OOC: Hopefully, this is the last chapter that explains every sentence of Palpatine 1-8. I mention this because if you look at any sentence in that series and find a loophole, I've explained it somewhere. Now I just have to spend the next 1000K explaining my own loopholes, which I'm sure you won't bother reading.

Also, this chapter addresses an issue which has been mostly ignored in mainstream media, even though it's not unrelatable. There isn't anything in the bible that mentions it. And since even Jan hasn't brought it up, I've decided it's my responsibility to bring forth this issue. We have a severe shortage of Nu lemon-fics, and I'm not gonna to let it stay that way.

A stick, a stone, It's the end of the road, It's the rest of the stump, It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass, It is life, it's the sun, It is night, it is death, It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms, A fox in the brush, The knot in the wood, The song of a thrush

The wood of the wind, A cliff, a fall, A scratch, a lump, It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free, It's the end of the slope, It's a beam, it's a void, It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks Of the waters of March, It's the end of the strain, It's the joy in your heart

-Antonio Carlos Jobim, Waters of March

Dalia's chocobo happened to be white. It wasn't that she disliked white chocobos. It was that they were impossible to ride. They weren't meant for riding. They had weak backs. They could hardly handle walking in a straight line. They were exceptionally bad riding birds.

But this one she rode only because it was the last the stable had available. And it was cheap. But why was she riding? She was pretty sure Toma had left Ahren by now, and the stable owner lent him a bird that fit the description, but she didn't know where he could be. She had an extremely small chance of bumping into him in the open wilderness, and an even smaller chance of picking the right destination. So why did she want to pursue him?

He was probably sick of Waveshore by now. It wouldn't be the perfect spot to stop at. And that left only three cities. Three cities traveled to by chocobo. And somehow she knew that returning this knife of his... was merely an excuse.

"This is it..." Maltruse the clairvoyant led Palpatine to the meeting tent. Pulling aside the opening flaps, he walked into the tent and saw Garrick, sitting on a crude fold-up chair and eating the leg of some animal.

Seeing the stranger find him in such a position forced him to stand, and he was about to introduce himself when he found a piece of marrow lodged in the back of his tooth.

He turned his head to the side and spat, and though this would have worked normally, the thickened saliva from his meal caused a thin wire of spittle to hang down his chin and drip to the ground. He wiped it away with his arm, and ignoring what he'd just done, looked back at Palpatine.

"Name's Garrick. What are you here for?"

For a moment the emperor was unsure how to respond. "Call me Palpatine." He looked at the General's outfit. An unbuttoned leather jacket over a leather vest over a leather undershirt. The legs of his pants were embroidered with cat hair, which was brown and unwashed, like the hair on his head. "Anacortes told me to meet you," said Palpatine. "I arrived here and found your clairvoyant, and she explained a little on how you run things."

Garrick coughed. "That bitch told you to come here, huh?"

"Hey!" Maltruse stepped in from outside the tent. She was still completely covered in her shroud, but her attitude was obvious.

"I was talking about Anacortes, not you. Sit down, pal." He offered the emperor a seat on the other side of the cardboard-thin table. He sat, unsure if this man would provide any useful information at all. It was hard to believe anyone like Anacortes would hire him as a General.

"Now, what's your deal?" Garrick sat in his own chair and tossed the empty soup bowl in front of him to the ground.

"She told me..." how would he word this... he needed an army, plain and simple. "...that I could provide some aid to your forces. I have a couple men who could join your ranks, but more importantly, my own power would aid your army now more than ever."

Garrick folded his hands on the table. "You sound awfully sure..."

"Your clairvoyant suggested it."

Garrick looked over at her, and she nodded firmly.

"Well," Garrick replied, "We're about to raid a camp which has a lot of gold in store. A LOT. Depending on how much you can help-"

"I have no need of gold."

Garrick stared at Palpatine. The emperor's skin was unnaturally wrinkled. "Very well. The raid will take place in a few hours. I planned it to be more of a test for my troops -you know, weed out the weak ones -but if you've got some kind of voodoo magic that might help, I'm all ears."

This man was not a tactician. "Tell me more about your 'army'."

"Glad you asked. Right now we've got oh... eighty troops, all scattered in smaller bands around Waveshore."

"So you're not a military organization?"

"Depends on your point of view. We're going after a guy named the Bandit King, who the main bitch has been rivals with for some time. He's not the brightest guy for ignoring her demands, and I'd bring him down myself if he'd show his hide once in awhile."

"So you're targeting one camp among many."

"No, it's the only one we've spotted. His own troops spend most of the time hanging around Waveshore as civilians, or travelling in caravans. It's just this camp that he's made to protect his goods, and it's guarded pretty damn well. I've sent a message to most of my bands to surround the site and do a surprise raid of the place."

"In broad daylight..."

"Assuming it doesn't last several hours, yeah."

"The man is a fool." Palpatine slowly walked to the direction of his wagon.

"He's an unlikely general," the clairvoyant said, walking alongside him, "But when it comes to getting the job done he's surprisingly efficient. He may not sound serious in conversation, but he's serious about his work."

"I see..." His uneven steps in the sand made him feel slightly more weary. "Tell me, what did you see when you performed your reading on me? I need to know more about the history of this body."

The clairvoyant nodded. She hadn't told him what she'd found, and she knew his true reason for being here, but she figured there where some parts that she could reveal without worry. "I could not see much into Khadgar's past," she lied, "but when the mage arrived on this planet, he began a long search for the one you know as Sargeras, and found no signs nearby. He traveled on ship, learning as much as he could about the land, and eventually stumbled on to one of the staves."

"How did he know they would be needed to unseal the tomb?"

"He didn't. The staves had existed here for a very long time. They were hand crafted by powerful enchanters, and even Khadgar sensed that the strong aura from one of them would be sufficient to dispel other castings if the right components were present."

"What else did he find?"

She thought back to the previous reading. "It was the Staff of Death that he found in an old magic shop, and it was useless to anyone who tried harnessing its powers, as it would need a catalyst to be activated -something to reinforce its powers four or five times to be fully activated. Sargeras soon discovered this, and contacted the mage in dreams, disguised as an ally, and described to him the properties of other staves that he sensed.

Unfortunately, Khadgar explained this to people he felt he could harbor trust in, as he had no evidence to the Deamonlord's exact whereabouts, and suspected he might have been sent to the wrong planet. Trying to gather more information, the one staff he possessed was stolen from him by a listener of his tales. The current whereabouts of it are unknown."

"You can't sense it's presence?"

"No. From Khadgar's memories, this took place years before you came in contact with him. He was unable to locate the other staves before you discarded his soul into the afterlife. And I have no knowledge of where they are."

"I see." She was fairly good at explaining things that didn't matter.

Toma slowly made his way into the heart of Brightsand as his chocobo waddled back and forth, tired from its exhaustive sprinting. He'd heard of this city before in Waveshore and was surprised he hadn't even traveled that much since he'd come to Nu. Then again, he was sure there were plenty of tourists going from place to place at will all the time, and if he wanted to cross the oceans for the rest of his life he wouldn't get much done but travel in circles.

He could feel the chocobo's legs weakening, and slid off the bird and onto the flat sand. It let out a weary chirp as it tried to remain standing, but had to fold its legs under itself to rest on the hot sand.

"Stupid bird..." Toma knelt and patted it on the head. A tired clicking noise came from its neck. "Just make sure you don't kill yourself on the way back, or I'll owe money."

He continued walking through the rest of Brightsand -an interesting place, but he was a little weary for sightseeing. It didn't matter, as his first duty here was to find a pub. If he couldn't find that, he'd probably be leaving tomorrow.

"Why am I here...." he sighed. "This is idiotic. What have I done so far that could be any better than staying in Waveshore..." he looked away, and found a comfortable alley away from the street traffic. He wasn't tired from walking, it was the rest of him that ached from riding that mindless chocobo.

He leaned back against the nearest building -a hut of blackened glass -and stared up at the sky. There were no clouds, only a sea of deep blue above. He thought back to Ahren and what he'd done there. Something still didn't make sense about his run in with the old man -The fact that he knew Daymon's name when Toma lied to him. The ease at which the organization could manipulate people. And the insistence that they bring in the highest amount of people and... make money off of them.

Money. That's all it was about. If everyone in a crowded city had to pay a percentage of taxes to them, a fortune could easily be made from it. But was that wrong? And was there any reason to feel bothered by it? Toma wasn't sure if he was just envious of someone in that position of power, but then again, he never cared for that kind of lifestyle.

It was something else. They couldn't have been as clean as they said they were. Not after he'd been mugged outside of the city when he left. Whatever money they made could be spent on countless things, and somehow it seemed there was another agenda taking place.

"Toma.... What the hell are you thinking?" He sighed again and sat down on the sand next to the dark hut. "I don't even care what some old fogey wants to do with his spare time. I really don't."

He paused.

"I'm talking to myself. Great. I'm sitting in a desert, half induced with heat stroke, and I'm probably insane to boot. I just love this life..."

Another pause.

"I should be living in a house, with a woman I can spend time with... And have some kind of a life already...." It was then that he noticed the inhabitant of the domed hut in front of him. She entered the glass dwelling like a bird, watchful yet comfortable in her own nest. With each footstep, the bright blue tunic she wore seemed to wave in its own breeze against her slightly dark skin. Hair, black and with a shine like silk, extended down to her neck in three partitions, and tickled her skin gently along there.

But what Toma noticed most was her eyes... A deep, dark blue like the ocean on a tremendous sea voyage. They were slightly narrow, showing a hidden concern that could not be placed, and yet an innocence like a young tigress. Those eyes alone would have kept Toma from watching, but they were not focused on him. They were focused on a mirror imbedded in the opposite glass wall.

Once she achieved the right level of comfort, with each eye surveying the clothes she wore, both arms lifted and stretched towards the ceiling, and her eyes shut as she felt her muscles tighten, then relax. She began humming quietly to herself, and her head rolled back, back until it would go no further, and then rolled to the left, then the right.

She looked back at the mirror, letting her arms drop to her sides, and Toma could see her sigh to herself visibly. When her delicate hands reached for the knot that held her skirt in place, he wanted to look away, but couldn't. He couldn't, as with an almost angelic grace the string undid the knot, letting the skirt loosen and fall just slightly, just one half of an inch, before she held it back against herself and smiled.

Her image in the mirror was hard to make out, but it seemed that she admired it with great pleasure, as she twirled around once on her foot to see herself from whatever angle she could. The skirt was held on with both hands like a trophy, and Toma glanced to the side of the alley to see if anyone else was nearby. Only a mesmerizing fear held him in place, and when he turned back to look the skirt had already fallen to the sandy floor.

She stood with her hands held against her hair, running all her fingers through to undo any knots from the day's work, while still staring at the mirror in ease. Toma's eyes tried as hard as they could to look up, or even away -but they only drifted down, down her soft and slender back, to the perfectly curved behind that she possessed.

It was enough to make Toma want to vomit on himself, as he realized how pitiful he was for watching her. He wanted to leave, badly, and even though many of the people here would be used to seeing a stranger undressing casually in the nearest dome, he knew it was wrong.

The clothes he'd worn for weeks, and the stubble from his face that was rarely noticed... He was decrepit, he was a family of lice compared to this image that he watched through the glass: a perfect analogy of beauty.

It wasn't long before her clothes were completely untied, and left to dangle on a nearby chair. She was tending to a small tear in one of her other tunics, and even with her back still turned, Toma could still catch a glimpse of her tender breasts.

With each glance a series of perfect paintings, the very essence of her was more than anything he could ever imagine. She was the comfort of a warm spring day, and the softness of uncounted pillows. And it was then that Toma's heart began to quicken, and despite all logic, he knew that within this time before she could turn and yell for him to go away, he could know one moment of pure joy.

His hand reached down, and with a gentle but unstoppable care, he felt. And there was a yearning for dreams and serenity and things that were only definable by emotion. And at that moment, it was all that there was.

"Sir, we're ready."

Garrick stared back at the youth in clunky bark armor. "I hope so... By Cira's blood I've trained you enough, spent my own damn money and if you die I will personally slit your throat. Understood?"

The youth hesitated. "Aye..."

"Crap, that didn't even make sense..." Garrick muttered to himself as he walked off.

The battlefield was an area on the edge of the desert, where the grassland became dry and sparse, save for a few weeds and trees that were sturdy enough to make it. The camp was a group of six wide tents and two wooden caravans, covered in dark green tarp. It looked like they would be moving soon as they hadn't set up anything permanently.

The land was flat as a poker table, as Garrick liked to say, and as his men were painfully obvious as they slowly approached from all around. Garrick had spent more time recruiting these men from slums than actually focusing on combat, and he knew they would lose to any professional army. There were approximately fifty scheduled to raid the camp, as the others stayed around Waveshore's region to watch their own outposts.

Garrick himself kneeled behind a dying bush, looking straight ahead.

"Clairvoyant, what do you know will happen today?" Palpatine glanced at her as he folded his arms, watching the camp from afar.

"I cannot see the future, I told you that. Garrick hired me for the same reason, and I cannot assure you of anything that will happen by tonight."

"Then you serve little use to him."

"On the contrary. What you do at this moment is far more important than what you might do, as it often turns out. I told you of the powers I sensed within, and you have it in you to unleash it. Doing so will most certainly turn the tide in this case."

Palpatine still stared at the camp. No movement was present, and either they were fully prepared or had no idea at all who was coming. "And how do I activate these powers exactly?"

What sounded almost like a chuckle came from the woman's throat. "You have no experience with true magic. If you did, you would know..." She saw Palpatine's eyes begin to narrow. "Focus on what you can't reach."

"That's it?"

"In battle, of course. You'll know when you feel helpless, and your body will compensate. That's all I can explain without proper training. But Khadgar was skilled highly enough to where I doubt you'll have many problems."

"Hmph.."

Bran sat alone. In the empty, cold den of the Maiden's Inn. "She's not coming back, is she Baron?" He patted the immense cat gently. And stood, and walked along the wooden floor to the door, where he flipped the wooden sign to say "closed."

"She's not coming back..."

The signal was as crude as the attack plan, and Garrick realized this once he raised his hand in the air, prompting the nearest soldier to raise his, and so on, until everyone surrounding the camp had mimicked the signal. It was as effective as banging a metal pot, and Garrick shook his head once before the entire army began to advance.

Though some crouched and some ran, they were altogether clumsy, and the bark armor they wore hindered them as well. With swords and pikes from all backgrounds -finely crafted heirlooms or just on sale at the local shop -the men pressed on.

It wasn't long before the camp began to show activity, and men shouted and ran out of the tents to watch the oncoming army. They drew their own weapons, some prepared to fight and some hastily running in their underpants, and from a distance Palpatine could see they were equipped in metal, with most having small steel shields to protect them. He trailed far behind the advancing men as he tried to run, but his legs grew increasingly sore and weary, and he huffed as his lungs and heart struggled to go on.

Garrick realized that his men wouldn't do much unless they were quick -quick enough to strike between plated armor and mail, and evade the small shields the enemy carried while they only had one weapon to attack with. Fifty chocobos would be nice for the occasion as well, if anyone could provide that many in a day. He was unsure if his men really needed heavier armor as an upgrade -spending the money on booze might be a little more productive.

Once more soldiers started pouring out of the tents and shouting at the top of their lungs, it wasn't long before the attackers closed in. "Fools, can't you wait..." Palpatine watched as the men went on while he lagged behind.

The two armies closed in, squeezing the gap between them until at last they met like a waterfall against rock. In the almost soundless open air, the yells of men and swords clashing against armor seemed both surreal and natural. In the mess of the battle, neither side faired better as each pummeled the other side with sheer force. Swords lunged at necks, shields battered heads, wood and metal snapped and screams of victory and defeat clouded their ears.

Though Garrick's troops could move a bit faster with a single sword and moderately light armor, it became apparent that they were too divided as they came in. The wall-like defensiveness the opponents took became overwhelming and often impenetrable, forcing Garrick's men to either move back and regroup or face a quick and bloody end.

"Idiots!" Palpatine continued trying to reach the battle, but his exhaustion got the best of him, and he fell on the ground quickly. Getting back up, he closed his eyes and stopped -concentration was the only key. In the Empire he could control armies with his will at ease, but here, in the hands of a brainless and impulsive general, there was little hope unless he intervened.

He stood for a moment, remembering that concentration and calmness of mind were the true means of achieving any goal, and even as the planned attack turned to chaos it was still his duty to protect the men with whatever means he possessed.

He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply... In his mind he searched for the key that would unlock what he sought after. A memory, a thought, even a hint...

The realization rushed to him with full and sudden force, and as he opened his eyes he remembered the ways of magic in this lifeless shell of his -as an old and forgotten friend. A bright sphere of blue formed in his mind, a focus on the otherworldly ether that would channel his powers. An arc of energy from both hands generated the ether link, and with a mental push an immense, elephant-sized ball of fire appeared several meters in front of him, flying towards the battle site at a rapid pace.

It crashed into the middle of the fray, exploding and incinerating bodies while still trailing along the ground, gradually diminishing into nothing. The opposition was severely weakened by the blow, but the trail the blast left behind had also hit Garrick's own men, and both sides took advantage of this. A group of ten from the enemy camp hacked their way through Garrick's attack and ran towards the distanced Palpatine, spotting him as the obvious threat. The battle between both sides raged on behind them, but they ignored the others and continued towards the more powerful "wizard." Palpatine knew his powers were limited, and with the enemy group running towards him it was hard to judge how soon the next spell would be ready. With a completely random guess at what he was capable of next, the Emperor forced both hands forward and screamed within his own thoughts, pushing the ether around him into the closest man, and with a suddenness that would rival a championship eyeblinker... ...he turned the man into a sheep.

"Sigh..." the next casting he produced was a bit more elusive, as it didn't seem to produce any visible hocus-pocus. But what soon became apparent was one of the attackers, who seemed to run at a significantly reduced pace. It wasn't a terrible spell, but it certainly didn't disable the attackers much. The only problem was the noticeable drain in mental energy, and any further castings could not afford to be wasted.

Eight still ran towards him, with swords raised and tongues flailing. They knew they wouldn't stand much against the spellcaster, but if it took only a stab to the heart before there was time to cast again, it would be worth the inevitable sacrifice. Any other spells in this wizard's sleeve would need to be stopped before they could have a chance to come out.

One of the soldiers reached into his own beltpouch and pulled out a small throwing blade, readying it as the distance from the wizard closed in. Palpatine instinctively set on killing the man with his blaster that remained strapped at his side, but instead raised his hand forward.

What came next was not as he expected, as a bolt of lightning shot forward and struck the man with the knife, making him cringe in pain as he struggled to move forward. The energy was not from the Force as it would have seemed, but Khadgar's own magicks, and for a second the Emperor wondered if his own powers were truly that simple.

While the spells hindered a few of the men briefly, they were meek compared to the fireball spell and it would be a matter of seconds before the attackers reached him. He needed something more along the lines of destruction that he expected this body to possess.

What came next was a strange grouping of flames that encircled one of the more heavily armored soldiers. It continued in a perfect ring around his body, striking those near him as he pressed onward. While the soldier being affected was just as confused as the ones being struck by the spell, it didn't take long for him to realize he was the cause of it. As the spell continued its persistent ring of destruction, he ran away from the group, watching as his fellow men were struck down and blistered horribly.

Palpatine was now standing with both eyes clenched as he realized his powers were drained, and as the men were now a road's width away he was forced to draw a weapon to his aid. Though the blaster would have proved quick, as it was designed more for personal defense than as a weapon, it would not provide certain victory. The lightsaber, on the other hand, would guarantee it.

"SHHHRNNNGG" the red blaze of energy formed from its black handle, and secured in both hands, it rose to a defensive block. The first sword that came to it was instantly severed, and with a quick guiding of the beam Palpatine sliced through the man's chest.

A second attacker tried taking advantage of the opening and slashed at Palpatine's back. The Emperor easily pulled the saber from the soft flesh it was lodged in and in one swift motion sent it through the man's hand. He screamed as bone and muscle gnarled and burnt together, and it was all that was needed to plunge the killing blow through his heart.

Palpatine turned to the next man who was brave enough to attack, and guided the saber in a swift upward motion, sending the beam arcing into the man's chest, past armor and fragile ribs.

The rest of the attackers were dealt with quickly and effectively, and Palpatine would have grinned at the ease at which he disposed of them. But his face was stern, and he knew that the only way he could have guided the saber as he did was with the aid of The Force.

Pain and weariness subsided, and in the depths of his mind a perfect clarity was formed. The Force was his to command once more.

In a sudden, maddening rush to the middle of the battlefield, Palpatine ran despite what any physical limitation of endurance would have told him. An almost inhuman desire to go forward, an incalculable burst of speed and energy sent him charging into the fray of dying soldiers ahead.

This was the Rage. An ancient Sith technique that had been hidden by its own people, as its chaotic grasp was impossible to harness. With its power activated, one could only focus on the sheer goal of killing, with no common sense to guide the mind and body.

The last time it was revealed to him was after his meeting with an otherworldly being, a harbinger of power unimaginable. Though the Emperor sided with this being and would have aided the cause of it's Lord, it was apparent that his request was forgotten, and his skills would be null compared to what this being demonstrated. It was more likely that he would be left to die on this planet, seen as unworthy to the summoner now.

Yet somehow the meeting had unlocked the forgotten Sith Rage within, as the plane he was held at was a realm of incomprehensible and surreal limitations. The power itself was a puzzle of wills, and in hundreds of years a successful use of the power was never extended to more than a few seconds by the Sith cults.

When those seconds had passed, Palpatine saw that his enemies were slain around him, in piles of severed halves and quarters. His saber was still ablaze, steaming as fresh blood evaporated from its tip, and he deactivated the weapon cautiously.

Looking around, he saw that the enemy camp was battered and torn, and a majority of Garrick's men had survived (which was more than anyone really expected). The remaining men were either busy yelling victory cheers or slaying wounded enemies, while Palpatine searched the area for Garrick. For the first time in a long time, he felt overwhelmed with confusion and relief.

"Well, I must say..." the Clairvoyant peered off into the distant hills, "you've found your potential."

"I did this to show your General what I'm capable of. Nothing more."

"Right," she nodded. "You'll have to excuse his appearance. Being in command for so long has made him grow careless and easily tired of things. He's also thinking of retiring if a suitable challenge doesn't present itself. Without the presence of higher authority, he does just as he pleases."

"His decisions are his concern," Palpatine said in a gruff tone. "What I seek is a means of defense from any possible threat, and his troops provide a stable means of doing so. If he cannot offer that, then I will leave." Those that had tagged along with Palpatine previously had taken ranks in Garrick's army, save for Venyre who had vanished from his post, and the reluctant engineer Bevel, who was instructed by Palpatine to travel to Stonetree with the newly found wagon. There he might be able to make use of the items found earlier from the Dwarf.

"I am sure you will leave." Both she and Palpatine had met here away from the army, on a raised hillside away from the flat terrain. The rocks here were preserved in texture and size throughout the years, rather than succumbing to the grindstone of the desert over time. It was also high enough to view the area for quite a distance, and the Clairvoyant made sure that no one else was near. "I am also sure you will betray General Garrick, just as easily as any power you would dare 'ally' with." The desert breeze began to pick up.

"What are you saying? You accuse me of treason based on what, precisely?"

She sighed. "You are a blind, old fool... It is your nature to regard any alliance as a temporary affair, and you know this well. There is no such thing as submission to a greater power, as you only seek to rise above anything that you aren't in direct control over. Any veil of trust you place over yourself is simply a lie, and nothing more. I would have sympathy for you, but you cannot change."

Palpatine's face hardened with held back hatred. "You've become revoltingly senile, I sense."

"No. My decision is just. You will not stop to betray others if it fulfills your own means. You know this as well as it is painfully obvious. If Garrick were to ever falter, you would sit in his seat with no remorse."

"If his army were in need of a leader, then of course..."

"You will not stop at anything. You will never achieve any true goal, and as you grow in power and strength you will never be satisfied. This is the same mad and foolish quest that drives you to free the trapped Daemonlord, and in your heart you wish that he will submit to your shortsighted whims."

"Have you come here to simply insult me with pointless babble?" Palpatine's robe rippled in the light breeze. His hair, now withered and gray, brushed along the skin on his head.

"I cannot allow you to continue. You would make a powerful addition to Garrick's forces, yes, but you present little safety to anything on this planet. It was your destiny to die long ago."

Before The Emperor could raise his voice to speak, his heart had already been pierced by a lone shard of crystal, produced from the sleeve of the woman's robe. With a stutter, he tried regaining balance on both feet as blood refused to pump any longer, and with both eyes rolled back in his feeble head, fell backwards.

His body slid along the jagged rocks of the hillside as gravity pulled him -sending him jolting sharply every meter. It wasn't until he hit the end of the slope that a large rock creased his spine on impact, where his body remained limp.

The breeze still calmly blew along the silent landscape, and from up above the woman exhaled beneath her robe, and raised the projectile device clearly in view. With a sharp click, another crystal bullet sped forth and lodged into Palpatine's neck. There was no response. After a moment, she paused, and walked back to her camp.

A quarter hour had passed in the still air, and the body's blood started to dry against the rock that pierced it. In whatever state of consciousness there was for the emperor, it was not one of awakened sense. The vessels inside had grown still, and the chemicals within his brain had given up all hope of response. Yet his soul still clinged on to his lifeless shell, refusing to let go into whatever remained after this.

There was no certainty, no reality to hold on to, and with a desperate defiance, the soul remained in comfort within its body, waiting for it to deteriorate into nothing.

After a time, it felt another presence nearby. Not only spiritually, but physically near. The presence was familiar, but only in passing, and as it walked towards Palpatine's body in large, heavy steps, it offered no hesitation to what it would do next.

With an arm raised, a glow of indigo energy formed and shot towards Palpatine's head, permeating through it and down the rest of his being. With a quick adjustment, Palpatine's soul was bound back into its body, and the beam continued filling his veins with energy.

YOUR TIME HAS NOT ENDED

The heart began to reform its delicate walls, and began to pump freely.

YOU ARE THE SEVERER OF FATES

Muscles, nerves, cells and chemicals resumed their daily course in the harmony of corporeal function.

YOU ARE WATCHED, AND YOU WILL OBEY

Eyes opened, focused, and widened.

FAILURE IS BEYOND REDEMPTION

The time to awaken from his momentary slumber had arrived at last, as the fiery, churning inferno still cascaded around the darkened figure, and turned from dark red to a deep and intense purple, no longer roaring as a blaze into the empty sky.

It was time, as the flames decreased in size and volume, but concentrated in their intensity, flowing around him with ease. And it was time, as the cocoon of fire had finally diminished, slowly forcing itself back inside him, until all that was left was his lone figure standing atop the hillside.

For all this time, there was nothing left but absolute power raging within, power that had risen and intensified within his being, waiting for this very moment.

Though unveiled by the flames, his body was clad solely in black, and the only recognizable human feature was the pale skin on his face, holding two eyes which were filled with the very fires of any civilization's Hell.

His mind, however, remained perfectly clear.

He knew his true place on this world, and he knew exactly who he was.

He was The Hand.