[IC] Holo-Diary - Krassus Yarius Horuset

[Krassus Horuset]

>> BEGIN ARCHIVAL RETRIEVAL: HORUSET.PRIV.LOG_0397-A (DATE UNAVAILABLE)

>> STATUS: CORRUPTED – PARTIAL AUDIO/VISUAL INTEGRITY

>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // KRASSUS HORUSET 

>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY I: Farewell Brother

[HOLO IMAGE GLITCHING...]
The figure flickers violently. A halo of static curls around his silhouette, refracting the evening light of Dromund Kaas. It is unmistakably Krassus, yet younger, thinner, untouched by the Dark side and without his cybernetic replacements. 
His face is pale, drawn, lips moving slowly beneath the distortion.
He is seated upon a moss-covered stone beside the icey watered river running through the lower levels of the Horuset estate. He lowers the hood of his Acolyte robe as he was sure no one saw him wander away from the Acolyte camps. Resting his training blade besides him in the grass. The movements of the hologram, glitching, looping, freezing. 
His voice crackles into focus, barely audible. 

"V—...Valeus..." 

[HOLO IMAGE GLITCHING...]

"... When ...Kromus... sneaked out... for your wed—"

"...I did not go..."

"... Father.... Forbade... So I... Evening training...  as ordered.... My Duty."
A long pause. The image skips. For a brief second, his face contorts—pain, or shame, or perhaps both.

[HOLO IMAGE GLITCHING...]

"...When... K-kromus returned..."

[GLITCHING. CONTINUES..]
"...He was... beaten."

"I-I.... Not Regret it... Then."

[ANOTHER GLITCH... THE SENTENCE LOOPS TWICE]


"But no-now... Last opportunity.... See you."

His words glitch, degrade. Only fragments survive, skipping like a damaged disc.

"Now I...regret... upstart slave..."

"You... older... remote..."

"...studying... never spoke..."

The holo distorts violently. His form vanishes, then reappears. His face blurred, audio warped. When it stabilizes, he's looking directly into the recorder. His voice is low now, hoarse.

"....never will again..."

A beat of silence, Young Krassus' face hardens, in anger, determination. Dealing with sadness in perhaps the one way he was taught to by his father.

"...you dine with Typhojem now..."

"...rest well."

"...I will do you proud..."

[VISUAL END – static flood]

[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]

>> END FRAGMENT.

>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED / REPAIR IMPOSSIBLE.

>> NOTE: Hidden under six layers of encryption. Marked for deletion but never executed.

[Krassus Horuset]

>> BEGIN ARCHIVAL RETRIEVAL: HORUSET.PRIV.LOG_097F_A (DATE CORRUPTED)

>> STATUS: DEGRADED — PARTIAL AUDIO/VISUAL INTEGRITY 

>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // KRASSUS HORUSET

>> OPENING FILE… ENTRY II: The Vision

[HOLO IMAGE STABILIZING…]

A flicker of static splits the screen. Faint artillery thunder rolls in the background. Distant, then close, then gone. The desert winds of Anx Minor whip coarse dust over shattered terrain. The silhouette resolves: a young Krassus, early in his Apprenticeship. Warrior’s robes, battle-worn. His face is harder now. More angular. His eyes deep set and troubled.

He sits within a shattered ruin, visor on his lap. Sweat-slicking his browridges. His red hair stuck to his face. Glancing at the recorder.

[HOLO AUDIO FRAGMENT RECOVERED…]

“…When I was… young… plagued… by a drea—no… not a dream…”

[STATIC FLICKER — AUDIO SPIKE]

“…Every night… weeks without end. The same. Always the same…”

“…No dream. A vision.”

[HOLO IMAGE GLITCH FAINT PITCH OSCILLATION]

“…Alone. Suspended in the black between stars. Space without shape. Motionless. Breathless. *Ageless.*”

“…I try to scream. but my voice is lost to the void. It swallows everything.”

“…Yet then…”

[LOW AUDIO RUMBLE—SIGNATURE MATCH: REPUBLIC LONG RANGE ARTILLERY STRIKE DETONATION]

“… Our sigil... the Horuset Sun..  appears. Alive. Sentient. Starfire incarnate.”

“…Radiant… Terrifying…  Its face familiar yet unknown... Beyond my comprehension.. Eldritch.”

[VISUAL STRETCH IMAGE LAG: SUBJECT OVEREXPOSED]

“…It notices me..."

"It speaks without sound. It knows me... Unknowable knowledge imparted..”

“…It burns the flesh from my bones, sears my eyes into ash… and Yet I still see it... Feel it.. I am consumed by it.”

“…Its power is limitless. Its presence a divine horror. Typhojem given fiery form. A will older than time. Expanding. Consuming. All things die in its fiery light..."

[HOLO STATIC FRAME DROP: 36% LOSS DETECTED]

“…But then it slows. Something wrong.”

“…Its light fractures. Its core twists. It recoils inward... groaning under its own gravity. It… stagnates.”

“…It hardens. Screams. But there is no sound. A silent cry.”

“…And then. It rots. Cracks. Collapses. Blackened husk drifting through the void…”

“…Dead.”

[VISUAL LOOP—3 FRAMES REPEATING, THEN STABILIZE]

“…Then…”

“…From the corpse of the Sun… two Sith emerge.”

“…Hooded. Cloaked.”

“…They walk as one. Brotherly. Familiar. The fire of the fallen sun returns… igniting in their wake.”

“…Legions rise beneath them. Banners snap in solar winds. Worlds bend knees in silence.”

“…Empires built with a gesture. Enemies unmade with a glance.”

“…And one of them… places a crown upon the other..."

"A fiery crown... Made of the essence of the once blazing sun... the crown of Horuset…”

“…The sun… Reborn in their image.."

[STATIC INTERRUPT AUDIO DESYNCED, CONTINUES UNSTABLE]

“…I told Kromus. He believed it. Called it… our destiny. His destiny…”

“…He dreamed of glory."

“… He said... I saw my hands place the crown on his head.”

“…But now…”

[AUDIO FLICKER]

[LOW AUDIO RUMBLE—SIGNATURE MATCH: REPUBLIC LONG RANGE ARTILLERY STRIKE DETONATION]

“…Here, on Anx Minor… I see the cracks…”

“…The same cracks that shattered the dream. The rot. The nd.”

[BACKGROUND: ARTILLERY DISTANTLY ECHOES // ENVIRONMENTAL SENSOR: WIND RISING]

A LONG PAUSE—SILENCE EXCEPT FOR THE WIND

“Kromus is gone... Missing... Or training... Not here.”

HOLO IMAGE DISTORTION KRASSUS' EXPRESSION FLICKERS BETWEEN ANGER AND EXHAUSTION

“He is nowhere to be found.... I am alone”

[VISUAL END – static flood]

[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]

>> END FRAGMENT.

>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED / REPAIR IMPOSSIBLE.

>> NOTE: Hidden under six layers of encryption. Marked for deletion but never executed.

[Krassus Horuset]

>> BEGIN ARCHIVAL RETRIEVAL: HORUSET.PRIV.LOG_02190-A (DATE MARKED AS ALSOLUN CAMPAIGN)

>> STATUS: INTEGRITY 100%

>> SOURCE: PERSONAL DEVICE // KRASSUS HORUSET 

>> OPENING FILE...ENTRY III: The Gnawing
The image of Krassus would appear of the holo, in perfect quality, no glitching to be found. Aged since the last recording my some years. His features hardened, darkened. Jewelry was set in his face and the Dark Side had begun highlighting the veins buried below the surface of his crimson skin. His arms joined behind the small of his back as he paced the floor of his assigned room.

His body language, not that of his usual disciplined and military nature, but that of a warrior without a foe, a beast without prey. Restless. 
His warrior Robes now sun-bleached and carbon scored, its fringes tattered, torn and still stained with the sands and dried bits of viscera of battles past.  His crimson hair cut short in a cropped military cut. Although the grim rigid and stoic 'mask' of a matching expression that usually accompanied it was not present. Krassus was laid bare on the recording, meant only for his own journaling.

"I do not sleep. Not properly."

"I do not dream anymore, not truly... Only fragments.  gutted echoes that vanish the moment I stir. And yet, I wake as if fresh from a battlefield... Drenched in sweat, my head pounding like a drum."

"My mind whirs, but not with thought. There is -Something- festering, something pulling at the edges of my consciousness... Something I cannot explain, and something I cannot Purge from my thoughts."

Krassus said as he clenched his fists, the mechanical joints in his cybernetic left arm whirring with the movement.

"It began subtly. I thought it was fatigue. Some overexertion from battle, sparring or extended training sessions."

"But this this... this thing. It grows. It gnaws. Not like hunger, for hunger is purposeful. Nor like pain, for pain sharpens. This is something different."

"It is without shape, without reason. A quiet, aching hollowness that presses against my sternum and nests beneath my eyes... I try to crush it, focus on my duties and our task here... And yet it remains."

"I focus my rage into our enemy, into my tasks, Into my training... But I cannot quiet the gnawing even as I draw Power from it... It only retreats and waits."

Krassus sighs running his hands through his hair as he pulls out a chair and sits, gazing emptily at the durasteel walls of his quarters. 

"I have done so well in the recent months... My alliance with Rhysand continues to strengthen... Into perhaps something more... Friendship perhaps I would call it if not for the fact we were Sith... The Dark Lords approve of my plans... My strength in the Dark Side only grows... I have been given more authority... Tasks to complete here on Alsolun... This is war... This is where I Thrive."

"I am fulfilling my purpose... My duty... Just recently I had disciplined restored... That private punished. Suspended in agony, screaming beneath the lashes of the whip at my command... Yet still I feel... Nothing."

"No satisfaction. No elevation. Not even the cleansing heat of anger.... Just that emptiness again and again. That gnawing... I do not understand it... I have no word for it."

"It weakens me in ways I cannot explain... Not in combat or in politics.. No. There I remain supreme, practiced, mechanical in precision. But when I return to my quarters, or find myself alone... I falter."

"My thoughts slow. The air grows thicker... I feel heavy, sluggish... Unmoored. Unfocused"

"This thing.. This sickness... It is supposed to fuel me... And yet it does not... Not entirely.  My connection to the Dark Side Deepens with it... yet I feel myself tipping, drowning in it... I fear this is a source of emotion I do not control... But that it controls me.."

With that Krassus grit his teeth in anger, slamming a mechanical fist into the table. As if the only way he can express this emotion is through rage.

"I am not unused to pain. It has been my companion for most of my life. I built my strength upon its agony. But this is not pain... It is absence. A coldness where something once was..."

"A certainty perhaps... An assurance of a future that I have not felt since.... Since Vaera... Since she left.. Since she..."

The thought goes unfinished as Krassus sits up... A weaknes.. that is always what Vaera had called what twisted, bastardised, version of love was between them. Krassus had never truly understood why. To him it had always been a blessing, a spot of welcoming velvet in a sea of gray. A softness he had never known before. Yet now that she is gone, Krassus begins to understand what she meant with it.... And the thought seems to scare him.

[VISUAL END – static flood]

[AUDIO TERMINATED – no further signal detected]

>> END FRAGMENT.

>> FILE STATUS: LOCKED