For eight days, the torches burned. Archaic light flickered through the ancient catacombs, and monstrous shadows danced on the sand brick walls. Vaults were unsealed by multi-pronged chisels, but the Great Living God had not the patience of his elders. His saber of fire cut through stone. He trespassed into the tombs of the priestesses, and he tore the covers off their sarcophagi. He pillaged the scrolls of the dead, unconcerned with retribution from the elders. He burned with the knowledge fervor for which not even prayers to Simus the Wise would cure.

The Great Living God pursued the quest of his forbears--the quest for power. This treasure alluded him, but his companion, the God General, increased his bounty daily. With the Masked General and the Snake Woman, he annexed worlds of wealth. Luminous stones were imported daily to decorate the Great Temple of Kun, but this luxury did not satisfy him; even the pleasures of the acrobats did not sedate his rampages. The Eight Priests pondered what materials he sought to accompany him to the afterlife, but the youngest invoked the wisdom of Kalgrath--"The logic of gods is not our logic."

If only the Massassi understood that the Great Living God and the Dark Lord of the Sith was only Exar Kun. The Force slithered through his veins, poisoned by desire for power. Through the Dark Side, one obtained perfection; but venomous doubt nibbled at his heart. He was the Master, not the Apprentice, as Marka Ragnos ordained. So, why did Ulic rapture with victory? Even his attachment to Mandalore and Aleema did not undermine him as systems kneeled to Ulic the Merciful. Kun needed to enhance his own black aura not only for the sake of power, but to have Ulic kneel in submission and acknowledge his supremacy. Only then would they cease to be equals.

This ancient repository of knowledge had few answers. Sith pictographs were flaked, but the abstract symbolism had been forgotten by the Massassi. Scrolls with ornamental calligraphy survived the millennia, but the majority were cosmic histories or carnal poems. Some papers had riddles from the Ancient Ones that were as vague as Jedi Masters, though translations proved them to be about celebrities from three thousand years ago. There had to be some enlightening words somewhere in this labyrinth!

Kun summoned his chief servant in the lilted of the Sith, and the wizened Massassi strode toward him on swollen feet.

"Nismut, is there any chamber I have not searched?"

The Massassi wrung his gnarled hands, "Great Master, the only stones left unturned are at the vault of Banut."

"The Termite God?"

"The Flea God," Nismut corrected. "We too think little of him, but even he must be honored in the House of Hamunu."

"Take me to his chamber!"

"As you wish, Great Master."

With torch in hand, Nismut guided Kun through dimmed labyrinth. The official entrouge maintained respectable space between the Great Living Gods and themselves, and surprised laborers demurred at the sight of the obsidian-haired deity. The journey ceased near the central air shaft where idlers ate their midmorning meal. The vegetables reeked like Bantha breath, but whiffs of refuse usurped human olfactory senses.

"Garbage!" Kun scoffed. "Nismut, the workers will not desecrate this place with filth and ilk!"

"Great Master, Banut cannot be offended for--"

"A plague on Banut, I want the garbage removed!"

"Great Master, that garbage is from our forebears who--"

"Ancient trash!" Kun gagged. "What type of civilization preserves such stench for eons?"

"Great Master, it is written that Banut accepts the worst from us because he knows the best for us."

"Fine, get someone to go down there and pilfer it for anything worthwhile."

"I would be honored to do it myself, Great Master."

"Then do it!"

Nismut surrendered his torch to his wide-eyed lieutenant, and he approached his attendants to explicate his delicate mission. He secured himself with karatvine rope that one of his attendants carried ever so conveniently. After praying for the blessings of Banut, three muscular warriors held onto one end of the rope as Nismut plummeted down the aromatic shaft.

Kun squinted at this spectacle, "He has no light source."

"Great Master," one of the warriors replied, "Nismut needs no light when he served eleven years in sanitation for he has more than just eyes."

Kun cursed in his own tongue as he observed the proceedings. The length of rope disappeared until the warriors crouched at the edge of the shaft. Their knuckles darkened from the strain of holding onto the rope, perhaps agitated by memories of the rope fibers used in whips for punishing incompetent foot soldiers. Nismut bided his time, and the warriors struggled with their footing.

Kun frowned, "Tell that old warrior to get up here and send someone younger down."

Though meters from these muttered words, serendipitous words were uttered from the bowels of the temple, "I have it!"

The warriors pulled Nismut from the stench, though he brought greater stink to their noses from crisp scrolls cradled in his arms.

"Toilet paper?" Kun coughed. "You brought me toilet paper?"

"Pardon me Great Master, but toilet paper?" Nismut laughed. "Every being I know uses leaves. These here are scrolls!"

Kun approached Nismut, with plugged nose of course, and seized the scrolls. Though his arms were overburdened, he managed to unravel one set of triple ply paper. He scanned the indecipherable logograms, and cursed at his ignorance. The Force bequeathed knowledge but why did it withhold the knowledge to cipher Sith texts?

"This is worthless!" Kun lamented. "This is junk!"

"Oh, Great Master, you have it upside down."

Kun reddened at the Massassi laborer reading over his armored shoulder, "I know that, but I am testing your knowledge. Now, why not read it to me?"

The laborer pointed at him, "Oh, Great Master, I am humbled by this high, high honor, for I--"

"Take the scroll and read it!"

The laborer bowed before unburdening Kun of the unraveled scroll. His crimson eyes squinted beneath the extinguishing firelight, and furrow lines formed around his amphibious mouth.

"Well, what does it say?"

The laborer trembled at the Force projection in the furious voice, "Oh, Great Master, it reads thus:

In Jedi civilization

There exists great stagnation.

Since they do not evolve, they die,

And their souls fall to the sky.

Alone, the insidious one

Chooses the son from the shadows;

He has fire in his burnt lungs

To breathe death on those who know

He strode toward malignant life

To rescue his sacrificed wife.

His pyre flames toward the heavens

Until stars explode at Yavin.

He crawls from his ebony craft,

And he searches with lethal wrath.

Why, his blood is his forlorn hope,

And the violence it does provoke!

So it was written, so it shall be done. Woe, woe be upon the Sith, monk or nun, for the Time of Darkness shall be undone, so says I, Marka Ragnos.�

Kun seized the scroll from the literate laborer, �That is hullabaloo!�

�Oh, Great Master, I only read what I saw.�

�This is garbage!� Kun asserted. �Nismut, dispose of this stinky libel!�

�Yes, Great Master!�

With indignant huffs, Kun tossed the scrolls toward his trusted servant, �Burn them.�

Nismut stifled his infectious curiosity for the documents, but one did not disobey gods. He dropped the artifacts to the floor, and his lieutenant torched them. They crackled in the cackling flames to become indecipherable ruins after eons of preservation. Another artifact was lost to the ages. Yet, the Great Living God forget that among the ashes lay his own defeat.

Even Sith Lords die.