A Darth's first step

First voice: the Cycle:
Darth Rayisadni kneels inside of Isatri’s meditation chamber on her flagship, mere days after escaping Bizikia and the chaos that ended Cogadh and Birthed him, also the place where Cogadh’s accidental and instinctual use of drain Knowledge caused him force Psychosis and to be trapped with 4 voices in his head of the four unlucky Imperial soldiers.
 
Now here he meditates, it was time to deal with the voices. If he can’t get rid of them then he will change them, rework them, one by one, from enemies screaming at him, cussing him, annoying him and fighting with him.
 
Closing his eyes under his helmet he dives into his mind, drawing on his connection to the force and his emotions, as he enters his mental plane, his psyche and mental presentation staring at the mental representation of the voices and who they used to be, focusing on one of the voices and with the control he has on his mind locks the other representations away with some strain and resistance on their part.
 
“You don't belong here…. Traitor. You think killing us makes you a god?”
 
Rayisadni lets out a low chuckle as he faces the voice and draws on the force as his eyes glow an eerie red. “This mind, this body is mine, but even then you are wrong. You cling to the illusion of belonging. I did not kill you for godhood. I killed you to know.”
 
Voice: “you drained us like cattle. You left our brothers screaming. You devoured our minds.”
 
Rayisandi: “And yet, here you are — still screaming. You fear oblivion so deeply.” he takes a breath and hums as chains lash and wrap themselves onto the voices' mental representation. “You let your hate keep you alive. Tell me, soldier… what did your Empire teach you of endings?”
 
The spectre growls, stepping forwards as far as it can with the chains stopping it, restraining it as it struggles to approach the Darth. “That the empire is Eternal. That order must survive chaos.”
 
Rayisadni smiles under the helmet as he starts draining the voice using his understanding of force drain and pushing the force into it, using his understanding of Sith Alchemy, to inflict his will on the voice and change it. “Order… survives through destruction. You served a lie, soldier. Your Empire is not eternal, it fell to the might of the eternal empire, it has fallen and risen many times. This is what I represent. The truth of the galaxy: The Cycle, the Storm that births, devours, and births again through destruction.”
Voice snarling in pain as it weakens and slowly painfully changes. “Your madness given form”
 
Rayisadni humming: “no. I am clarity born from ruin. You will see it —- or you will be broken.”
 
Rayisadni extends his hand and focuses more on the soldier, the mental plane trembles as the soldier's form begins to distort, his anger, memories, pains, fears, desires feeding the storm as Rayisadni drains and changes the soldier. “You are not my Enemy. Not anymore. You will become the whispers that reminds me — every end feeds the next Beginning.”
 
The soldier screams as his form dissolves into tendrils of light and shadow, coiling into Rayisandi's chest. His voice fades — not gone, but transformed — now a calm, cold murmur deep in the Sith’s mind.
 
“Destruction is the seed of renewal.”
 
Rayisadni exhales, panting from the mental strain, for the first time a voice no longer screams at him, a shadow forms behind him, a seven foot tall shadowy Pureblood with hollow eyes that are a swirl of red and brown, a sign of what the figure looks like before, the voice rewritten into the first of his Philosophy. The Cycle.
 
As he opens his eyes in the real world to take a breather and rest before preparing to work on the next voice he speaks with an echo of a second voice, mixing with his but a slight delay when it speaks and a slightly higher octave of a pitch. “There is no Self. There is only the Cycle. And I am inevitable, like an oncoming storm.”
 
 
Second Voice: the Storm:
 
After a while Rayisadni, once rested, reenters his mindscape, sitting in a meditative state breathing in and out evenly, as he closes his eyes. Looking ahead once he is in his mindscape he sees the 3 remaining Voices, using his control on his mind he, grunting in effort but not much as before, as The Cycle rises from the ground behind him and assists him by unleashing shadow tendrils to bind the other two in chainlike shadows.
 
Rayisadni focuses on the voice of the soldier he separated from the others, a calm hum escapes his lips as he observes them, Lightning sparking across the mindscape around them as a low stormy howl is heard, while it takes the shape of a Soldier in Blackened armor appears, his chestplate cracked, his body wreathed in lightning. His voice echoes like artillery, thunder in human form,
 
“You think you can silence us? You think you can chain what you don’t understand?” the soldier shouts, his teeth bared as his eyes stare wildly at Rayisadni brimming with hatred as the soldier paces from side to side.
 
Rayisadni stares at the soldier, calmly, unfazed by the storm that rages before him in his own mind, his voice echoing with that of the Cycle, two people speaking as one. “You are just noise — raw, untamed will without direction. I can chain the storm because I am its core.”
 
The soldier growls, leaping at Rayisadni, lashing out with a fist at the Darth as he screams in rage. “You? You are a thief of Souls. A coward hiding behind ritual and riddles!”
 
Rayisadni lets out a sigh as he weaves around the punch, grabbing the soldier by their neck and slamming them into the ground, as lightning cracks across his mindscape and the howl grows louder, his body sears with memories of pain, hatred and the echoes of screams. “I am no coward, Soldier. You charged into fire to die for a banner that would abandon you, if deemed useless. I became the fire that consumed your squad.”
 
The voice staggers to his feet as Rayisadni lets him go, glaring at the Sith, and the shadow that now stalks him, his body crackling with lightning as his emotions fluctuate, his voice trembling with emotions. “They didn’t deserve to die! I didn’t deserve to die. You stole my life!”
 
Rayisadni, his breathing steady as he slowly draws on the force, using the soldiers emotions as fuel as he unleashes shadowy chains to bind the soldier, sapping him of strength, as Rayisadni sends the force and his will into the soldier, slowly and painfully twisting and corroding what once was to what now will be. “Deserve? There is no Deserving. Only the Inevitable.” His aura flaring as he reaches out, the shadowy Cycle mimicking him, as the Soldier lets out a horrified scream, the storm raging louder in the background as he feels his insides bubble and boil, his mind slowly changing. “You rage because you remember what it means to be alive. That is the storm’s truth, unending motion. I will not silence you. I will shape you.”
 
The storm surges, as the soldier rushes at him futilely, as Rayisadni restrains him with more chains, chanting lowly. “From chaos, purpose. From fury, direction. From destruction, rebirth.”
 
The soldier’s form begins to twist and break apart into lightning, being absorbed into Rayisadni slowly, piece by piece, as the soldier struggles weakens, becoming limp as the lightning implodes inwards, following the tethers towards the Darth and being absorbed into his mental aspects veins. The soldiers screams become a roar that merges with his breath. The storm explodes into white light, followed by a deafening silence. Rayisadni remains standing with a faint glow of static energy crawling over him as it breaks off and forms behind him, into a 7 foot tall armored warrior of red Lightning, his eyes a dull blue, his form flickering like static, unstable. Now overlapping with two voices this new one is staticky, like someone speaking into a Fan. “The storm is not chaos. It is the Rhythm of the will, destruction, renewal, inevitability. The storm is me.”
 
Before he exits his mind and collapses panting and out of breath. 2 down only 2 remain. Taking a breather, he rests and reenergizes before he begins again, making sure he is fully rested. All fall to inevitability eventually.
 
Third Voice: The Inevitable:
 
Ready to start tackle the next voice, Rayisadni now fully rested and refreshed sit’s back down in the meditation chamber of Isatri, taking calming breaths he closes his eyes and meditates, entering his mindscape as the cycle and the storm form behind him, one in a lightning strike, the other rising out of the shadows. Rayisadni hums as he, with the support of the storm and the cycle, separates the last two voices and focuses on the one now in front of him, as the other voice is again temporarily trapped in a cage out of sight and out of mind, figuratively.
 
“...so it ends as all things do. The same arrogance, the same hunger, repeating itself.”
 
The air ripples as a figure emerges, the voice's representation, an old looking imperial officer, armor polished to shine, rank insignia faintly gleaming. He bears no weapon, his eyes hollow, yet knowing. He looks upon Rayisadni with pity more than hatred.
 
Rayisadni cocks his head to the side, observing the officer in front of him with curiosity in his eyes, noticing this one is different from the last two, before speaking with the echoes of the cycle and the storm in his voice. “You are different. No rage. Only acceptance.”
 
The officer lets out a sigh, almost showing how old he is, or well used to be when he was still alive. “Because I've seen this before. Empires rise, fall, and rise again. The banners change, the names fade, but the hunger remains. Even now you think you’re shaping destiny… when you're only repeating it.”
 
Rayisadni hums in thought, weighing the officer's words. “Repeating, yes. But refinement is repetition with memory. You misunderstand the nature of the Cycle.”
 
The officer shakes his head, looking at Rayisadni with bitterness that is matched by the tone of his voice. “And you misunderstand freedom. You think inevitability makes you wise, but you’ve only surrendered.”
 
Rayisadni rises slowly, his presence towering yet calm, as he stares the officer in the eyes as the Storm flickers agitatedly and the Cycle shadowy form shifts in and out of focus. “Surrender? No, I became the Inevitable. To resist the inevitable is to fracture oneself against reality. The wise flow with the current — and become it.”
 
The officer shakes his head. “Thats the delusion of every tyrant — to name their submission enlightenment.”
 
Rayisadni, reaches out drawing on his passion as he wills shadowy tendrils to latch onto the Officer with a calm smirk as he begins the slow process to corrode and twist the Officer like the others. “And yet, you obeyed tyrants your whole life.”
 
The Officer pauses, unable to refute the words of the young Darth. “...yes. Because order was all I knew.”
 
“Then let me show you what order truly means.” Rayisadni responds as he extends his hands not in violence, but in quiet command. The officer shifts, feeling the Will of Rayisadni invade his being, twisting and corroding him as he futilely tries to struggle to little too late, as the mindscape changes showing a scene of a battlefield frozen in time, every broken blade, every torn banner suspended in perfect stillness. “This is the truth beneath the storm. Every motion finds stillness. Every will exhausts itself. Even resistance decay into silence.”
 
The officer asks softly as he feels himself fade and change. “And in the silence?” a slight tremble in his voice.
 
“The Inevitable.” Rayisadni responds darkly, as his smirk turns cruel and he puts more focus into twisting and corroding the Officer, their body dissolving into white dust, like ash carried by unseen wind as he fades, his voices no longer fights, it surrenders to the will of the Darth. “All paths return to the same end… The Inevitable.”
 
The dust swirls around Rayisadni, forming behind him into a 7 foot tall, Ashen monk, with glowing white eyes, and a calm facade, his robe rippling with each motion as ash drips from the form eternally. The Inevitable’s voice old and ashen mixes with the storm and the cycle into Rayisadni’s own voice. “There is no victory, no defeat. Only the Turning Only the collapse that makes room for birth. The will does not resist — it endures.”
 
Rayisadni opens his eyes and pants lightly, this one wasn’t as hard as the last two but the last one won’t be easy as they will most likely put up the most fight, he takes a breather and mentally prepares himself for the final confrontation.
 
 
Final Voice: The Will:
 
Rayisadni, for hopefully the final time, sits inside Isatri’s meditation chamber, breathing in deeply as he closes his eyes and meditates entering his mindscape. Opening his eyes, The Inevitable, The Storm and The cycle form behind him in a flash of lightning, a rising shadow and a whirlwind of ash, staring ahead they come face to face with the final voice.
 
“.... you think you’ve found peace in surrender? You think becoming the storm makes you free?” The voice echoes as it forms like broken mirror shards, twisted by the memories of Cogadh Rugadh, the final soldier’s identity was tainted, for there before Rayisadni, stands not a Soldier of the Empire, but Cogadh Rugadh, the 7 foot tall, Red pureblood, with glowing red eyes, shaggy Black Hair, golden piercings and wearing his old battle armor that lays forgotten on Bizikia, his scarred face staring at Rayisadni, bloodstained yet resolute.
 
Rayisadni, blinks, tilts his head and hums as he observes this new development. “So…. this is the final one. Interesting how you were tainted by the memories of Cogadh.”
 
Cogadh shakes his head, glaring defiantly at Rayisadni, his voice laced with barely contained anger and hatred. “No. This is the first one. The one you tried to bury beneath all your borrowed philosophies.”
 
Rayisadni hums, staring at Cogadh as he gathers his emotions, confusion and intrigue radiating above the rest, and gathers the force inside his mindscape. “You are a Remnant — an instinct clinging to identity. I have no self left to bury.”
 
Cogadh snarls and lunges at Rayisadni. “Liar.”
 
Lightning flickers across the dark water as Cogadh dashes towards Rayisadni, his eyes glowing red as he rears back a fist. The air fills with the scent of blood and steel — the scent of battle, of survival, of life that refuses to yield. “I fought for meaning. For people. For my Empire. For my Master. Then for Myself, to become the most powerful in existence, to deny those who wish me dead. Then you—”
 
“----burned it all to fuel transcendence.” Rayisadni finishes as he closes in on Cogadh with unparalleled speed, kicking him back, as he stares at what he used to be impassively wondering if this was truly who he was.
Cogadh snarls in pain as he is forced back, glaring at the Darth. “You call it transcendence. I call it cowardice. You can’t face what you lost, so you built this temple of Inevitability to hide from the pain.”
 
The words cut deeper than any saber. Rayisadni narrows his eyes as his hands tighten, the air becoming statically charged as lightning sparks around his fists in an angry red glow. He responds in a harsh tone. “Pain is nothing. Pain ends. Only the Cycle remains.”
 
Cogadh scoffs humorlessly as he prepares to charge at the darth again. “Pain is the will. It’s proof you’re still alive.”
 
Rayisadni gathers the force around him as he rushes Cogadh and smashes a fist into his gut, his helmet hiding the snarl on Rayisadni’s face. “Life is a brief spark in the Storm.”
 
 
Cogadh grunts and stumbles back with a growl, as pain and lightning surges through him, he then creates a fireball with the force and throws it at Rayisadni with a yell. “Then Burn damn you! Burn as I did, not as some empty god muttering about destiny and this so-called Cycle!”
 
The fireball slams into Rayisadni, Erupting around him as he uses his knowledge of Cryokinesis to steal the heat from the fire and slowly walk out of it as Images surge through Rayisadni’s head, Cogadhs father’s ruthless training, joining the Academy, training under Exyda, becoming a Lord, fighting to the death 4 times to become a councilor, rising through the ranks of the jen kovoti, becoming a beast master, every betrayal, every rise and fall, every emotion he ever felt from despair to rage, from sadness to humiliation, from betrayal to disappointment. Every reason Cogadh fought and survived, every reason why he was stubborn to his core.
 
He unleashes a scream that shakes his mindscape and echoes into reality as he grabs Cogadh and pumps his will and the force into him, corroding him and twisting him. “You are gone. You are done. You existed because you were the last piece I must understand. The will that started this path. That even gods and monsters fall without the will to rise.”
 
Cogadh grunts as his form shakes and shatters like glass “The Will, a spark that moves all things.” His voice echoes, sounding cold and calm, moving towards Rayisadni and twisting around him in a whirlwind before forming into a 7 foot tall reflective Warrior, In Cogadh’s old Jen’forja Kovoti gear, Silver with glowing purple eyes through the helmet visor. As his cold voice mixes with the others into Rayisadni. “I am no longer Cogadh, But I carry his will, his desire that birthed me. I am the Cycle’s blade, the Storm’s voice, the Inevitable’s truth and the Will that turns them all.”
 
Rayisadni opens his eyes back in Isatris meditation chamber and collapses to the floor in exhaustion, this taking more out of him then he expected, to think the 4th soldier became so corroded with Cogadhs memory and personality that it was like a remnant of his will defiant to the end. He lets a cold smirk spread across his lips. “All shall fall to Inevitability, Nothing is Eternal.”