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17-03-2026, 09:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 20-03-2026, 04:43 PM by Krassus Horuset.)
>> BEGIN ARCHIVAL RETRIEVAL: HORUSET.PRIV.LOG_09YA-59A (DATE MARKED - Post Kesmere Campaign)
>> STATUS: INTEGRITY 100%
>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // Sith Atas
>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY V: The Will of the Gods
The blue static flood stabilized and took the shape of Krassus Horuset, now Sith Atas, meditating on his knees in the damp cave. Water dripped from the blackened, oily stone. The Horuset warrior himself was covered in a thin layer of dampness from crossing the waterfall. The three joined claw marks where the late Lord Vi'kas had struck him in their final duel had at last healed, or at least to the fullest extent they ever would. The three deep scars ran across his harsh crimson features like trenches through a battlefield, tugging at the corner of his mouth and twisting the bony ridges of his cheekbones.
The Silver Sun of Horuset’s face was set in its familiar, ever-present grim and rigid scowl, as if carved into granite with hammer and chisel. Yet his vibrant red eyes, that normally burned so bright with ambition and fury as they had since the death of his father, seemed more pensive. Contemplating. The cybernetic fingers of his left hand idly clawed at the damp dirt beneath him, rubbing the brown sand between his fingertips. Some of it still stained by dried blood.
"I haven't been here since that day..."
Krassus said at last, his voice softer than usual, its cadence that of a man at prayer.
"Not since the day I threw Luvane's sword at his feet on this very ground..."
His voice lingered in the hollow cave, low, measured. The steady drip of water filled the silence between his words.
"I still remember the sound of it. I hear it every night in my visions. The way the runed blade struck the stone, like the tolling of a funeral bell."
His fingers stilled in the dirt.
"I had carried it here myself. The Prophet's own Sith Steel sword, surrendered as a symbol of his oath of undying fealty and servitude to House Horuset. His badge of office as Lord of Doctrine, to be returned to him only in death. To be placed in his tomb as an honored artifact once his duty had ended... or to be driven through his chest if he failed."
A breath, slow and controlled. A faint tightening at his jaw.
"And find its way back to him it did."
Krassus stirred once, his eyes darkening, as if being here in the cave brought back the moment all too clearly.
"He did not deny his fate, nor did he run from it. He wore it as he always did... with the calm certainty of a Sith certain that the will of the gods would be done."
Krassus' eyes lowered, staring at the faint dried traces of blood in the soil where Luvane had fallen.
"Lord Vi'kas met his end like a true Sith should. A blade in his hand, the word of the gods on his lips. He died as he had lived. A Sith, a Vipion..." A quiet scoff. "As a Prophet."
The word lingered, not entirely without respect.
"I remember how conflicted I felt when the moment came. For all he was... I considered him my friend. He had always been a champion of my cause.... Yet when the moment came, there was no hesitation. Not because of the oath he broke, not because of my Master's will... but ultimately because I wanted it..."
His lip curled faintly, the scar along it pulling taut.
"I am afraid, Prophet, that I was not fully honest with you that day... It is true that my Master wished you dead... but it was I who called for your sword, it was I who chose to do it that day... because threats made by the House of the Blazing Sun should not lose their meaning... because I did not wish to suffer the shame of watching Ahandra let oaths taken to her and my House lose their meaning..."
A pause, a longer one.
"Because I desired your title... and the Dark Side and the very gods themselves only grant power to those who seize it by the throat."
A low chuckle escaped him. Dry. Hollow.
"...Since the day my father died in the Throne Room of Horuset, all Sith that I have spoken to bid me to proceed with caution. That I risk losing my grip on reality, my political prowess. That I was slipping. That the rage... the shadows clawing at my mind... were consuming me."
His fingers dug deeper into the dirt.
"That I should restrain myself. Temper my impulses. Resist the pull of the Dark..."
A scoff.
"They were all wrong... The Dark Side is a plague no true Sith should ever wish to be cured from."
His head lifted, red eyes sharpening, something colder taking hold behind the fires of ambition that now shone bright within them. The glint in his eyes almost manic.
"Every step I have taken since I arrived at this Powerbase has brought me closer to what I am meant to be. Every impulse followed has seen me rise. Every vision acted upon a bounty..."
His voice hardened, gaining weight.
"They speak of control, of power, as if it is found in hesitation and caution... It is not."
A slow inhale.
“The future is not a river that carries us gently to our destination.” His voice dropped, more intense now. “It is an ocean. Vast. Unforgiving. And those who do not seize it... drown in it.”
His gaze burned now.
“Luvane spoke for gods. Preached their will as their chosen voice...” A slight tilt of his head. “But I now know that the gods do not show their will through words and prayer alone...”
A pause.
“The will of the gods is manifested through the results of their champions... in their victory. Their successes... their ascension.”
Krassus flexed his cybernetic left hand, letting the dirt fall between his fingers.
"And it is my victory they favored... my rise they continue to favor... The gods have not spoken to me since the visions I had as a child... but I know their will is done nonetheless. They answer my call."
A faint curl at the edge of his lips as his chest rose beneath the damp black chestplate.
His gaze sharpened, the pensive quiet giving way to something harder. Hungrier.
“With every act... I grow. With every will made manifest... I get brought closer to my ultimate ambitions...”
A pause.
"And now the gods have placed Advancement before me."
The words were spoken not as aspiration, but as inevitability.
"I doubt the alien is actually dead... but with his throne open, his seat on the Pentarchy empty for me to claim, the future itself seems to bend towards me, towards those with the will to seize it..."
A slow exhale.
"Should the gods favor me... and my plans come to fruition... then perhaps even my Master's throne may soon lie within my reach."
His head tilted slightly, eyes burning brighter now. He inhaled deeply before he suddenly canted his head offset, seemingly sensing the approach of others coming closer to the cave. He looked forward once again and contemplated.
"May the will of the gods be done..."
And with those words, Krassus Horuset ended the recording. The image faded to black.
[VISUAL END – static flood]
[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]
>> END FRAGMENT.
>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED
>> STATUS: INTEGRITY 100%
>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // Sith Atas
>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY V: The Will of the Gods
The blue static flood stabilized and took the shape of Krassus Horuset, now Sith Atas, meditating on his knees in the damp cave. Water dripped from the blackened, oily stone. The Horuset warrior himself was covered in a thin layer of dampness from crossing the waterfall. The three joined claw marks where the late Lord Vi'kas had struck him in their final duel had at last healed, or at least to the fullest extent they ever would. The three deep scars ran across his harsh crimson features like trenches through a battlefield, tugging at the corner of his mouth and twisting the bony ridges of his cheekbones.
The Silver Sun of Horuset’s face was set in its familiar, ever-present grim and rigid scowl, as if carved into granite with hammer and chisel. Yet his vibrant red eyes, that normally burned so bright with ambition and fury as they had since the death of his father, seemed more pensive. Contemplating. The cybernetic fingers of his left hand idly clawed at the damp dirt beneath him, rubbing the brown sand between his fingertips. Some of it still stained by dried blood.
"I haven't been here since that day..."
Krassus said at last, his voice softer than usual, its cadence that of a man at prayer.
"Not since the day I threw Luvane's sword at his feet on this very ground..."
His voice lingered in the hollow cave, low, measured. The steady drip of water filled the silence between his words.
"I still remember the sound of it. I hear it every night in my visions. The way the runed blade struck the stone, like the tolling of a funeral bell."
His fingers stilled in the dirt.
"I had carried it here myself. The Prophet's own Sith Steel sword, surrendered as a symbol of his oath of undying fealty and servitude to House Horuset. His badge of office as Lord of Doctrine, to be returned to him only in death. To be placed in his tomb as an honored artifact once his duty had ended... or to be driven through his chest if he failed."
A breath, slow and controlled. A faint tightening at his jaw.
"And find its way back to him it did."
Krassus stirred once, his eyes darkening, as if being here in the cave brought back the moment all too clearly.
"He did not deny his fate, nor did he run from it. He wore it as he always did... with the calm certainty of a Sith certain that the will of the gods would be done."
Krassus' eyes lowered, staring at the faint dried traces of blood in the soil where Luvane had fallen.
"Lord Vi'kas met his end like a true Sith should. A blade in his hand, the word of the gods on his lips. He died as he had lived. A Sith, a Vipion..." A quiet scoff. "As a Prophet."
The word lingered, not entirely without respect.
"I remember how conflicted I felt when the moment came. For all he was... I considered him my friend. He had always been a champion of my cause.... Yet when the moment came, there was no hesitation. Not because of the oath he broke, not because of my Master's will... but ultimately because I wanted it..."
His lip curled faintly, the scar along it pulling taut.
"I am afraid, Prophet, that I was not fully honest with you that day... It is true that my Master wished you dead... but it was I who called for your sword, it was I who chose to do it that day... because threats made by the House of the Blazing Sun should not lose their meaning... because I did not wish to suffer the shame of watching Ahandra let oaths taken to her and my House lose their meaning..."
A pause, a longer one.
"Because I desired your title... and the Dark Side and the very gods themselves only grant power to those who seize it by the throat."
A low chuckle escaped him. Dry. Hollow.
"...Since the day my father died in the Throne Room of Horuset, all Sith that I have spoken to bid me to proceed with caution. That I risk losing my grip on reality, my political prowess. That I was slipping. That the rage... the shadows clawing at my mind... were consuming me."
His fingers dug deeper into the dirt.
"That I should restrain myself. Temper my impulses. Resist the pull of the Dark..."
A scoff.
"They were all wrong... The Dark Side is a plague no true Sith should ever wish to be cured from."
His head lifted, red eyes sharpening, something colder taking hold behind the fires of ambition that now shone bright within them. The glint in his eyes almost manic.
"Every step I have taken since I arrived at this Powerbase has brought me closer to what I am meant to be. Every impulse followed has seen me rise. Every vision acted upon a bounty..."
His voice hardened, gaining weight.
"They speak of control, of power, as if it is found in hesitation and caution... It is not."
A slow inhale.
“The future is not a river that carries us gently to our destination.” His voice dropped, more intense now. “It is an ocean. Vast. Unforgiving. And those who do not seize it... drown in it.”
His gaze burned now.
“Luvane spoke for gods. Preached their will as their chosen voice...” A slight tilt of his head. “But I now know that the gods do not show their will through words and prayer alone...”
A pause.
“The will of the gods is manifested through the results of their champions... in their victory. Their successes... their ascension.”
Krassus flexed his cybernetic left hand, letting the dirt fall between his fingers.
"And it is my victory they favored... my rise they continue to favor... The gods have not spoken to me since the visions I had as a child... but I know their will is done nonetheless. They answer my call."
A faint curl at the edge of his lips as his chest rose beneath the damp black chestplate.
His gaze sharpened, the pensive quiet giving way to something harder. Hungrier.
“With every act... I grow. With every will made manifest... I get brought closer to my ultimate ambitions...”
A pause.
"And now the gods have placed Advancement before me."
The words were spoken not as aspiration, but as inevitability.
"I doubt the alien is actually dead... but with his throne open, his seat on the Pentarchy empty for me to claim, the future itself seems to bend towards me, towards those with the will to seize it..."
A slow exhale.
"Should the gods favor me... and my plans come to fruition... then perhaps even my Master's throne may soon lie within my reach."
His head tilted slightly, eyes burning brighter now. He inhaled deeply before he suddenly canted his head offset, seemingly sensing the approach of others coming closer to the cave. He looked forward once again and contemplated.
"May the will of the gods be done..."
And with those words, Krassus Horuset ended the recording. The image faded to black.
[VISUAL END – static flood]
[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]
>> END FRAGMENT.
>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED
