upon Contraso's dying body. Contraso, using the last of his strength, grabbed the hem of Thrax's robes and becoked. "My lord... why have you... forsaken... me.." With these words, Contraso bled to death.

Thrax seemed to regard the man for a small second, and then knelt before Nekra Vhiiete, and extended his long, armored arm to her, hand opened, armored fingers gnarled and twisted into a claw. His eyes pierced hers and at once, she knew what he was compelling her to do.

Take my hand, they seemed to command her. Take my hand and accept the fate that I have handed down to you. Join me in eternity.