Darkness cloaked the Tarenti as they approached the Temple, hearing the cacophony of blasters that banished the sweet silence of the night. When they arrived, their eyes beared witness to the brutal efficiency of the Temple and of times long past. Without words, the Tarenti circled behind the swarm and began cutting their way into the horde. The feeling of flesh splitting open as their blades pierced through the decayed flesh itched its way up each of the Tarenti’s arm, sadistic smiles covering their faces.

Among them was a single Gungan, covered in oxidized blood and dripping with satisfaction. He wielded a pair of daggers, the sound of bone breaking as their blades pierced through the skulls of his enemies causing the Gungan to smile wickedly. He may have followed the Gray path, but inside Kah Manet slept a darkness more cold than any the Keepers could spawn. As soon as one of the Guardians was dealt with, he would move to another. When one fell before him, he would relinquish his blade from it’s corpse and throw it into another. His tongue shot out with deadly speed and wrapped around the handle, yanking it from its position as the muscle retracted into his mouth; the dagger falling gently into his hand ready to strike again.