<span class="mu-i">A cruel face-splitting smile extends across your terrible visage as you gaze through eyes that aren’t your own.
It is finally beginning.
The flutters in the Force were once nothing but the timidest ripples upon a crystal calm pond. Only a being with millennia of experience could recognise the slow, quiet hum that has been building for ever so long. Only you. And now those imperceptible ripples are now wild ravenous waves, clawing and crashing, building into an almighty crescendo. You’ve felt this before, seen it before, but only twice. The first time was when the galaxy ripped itself apart with the death of its monarch, and the second was when those from distant stars raped the galaxy. Both caused the same response, the Force wailed and screeched, echoing its pain throughout time at the death of trillions.

But there is something different. Something you have never tasted in the scent of the Force. Not just the red-hot agony at the incredible scale of death, something cold, something utterly black. It is ice to your ephemeral flesh and non-existent blood. You have not feared your second death; so much time has passed you thought yourself unable to even feel fear; a part of you even yearns for the freedom of final nothingness. This sick onyx void perturbs you; its unnatural emptiness has infected you, leaving an illness deep in your core. You, of course, would deny it to anyone who would ask; if you had anyone to speak to, you have even managed to deny it to yourself. The heat of your rage and burning desire for revenge masks it, burying it, as you smile with glee at the devastation about to unfold.</span>