The Purges of Emperor Prognie

High Prophet Crozeus · The Purges of Emperor Prognie

Kuat, 88 ABY

Markaro Vos, Dark Lord of the Sith and Supreme Commander of the Sith Imperial Armed Forces, was worried, as were the other Sith who had gathered in the great chamber of the Imperial Palace, Kuat. For hours the greatest and most powerful Sith in the galaxy had been nervously waiting, none knowing more than any other, for once. Around the immense hall the red-robed figures of the Royal Guard stood in stoic silence. Their leaders talked nervously by the huge doors which slowly creaked open, revealing a nurse, dwarfed by the arch above her.

The small talk buzzing to and fro in the hall ceased as she crossed wordlessly to one of the Sith, Grand Inquisitor Prognie. They spoke for a brief second, no one else hearing, and she then made to leave the chamber, but this time Prognie followed. They walked past the group of Sith from the Church of the Dark Side.

Supreme Prophet and Grand Vizier, Dark Lord Praxeum hated being still. He fidgeted nervously, too agitated to collect his thoughts and see, or feel, what was going on. The Emperor had seemed in perfect health but a few days before. What could have happened since then that changed so much? Beside him, High Prophet Crozeus craned his neck to try and catch another glimpse of the Grand Inquisitor, futile not because of the other Sith in his way, but because even looking at Prognie's back would not reveal anymore about the situation. Prophet Odin sat in the lotus position, silent, and Prophets Macht and Malum talked in low voices in the corner, their moods subdued. The others were in small groups, trying to make conversation, but the overwhelming Force presences in the room all but preventing them from speaking entirely.

Prognie was led through what seemed like a maze of corridors before he finally reached his destination. Before him, in a room filled with incense, Jeridan Peverell Shesh Dilbrun, Emperor Shadow, lay on a red velvet bed. He slowly turned his head as Prognie entered and coughed weakly in resignation. “Jinko,” he whispered. Prognie leaned in, his highly attuned hearing picking up what the Emperor was whispering. In Shadow’s mind, there was nought but anger and frustration. He was angry at himself. For dithering, for not doing what he had wanted to. He was angry at his body, for giving out on him so soon. So many hopes, unfinished projects. So many dreams. Anyone would have said that Emperor Shadow had it all – he was the most powerful being in the galaxy. He had led the Sith into a golden age, all but wiped out any opposition. His riches were unrivalled. Yet Shadow, at that moment, felt like he had nothing. There was still hope, however.

“Jinko, promise me you’ll finish what I started. It’s in my will, and the files in the Church. Promise me you’ll do that, Jinko.” Shadow’s voice had an edge of desperation to it. Prognie nodded solemnly, and received Shadow’s white hands on his head. Like the passing of a signet ring, Shadow was passing his Force signature into Prognie, like it was a seal of truth. Shadow leaned back and closed his eyes. He delved into the Force to restore himself, all but closing his perception of Prognie, who frowned. There was a lot of conflicting emotion in the Grand Inquisitor. He felt that now would be the prime opportunity to seize everything he ever wanted, but he felt a twinge… it was almost morality, deep within him, trying to make a say. He shut it out, and placed a hand over Shadow’s sleeping face. Concentrating every fibre of his body, he drained the life from the Emperor until he was nothing but a husk. Collapsing from the effort Prognie gasped and then stood. Taking a moment to collect himself he walked outside and to the nurse. She must have noted his expression, because she rushed inside and he heard her sob. She wouldn’t say anything. She would be taken care of.

Supreme Commander Marix, was the first to see Prognie re-enter the chamber. He opened his mouth to call out but he determined that wasn’t necessary as Prognie headed up the stairs to the throne so he could gain some height on the other Sith in the room. He increased his presence in the Force and the Sith fell silent and turned to look at him. His face was grave, and his tone equally so.

“Our Lord Shadow is dead.”

Instantly there was a low murmur of disbelief in the crowd. High Commander Vexen had gone white. How could he have outstayed two Empresses and an Emperor? But as Prognie extended Shadow’s Force signature, the Sith began to realise the devastating truth. A few Sith called out, but they were not answered and gave up trying. Grand Mage Aequitas simply left the chamber, composed. He needed to see for himself. Prognie let him go and waited for silence, or the closest to that he could get, before continuing.

“He has named me his heir.”

At that, there was a larger clamour. Several people looked dismayed, many remained silent. A few cheered. Slowly, the Royal Guard lowered themselves to their knees, and began a chant of “All hail Emperor Prognie.” The other Sith cautiously followed suit, until only the Prophets were left standing. Prognie fixed Praxeum with a poignant stare and slowly he lowered himself to his knees and prostrated himself, his Prophets doing the same. However, they did not hail Emperor Prognie. They chanted just the same, but they hailed Emperor Shadow, their former Supreme Prophet, and beloved leader. When Praxeum stood again, tears were clearly visible in his eyes. Prognie held up his hands and he looked to the Inquisitors around him. He had everything he had ever wanted within reach now. All he had to do was eliminate anything that would stop him. He beckoned to the Nautolan kneeling at his side.

“Lord Gra’tua, you have served me faithfully. I trust in you to further our Order’s greatness. Rise, Grand Inquisitor Gra’tua.”

Gra’tua murmured his thanks and named Seti his High Inquisitor, who subsequently handed Thrax the position of Chief Inquisitor. They all bowed to their former leader and stood tall and proud, pleased with their success. Prognie turned to speak to Dark Lord Tarna, Shadow Protector of the Royal Guard.

Marix was feeling sick. He knew something wasn’t right. Shadow had told him he had forseen his own death, and that was in 115 ABY, far in the future. Marix had no desire to serve under Prognie, he knew what the man would do to any he saw as a threat. He stood for a second, swaying towards the door and back to Prognie, as if debating whether to risk leaving, or staying. Resignedly, he left the hall, Vexen sweeping after him. After a pause, as they gauged Prognie’s silent reaction, Dark Lord Acrimonus and Dark Lady Ducki turned and followed them, as did several Sith from the Military. They were allowed to leave, Prognie would have them eliminated. For now they would be little more than an itch.
Finally Prognie addressed Praxeum, speaking loud enough for the entire chamber to hear. “Dark Lord Praxeum, you are hereby removed from the office of Grand Vizier. Darth Crozeus will succeed you.”

Praxeum was silent, as were the other Sith, who’s heads slowly swivelled round to face him. He simply looked at Crozeus, his eyes filled with a million questions, but Crozeus looked at the floor before looking directly at Prognie. “I reject the promotion,” he shouted. Praxeum was visibly relived, but he kept his composure as he walked up to Prognie, who couldn’t see him, but could clearly detect his fury in the Force and he shrank away. The Royal Guard moved in to block Praxeum, who was white with rage. He moved forward as if to break through the Guard, but turned and made to leave the chamber. The Prophets followed him without a sound, every one of them. He got to the door before Prognie’s voice echoed behind them, unusually shrill.

“Dark Lord Tarna! Seize him!”

Tarna stepped in front of Praxeum, his expression mirroring how uncomfortable he was. Praxeum simply looked at Tarna, and Tarna nodded. He would not betray his cousin. He simply gestured, and let the Prophets through.

Prognie was furious. He would have to utilise one of his assets, one he had been silently manipulating in the Force for four years – the High Protector, Adenn. He was fiercely loyal, and as a result Tarna trusted him completely. However, Prognie had been delicately chipping into the Kel’Dor’s mind. It was difficult at first, but after the first few months it became easy, as Adenn was always focused on the routines of life as the second in command of the Royal Guard. He never had any idea Prognie was inside his head, weakening his defences, and now Prognie seized control.

“Adenn, I hereby promote you to Shadow Protector. Your first task is to seize Dark Lords Tarna and Praxeum! Use all force necessary!” He shrieked.

Adenn and several Guard moved to block the Sith. Adenn looked at Tarna for a second, and Tarna looked back in surprise. Adenn held his head as a splitting headache slammed into him like a jackhammer, Prognie was digging deeper and deeper. Finally, Adenn ignited his saberstaff, and the Guard around him drew their weapons. Praxeum drew his blade – but it was thrown to the floor by a Force Push from a Guardsman. Instantly, Darth Cruciatus lunged with his pink double saber, Praxeum leapt back… but not fast enough. The saber was heading directly for his stomach, a ruby gold blade batting it aside seconds before impact. Crozeus faced Cruciatus and the two duelled like they had never been friends. Praxeum grabbed his saber and sat in a ring of Prophets, who drew their blades. Tarna’s magnificent golden lightsabers sprang forth, and the Guard charged.

Praxeum was trying to get the Prophets focused, by channelling his power into theirs. However, something was draining it – as he looked, he saw Prognie with his arms outstretched, fingers dancing like a puppeteer’s. The Prophets, without their superior Force connections, held only their blades, and as efficient swordsmen they were few were any match for the Guard. Prophet Macht was cut down by Darth Nighthawk. Prophet Odin and Darth Caligulae duelled, Odin being forced back. Caligulae kicked Odin down and raised his saber in triumph to deliver the killing blow, but a shoto pierced his back and he collapsed. High Mage and weaponmaster Serratus had joined the fray.

Guardsman Mortis faced a Cathar Prophet he didn’t know, who used the Form of Niman. This was an easy fight for Mortis, but he didn’t want to win it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tarna being beaten back by Adenn and two other Guards. Tarna had befriended him ever since he joined the Empire. He had helped him through every trouble he faced, and Mortis decided he would not let that go unreturned. With a roar he leapt on Adenn, bowling the Kel’Dor over, giving the Prophets time to move forward and slam the door shut, blocking it from the outraged crowds, and Prognie’s Force drain.

With their energies returning the Prophets pushed the Guard back, killing two more. They eventually retreated as far as an exit door, which opened, and seven more Guardsmen filed out of it. Five more came up behind the red robed figures. The Prophets were tired and outnumbered, yet their exit was so near. Tarna stepped forward, golden blades shimmering. For a moment, all that could be heard was men panting, and lightsabers humming. Then Tarna charged. He slammed into the Guard, his massive form sending them flying as he hacked and slashed in a frenzy, despite receiving many wounds. Crozeus grabbed Praxeum’s arm and dragged him away, ushering Mortis, Serratus and the remaining Prophets out of the palace. Finally it was Praxeum, whose eyes were streaming from his cousin’s sacrifice. Tarna was finally pushed to the floor and Adenn raised his arm for the killing blow as Praxeum’s vision was finally torn away as he ran through the garden and into a transport. Behind the Guardsmen, who were picking up the bodies of their comrades, and the Prophets, Dark Lord Aequitas watched, a grim expression on his face. Nodding, he knew what he had to do, and disguising his presence in the Force he slipped out of the palace, heading for the Mage's Headquarters.

As they took off, the red robes of the Guard filtered through the garden like blood seeping from a wound, yet no blaster fire followed the Prophets’ transport which took them into the ever-busy skylanes of Kuat.

High Prophet Crozeus

Safehouse, central Kuat

The people of Kuat cheered as another firework exploded majestically in the night sky, sending ribbons of colour across the black canvas. From behind a grubby window Prophet Odin looked on with a grim expression. Behind him, sitting propped up against the equally grim looking walls were several Prophets, Serratus and Mortis. In the corner furthest away from any people or any light Supreme Prophet Praxeum sat, head between his knees, hair covering his face. He had been silent for the three hours they were cooped up in the safehouse while New Year’s celebrations carried on. At first, Crozeus and Odin had tried to talk to him, but they received no response and soon gave up trying, determining it was better to let him grieve in solitude.

Mortis was taking it hard as well, occasionally wiping a tear away from his eye, but he was taking part in the discussion and his knowledge of Guard routine was proving invaluable. Serratus was a whirlwind of activity, working on a personal computer to try and find an escape route from Kuat. He was communicating with various contacts in the underworld from his bounty hunting days, and Crozeus, Malum, Drialla and Ephyron decided it was best to let him be alone. For a while, they fell silent, the only sounds ragged breaths and small beeps from Serratus’ computer. Suddenly an inhuman sound filled the room and all heads turned to Praxeum, who was looking up. His face was streaked black, his eyes redder than a laigrek’s. His hair was matted and greasy. A firework exploded close by, illuminating his face in a flash of white as he spoke.

“This is my fault,” he spat. “Tarna died because of me.”

Crozeus started forward, but was pushed back, not by physical or ethereal power, but by the expression on Praxeum’s face – that of a feral beast. Slowly, hiding his fear of being trapped in a room with the second most powerful Force user ever, who was furious to the extent of being insane, he spoke.

“It is not your fault. It is no one’s fault but Prognie’s.”

Praxeum flinched at the name, and hissing slightly he shrank back into his corner, his head lolling back to between his knees. When another firework detonated, he looked up again, and this time there was far more of the man Crozeus knew in his face, all business, but emotive and passionate about those close to him. He stood and out of habit the other Prophets did too. He went to each one, embracing them and speaking a few words to each, Serratus and Mortis too. Finally he came to his High Prophet, who acknowledged him with a solemn nod.

“Only one of us will make it out of this encounter. If I don’t...”

Crozeus attempted to speak but Praxeum fixed him with a stern look and he fell silent.

“If I don’t make it back, promise me you will continue the Church. Not even Prognie knows where Scardia is, and he was Supreme Prophet. You have resources. Continue the legacy Shadow left us, and Saber before him.”

Crozeus nodded and Praxeum made for the door. Just as he grasped the handle he was in turn grasped by Crozeus, who spoke defiantly.

“You will see the new Church.”

Praxeum simply smiled wearily, and was gone, pulling his hood up, his Force signature disappearing and he slipped away into a side street.

Mage Headquarters, Central Kuat

Grand Mage Aequitas rubbed his eyes again and took another sip of caf. He had been monitoring the location of the High Mage for several hours, and it wasn’t helping that it was over a fortnight since he had last seen a bed. He noticed some red blips on the holographic map of central Kuat and sent yet another message to Serratus, warning him of the roadblock. Sure enough, the small green blip that was the beacon inside Serratus veered off down a side alley. For the first time in hours Aequitas looked away from the computer screen, due to a loud crash heard from downstairs. He assumed it was only his secretary dropping something and carried on looking at the monitor. However, a growing presence in the Force alerted him, but he carried on. He wasn’t really sure why, but he did.

Two men, dressed in the Inquisitorial manner, stood in his doorway. He spared them a baleful glance and then returned his attention to the computer screen. Seemingly unfazed, one of them stepped a pace forward and held out a small scroll, and began to read. “Supremo Finis Valorum, Dark Lord Aequitas, you have...”

Aequitas cut across him, not even looking away from the computer, on which he was now typing avidly. “Spare me the formalities, Inquisitor. I have neither the time nor the patience to indulge you.”

The Inquisitor was taken aback, his mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times before he shook it off and tried again.
“You have been found guilty under Imperial Law of the crime of treason, the punishment for which is...”

“Execution, uh-huh.” Aequitas continued to type. He supposed, in a small corner of his mind that he should have been writing out his last thoughts, testimonies. But there were no thoughts of what to write such in his mind, and he was simply typing nonsense. He still refused to look at the Inquisitors. Boldly, the one who read the scroll stepped forward and extended his arm. His fingers had no more than brushed the surface of Aequitas’ robe before he was flung across the room and into a bookshelf, which collapsed and buried the man under a heap of classic works and wood. The other attempted to draw his saber but he too was smashed through the office doors and into a wall, on which he slid down leaving a trail of blood behind him. He stormed out and looked with remorse at the unconscious form of his receptionist, who lay slumped on the floor. He headed downstairs and saw two more Inquisitors by the door. They both ignited their sabers but with a single gesture Aequitas crushed them into the walls. He threw open the doors and he was outside, the cool, crisp night air freshening his soul. Then he stopped.

A dozen Guardsmen faced him, Gauss rifles at the ready. Aequitas looked at each one slowly and nodded as they were given the order to be ready. As their rifles were loaded with the high penetration rounds he looked into the night sky just as a new firework went streaking off.

“For Emperor Shadow!” He cried.

To the citizens of Kuat, the Grand Mage’s death was just the sound of the firework going off.

Space above Bastion

On the bridge of his immense flagship, Darker Intentions, Supreme Commander Marix felt agitated. He had received a premonition in the Force that Prognie was coming for him, and he had made preparations the only way he knew. Around his Super Star Destroyer, the elements of the fleets that remained loyal to him flew in perfect formation, filling in the gaps left by the entire First, Seventh, Twenty Second and Sixth Fleets. They had gone to Yaga Minor, as per Marix’s orders, to await the signal to make the small jump to hyperspace and hit Prognie’s armada on the flank. Marix sincerely doubted he would receive any more reinforcements, or at least substantial ones. Prognie, on the other hand, would most likely be receiving a near constant flow of Destroyers from every fleet from the Twelfth to the Twenty First. Despite this, Prognie was no military genius. Most likely he would come at Marix with all guns blazing, simply drawing himself further and further into the trap Marix was setting. It was tactically sound. As well as this, in the Sixth Fleet was the Eclipse Super Star Destroyer, the Emperor’s flagship, which bore a superlaser powerful enough to incinerate a Super Star Destroyer in a single blast. Despite all this, Marix was still agitated. He scratched the back of his neck. Something just didn’t feel right, and it wasn’t the calm before the storm. There was something else at work here.

The ship’s captains could easily manage their respective craft in battle. The Supreme Commander’s presence on the bridge would likely only put pressure on the crew – a bit of pressure could be a good thing, but more often than not it wasn’t. Marix disappeared to his personal chambers to meditate, and when the battle came, he would use his talents in Battle Meditation to further push the odds in his favour, even if it meant being locked in a battle of wills with Prognie. At least then Prognie wouldn’t be able to unleash his Force weapons on Marix’s fleets. Those fleets were the Second, Fourth and the Tenth. The Force in Marix’s mind suddenly buzzed as Prognie’s armada appeared in a huge line several ranks deep, stretching over thousands of miles. Immediately scans were run to see which fleets were present in the vast armada. Prognie’s own, the Fifth, were leading them, supported by the Twenty Third. The Ninth and the Eighth were on the left and the right flanks, the Eighth supported by the Twenty Fourth and the Ninth by the Twenty First. Behind them was a wall of durasteel hulls from ships in every fleet from the Eleventh to the Twentieth.

Marix cursed inwardly. He wasn’t expecting either the Eighth or the Ninth. He hadn’t expected Aequitas to be loyal to Prognie, and he definitely hoped Malice would have joined him. He was clearly wrong. Perhaps Prognie had promised the Yuuzhan Vong commander the position which Marix held, if he assisted in their destruction. Sure enough, aboard Prognie’s flagship, The Dark Saber, Prognie communicated with Marix through the Force, asking him to surrender, telling him he was clearly outnumbered and stood no chance. It wasn’t a genuine plea for surrender, it was more to get into Marix’s head, to weaken his resolve and thus that of his men. But Marix wouldn’t fall for it, and he shut Prognie out, giving a silent command to all his ships. Fire at will.

Instantly the relative calm of space was ripped apart by thousands of turbolaser batteries simultaneously opening up on their rival fleets. Ion cannons too were fired, their blue bolts mixing with the green turbolasers and dissolving enemy shields. With a noise like a trillion strong swarm of hornets many variations of TIE craft swooped from hangars across the fleets and accelerated towards their enemy, only to meet the exact same craft coming the other way. Their formations were shattered in an instant as they dissolved into individual dogfights. Occasionally a cruiser would plough its way through the fighter swarms, but they proved too tempting a target for the bigger guns of the Star Destroyers and were quickly destroyed.

Aboard the flagships that led each fleet, a silent battle of wills was taking place between Prognie and Marix. Each refused to let the other use Battle Meditation to inspire their own men and weaken the resolve of the enemy, and the Force raged between them, sweat pouring from each of their brows. The sheer weight of Prognie’s forces was beginning to show as the ships holding Marix’s flanks began to be destroyed, and his armada began to fall back in on itself. His fighters were outnumbered, and often enemy bomber wings would break through and streak towards his capital ships, wreaking havoc before finally the GARDIAN close range defence guns, or a friendly fighter wing, could be diverted to assist. Marix decided Prognie was as compacted as he could be, and he gave the signal.

Instantly, Prognie was aware that Marix had given an order that would change the battle, but not even he anticipated such a huge armada to appear on the side of his own. Alarms blared and on the bridge of every Destroyer in his armada captain’s despaired, only remaining on station to fight because of the Inquisitors, ready to cut down the first man who tried to retreat, on every capital ship.

Downtown Kuat

The small procession of Sith headed through every back alley and side street they found in downtown Kuat, moving slowly towards a hangar. Above them, great triangular metal shapes loomed, going to Bastion to aid Prognie in the ongoing space conflict. They kept their heads down, but often had to jump into dumpsters and other desperate measures of cover as squads of Royal Guard moved past. When they passed houses of other Sith, they would often see a pair of Inquisitors standing outside, and the feelings of the group were clear. They knew what was happening, and they had to stop it.

Suddenly, Serratus, who was leading the group as per Aequitas’ directions, stopped. When asked what happened, he held up his personal computer. “Aequitas’ directions have stopped. I can’t detect him in the Force... I think he’s gone.” There was true emotion, for the first time in years, in his voice. He looked up, at the wall in front of them. He gestured and in a small voice he said “this is the hangar.”

The group edged towards a small door, overgrown with all sorts of growth and clearly never used. When they finally got it open it was clear why. Before them stretched a tiny walkway, barely two feet in width, and about three hundred metres long. In the distance was the hangar, and visible inside was a Guardian-class Star Destroyer. Slowly the Prophets began to cross, led by Mortis. He almost fell when he heard a loud shout behind him. Running at them were twelve red robed and armoured Royal Guard, led by Adenn, brandishing their sabers. Crozeus turned back, igniting his own, and the others did the same, but Serratus shook his head, his weapons drawn.

“They will have more on here before you know it. You must go now. I’ll hold them off.”

Crozeus drew breath and clasped Serratus’ shoulder. The two of them waited for a moment, then Crozeus nodded and went to the bridge, ushering the others along. Serratus sighed and turned around, clasping his weapons together to form a monstrous doublesaber, which he ignited and expertly twirled around. He started to walk towards the Guard, who had formed a line.

“Let’s go.” He said, and charged.