The Eternal Emperor

In the ethereal expanse of Mortis, a realm where reality and the abstract intertwine, Lelouch sat upon an ornate throne, its design a fusion of imperial grandeur and arcane symbolism. Before him stretched a vast chessboard, each piece meticulously crafted to represent the intricate dance of power and strategy that defined his existence. Opposite him loomed the imposing figure of Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, whose ever-shifting form seemed to blur the boundaries between the tangible and the conceptual. 

The ambient light of Mortis cast a surreal glow over the scene, illuminating the chessboard where the black pieces stood in a precarious position. While numerous pawns awaited their turn off the board, the active pieces had dwindled to a vulnerable few. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, a silent testament to the high stakes of their metaphysical contest. 

Tzeentch's voice, a harmonious blend of countless tones, broke the silence. "The Chosen One spirals ever closer to the precipice," he intoned, his eyes—constantly shifting pools of color—fixated on the board. "We must intervene before he overturns the game entirely. Should the Jedi perceive the true nature of events and evade the Sith's snare, a civil war will be inevitable. The Force needs to be rattled, disturbed, and it has set itself up for it. " 

Lelouch's gaze remained steady, his expression a mask of calculated calm. "For you to suggest that the Force is self-sabotaging... I trust your insight," he replied, his fingers idly tracing the contours of a black king piece. "But I am curious—what leads you to this conclusion?" 

A knowing smile played across Tzeentch's ever-changing features. "You perceive the Force as a mere entity, limited by the constraints of lesser beings," he responded, his tone both chiding and enlightening. "We are susceptible to harm; it is not. This multiverse—its creation, sustenance, and eventual dissolution—are all manifestations of the Force. It embodies energy, life, death, and the myriad experiences that lie between. Destroy this entire multiverse, and the energy would merely allow another one to be created." 

Lelouch's eyes gleamed with a spark of revelation. "Absorption, then...?" he mused, the concept unfolding in his mind like a complex stratagem. 

Tzeentch's smile widened, a gesture that conveyed both amusement and approval. Leaning back, he allowed a moment of contemplation before speaking. "Such an endeavor would be futile," he declared, his voice resonating with the weight of cosmic law. "To absorb the Force is to deny it its very purpose. Like a cornered beast, it would retaliate with unbridled ferocity, indifferent to the collateral damage. No being born of the Force can hope to subjugate it. Only entities whose essence surpasses the totality of this multiverse's energy might attempt such a feat—and such beings are exceedingly rare. Divine entities capable of challenging their own Source at such an early stage typically emerge late in their respective domains, like myself, and like so, the Source itself, has had a good long while to develop, making it all but impossible to be challenged. Consider the All-Father of Mortis: obsessed with preserving the status quo. A quintessential example of a stagnant god, neither advancing nor retreating, merely maintaining. The Son? A blinded fool who sought the material realm. They were such because that is the level of development of the Force itself." 

Lelouch absorbed these insights, his mind a whirlwind of analysis and conjecture. He twirled the king piece between his fingers, the motion a subconscious reflection of his inner deliberations. "So," he began, his voice measured and contemplative, "while I have my theories, perhaps it's time to articulate the underlying truth. My guess... It pertains to the Force's simplistic modus operandi at this stage in tis own development, our intrinsic integration within it, and the expanding influence we wield... not to mention my Geass's capacity to overwrite consciousness. Yet, as you've stated, nothing born of the Force can overpower it. Even now, the very essence fueling my Geass is the Force itself." 

Tzeentch leaned forward, his eyes alight with a fervor that bordered on the ecstatic. "Remind me..." he prompted, "was it not the Collective Unconscious, or C's World, that served as the wellspring of your power?" 

Lelouch met Tzeentch's gaze, the intensity of his stare a mirror to the god's own. "You propose that analogous principles apply here? The scale is exponentially greater." 

A gleam of near-manic excitement flickered across Tzeentch's visage. "And yet," he countered, his voice a crescendo of conviction, "the foundational principles remain constant. When two entities operate within a comparable scale—or in this instance, approach proximity—the contest transcends mere power. It becomes a matter of strategic application. The Force is overwhelming power. Your Geass, however, presents the perfect countermeasure: one precise strike. Nonetheless, prudence dictates that we must first amplify our presence within the Force itself... It is but a theory... though one we are betting our entire existence on." 

Lelouch understood, and to a point, he trusted Tzeentch's expertise on the matter, given the Warp's obvious outclassing of the Force. 

However, he had his own views regarding what he understood from the conversation "That being said... C's World never fought back." Lelouch commented. 

"And neither will the Force. The power i spoke of, it's the natural state of the force, always exuding its power everywhere, allowing for the shift of events on the material realm. Right now, the Force only cares about one thing..." 

"Balance." Lelouch nodded. 

The chamber seemed to pulse with the enormity of their discourse, the air thick with the potential for paradigm-altering change. As Lelouch and Tzeentch locked eyes, a silent accord passed between them, setting the stage for a gambit that would challenge the very foundations of their existence. 

The crazed gleam on Tzeentch's visage, now reflected itself firmly on Lelouch's eyes. 

===================== 

The dim glow of the holoprojector cast eerie, flickering shadows across the grand chamber of Darth Sidious. The dark, angular walls of his private sanctum seemed to close in, a suffocating monument to power and secrecy. Darth Tyranus knelt in the projection, his holographic form distorted by faint static, yet his unease was unmistakable. The elder Sith's polished demeanor bore faint cracks as he spoke, his words cautious yet laden with urgency. 

"The High General," Tyranus began, his deep voice laced with a mix of deference and simmering frustration, "has grown too... powerful. His influence alone.. it threatens to undermine the larger goals of the Sith. My lord, he is a danger to our cause." 

Sidious sat in shadow, his hood obscuring all but the faint gleam of his yellow, predator-like eyes. His skeletal hands rested on the arms of his throne, fingers steepled in contemplation. He allowed Tyranus's words to hang in the air, the silence stretching long enough to unsettle his apprentice further. 

Finally, Sidious spoke, his voice smooth yet cold, each syllable measured like the deliberate steps of a predator. "Your concerns are noted, Lord Tyranus. And they are not without merit. The High General's rise has indeed been swift—perhaps unprecedented. Yet, it is that very swiftness that will be his undoing." 

Tyranus tilted his head slightly, skepticism barely concealed. "You are confident he can be... managed?" 

A thin, mirthless smile played on Sidious's lips, a fleeting gesture that sent a chill through the elder Sith. "The final stages of our plan are in motion. The 'Chancellor's' abduction will draw him out, as you suspect. And when he steps forward, when he plunges himself into the fire to ensure my safety, he will find it most unforgiving. You need not concern yourself further, my friend." 

Tyranus nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he mistook the reassurance for truth. "Very well, my lord. I shall see to it that our forces are prepared." 

The transmission ended, and Tyranus's flickering image dissipated, leaving Sidious alone in the oppressive quiet of his chamber. The faint hum of the holoprojector faded, replaced by the low, constant thrum of Coruscant's bustling skyline outside the window. 

The smile vanished from Sidious's lips, replaced by a grim expression that etched deeper lines across his already craggy face. He rose, his dark robes flowing like liquid shadow as he approached the window, his movements slow and deliberate. Beyond the transparisteel, the great city stretched endlessly, its towering spires and endless streams of traffic bathed in the molten gold of a setting sun. 

"Fool," Sidious muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of contempt. Tyranus, for all his skill and poise, was nothing more than a tool—an aging pawn nearing the end of his usefulness. The audacity to believe he could use Sidious to neutralize his own apprentice, the boy who had grown into a being of near unparalleled cunning and power, was almost laughable... and in a way, offensive. No, Tyranus's part in this grand game was nearly over. Soon, the curtain would fall on the Separatists and their figurehead leader. 

Sidious's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, as his thoughts drifted. He remembered the first time he had laid eyes on Lelouch nearly two decades ago. A dark alley on a rain-slicked Naboo, the boy's sharp intellect and ruthless attitude, already evident even in his youth, his eyes blazing with an uncanny resolve. He had been a tool at first—a means to an end—but as years passed, Sidious had come to see him as something far more: his masterpiece, an heir worthy of his legacy... of THE legacy. 

The light from the dying sun glinted off his eyes, casting them in fiery hues as he watched the endless horizon. For all his meticulous planning, there was a part of him that felt... wistful. Time had passed too quickly, even for one as patient as he. Lelouch's ascension to a Dark Lord of the Sith, his defiance, his mastery of manipulation—it was everything Sidious had envisioned for his eventual successor. 

The shadows deepened in the room as the sun finally slipped below the horizon, plunging the chamber into darkness. The Dark Lord allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction.