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How easy it is to surrender to sin. To succumb to rot and ruin. What an available temptation.
These were the thoughts which had ravaged the dark abyss of Zara Lazarus's mind, as she had navigated her way through the shadow-soaked, Imperial training facility of her creation. Of her immaculate conception of herself.
Zara was dreaming again. Dreaming of her rise from the ashes, her genesis. The destruction of that feeble glass girl, wandering aimless through the galaxy, and her subsequent, glorious resurrection as a goddess, a harbinger of death. If - when Zara's eyes fluttered shut - she was not led to the dazzling, white plains of paradise by Solaris, she would travel alone to the demonic place of her creation. The creation of the White Death.
The training facility was a hellish place. Located on a scorched fragment of land on Mustafar, outside the compound, lava flowed like rivers of hellfire and ash rained like black petals of decay. The nature of the facility itself was forever burned into Zara's memory, a scorch mark on the onyx purgatory of her mind. The steel building had a cold, clinical feel and was enveloped in perpetual darkness. It was an anomaly amongst the hellish, volcanic wasteland, yet, it was this man-made structure that was the most godless aspect of the planet of all. Shrouded in darkness and chilled by an unforgiving cold, it was a theatre of despair where Zara's destiny was entwined with the Empire's malevolence.
It was a the place where she had lost her humanity.
Surrounded by Vader's ominous presence and an army of relentless stormtroopers, within the facility she had embarked on a journey that demanded her soul, a request from Satan himself. The very air was thick with the acrid scent of sulphur, a haunting perfume of her descent into the abyss. Every footstep reverberated with a foreboding echo, as though the very earth beneath her bore witness to her transformation. Amidst the oppressive silence of the facility, whatever challenge she was partaking of, Zara could hear the raspy whisper of Vader's voice within her mind, a perpetual eerie serenade that urged her to forsake her limits, to surrender to the sinister allure of the dark side. His words, like tendrils of shadow, slithered through her thoughts, tugging at the edges of her sanity.
Today, was the day of her reckoning. The day she would become the Empire's sole assassin.
Her. Invictus.
The trials began with a symphony of violence - an orchestra of battle droids, their metallic limbs clanging with a cruel rhythm. In her trembling hand, she wielded a vibroblade, its ominous hum cutting through the stillness, like a glass dagger through the soul. With each calculated swing, sparks danced in the air as droid after droid fell before her like toy soldiers. Pain surged through her body, ichor pouring out of her porcelain skin, yet she persevered, her every movement a dance of desperation and fury. Amidst the chaos, blaster bolts seared the air, leaving trails of incandescent anger in their wake. Zara's heart raced, and the world blurred, a dark phantasmagoria, as she fought to survive, her very being aflame with a twisted sense of pride. She was a tempest in the dark, a creature of vengeance, and she revelled in the carnage she wrought.
