A death in the lab...

[Reverance]

Gabriel scooted the microscope across the ceramic tabletop, plugging the cord into the power outlet. Adjusting the objective lens turntable, the Sith Lord leaned over and placed his eye against the black eyepiece. |That's not right.| He tilted his head and looked down at the instrument and twisted the adjustment dial, lowering the mechanical stage. He also reached beneath the stage and twisted the diaphragm, making sure it wasn't loose. Taking the item beneath the objective lens back into his purpose, he hovered over the eyepiece and adjusted the light power. Once satisfied, the light reflecting through the ocular lens and displaying it's power in a focused circle on his cheek, he began turning the coarse adjustment dial.

"Fear has so many consequences, but all roads will lead to suffering. And they say that fear precedes the fall, it is the nudge that pushes us to the edge. How generic that sounds, to put so much on the shoulders of a singular emotion; it truly shows how powerful fear really is." He looked up from the microscope to the three Arkanian scientists that were tied and bound, left limp and exhausted as they struggled against one another's back. The triangular formation was a good one for this purpose as it forced them to realize the intermingled fate they now shared, a difficult notion for an Arkanian - as they were often so independent and self-righteous. Gabriel smirked as they twisted against one another, their sounds of struggle amusing to the Sith Lord. They knew what would come next, they just weren't willing to accept it. He looked back into the light, examining the physical properties of the phrikite stone. The scientists, before Gabriel's interruption, were trying to discern the insulating abilities of the gem, trying to understand why it was capable of withstanding attacks from lightsabers and electrical attacks.

"Fear...is a utility. It is not something to be hidden away like something broken and something useless. Fear bends the knee, fear breaks the back, and fear brings order. It is truly powerful." He approached the scientists and knelt down, grabbing the nose of one of the Arkanians. With a flick of the wrist, the cartilage was broken and a bruise began to form just under the cold eyes of the angered researcher. Gabriel cocked his head to the side, his crimson eye studying the old man. He didn't let out a cry of anger, he knew the name of Sionoma, and the curse that followed it. Gabriel could feel it. He had introduced himself earlier, forever dooming these men to a death. No matter how the chips fell.

"You struggle against your fate, slaves testing the bars of their cage. But you are a people that search for confinement, you search for your limitations so that you may better understand your place in the universe. You think yourself elevated, yet you are merely another variation of those you consider weak. I have seen it..." Gabriel pointed to his crimson eye as he stood up and approached the microscope once more.

"You think you can escape it, but you won't. Like moths drawn to the flame, you are drawn to one form of slavery or another. Your skin chaffs and aches for the shackle...but I will free you from it all, the needless desires, the longing, the lifelong search. I will reveal to you the truest purpose of life...that eventually, all things come to an end." This wasn't Reverance at the helm, this wasn't a psychotic anger bent man with nothing but chaos on the mind. This was Gabriel fully in control, cold and calculating and brimming with purpose. A purpose often far beyond the understanding of anyone outside of his mind. That was fine, to him though, as his purpose often bared a heavier weight then the average mind could stand. His mission was a burden that only he could carry, a weight made easier day by day.

[member="Nazo"]

 

[Nazo]

Fracture patterns in laboratory glass spider-webbed from the epicenter of impact, snaking across the canvas of a clear barrier marring its elegant design into distortion and chaos. Precipitous crags dug across the expanse, clawing through and prisming artificial light in refracted patterns on the corridor outside. Another window even more dissolved of it's viewing purpose lay bested and broken with sharp shards of evidence laying across a muted tile floor. These were avoided, bounded and skipped over like some innate game of hop-scotch for the twin talons making up a pair of red-skinned reptilian feet. Low chortles of sound reverberated within the Gizka's throat, in something akin to a soft growl as it's diminutive frame padded through the ransacked house of science and discovery to find the triune pattern of occupational geneticists lashed together with cord and rope - bound at the helpless mercy of the bipedal intruder. In the non-sentient memory of this curiously mutated creature, recollections of past experiences drifted through a sea of unknown memories to which the beady eyed creature blinked and shook it's head back and forth. A mirthful tail wag was offered, before one taloned foot rose to relieve a passing itch to the left of it's body mass center. Sharpened barb like teeth spread into the similitude of a wicked grin with the forthright padded approach allowing the sense of smell alone to identify the three men that were forced to mutely stare at this curious creature.

Next the sound of a mewling scream muffled by the lancing paralyzing pain of the tiny cuts left by the impression of the Gizka's tearing bite. Not nearly deep enough to cause arterial damage, but certainly enough to piece the several thin layers of Arkanian flesh and deliver the toxic bio-engineered venom directly into one of their bloodstreams. A team - like this one - had once experimented on this Gizka, turning it and it's family into a monstrous and violent version of these normally docile but quickly populating galactic pests. In what had been a test to give the creatures a fighting chance in the wild, had turned out to be an unfortunate mistake for those scientists, and these. Seemingly elated by the cries of the one infected and currently suffering the onset of symptoms - the Gizka hunkered it's mass towards the ground, lifting it's tail in the air and swishing it about in a playful fit of glee. The inflection in it's somewhat glandular throaty sounds cooed out a tone of amusement for the creature. Seizures began to plague the victim, followed by an immediate paralyzed state of shock. Those unfortunate to receive a bit and not get immediate medical treatment were prone to foaming at the mouth, burning pain shooting throughout the nerves, and a normally fatal bout of foam that chokes them to their demise. Certainly not the most pleasant of company to be bound to while this happened.

By now the surviving two members of this gruesome company were becoming quite vocal - shouting please to remove the creature, for someone to spare their lives in the wake of both this calm intruder, and the more present danger of an elated sharp toothed Gizka running unhindered and unrestrained. It was not however their cries that lured the next figure - but their tormented emotional state radiating like a dark beacon of the Force. Glass crunched and splintered further under the weight of thick booted feet of a seven foot robed being as it ducked through the smaller door passage before resuming the seven foot statue. Nazo's feather like headdress swaying back and forth with the movement while shifting the lifeless eyes of a porcelain mask to and fro in search of his friend. Upon purchase of sight, the Gizka turned back and happily bounded about the feet of this mute spectacle in hues of grey and purple raiment. The scene surveyed with high scrutiny, lofting an incline of the mask towards the one that was also free to roam, and had seemingly done the binding of these three - well two - living geneticists as the third soon expired in the grouping.

Mask tilt, studious and curious as ever, Nazo's arms remained slack at his side, drawing a myriad of conclusions from the scene as some kind of pseudo crime scene investigator. Logical postulations rose and came like waves on an open shore. No sound, and a minimal amount of movement retained - offering nothing in service to either party. Even the affectionate reptile at his feet was for now forgotten while lost in the thought process. The dying of the scientist and the terror that filled the two remaining paled though in comparison to the energy that radiated within the form of the other - the Arkanian which had formally had his back turned when the Gizka poked into the room in search of whatever the tiny little creature's heart desired. The continued silence of this straight and unhinged stare broke for a fraction of a second to shift towards the Gizka and offer a silent amused affirmation of his friend's antics. In all this not a audible sound from the far more exotic of the pair. While he could discourse, and often would with [member="Duvain"] -- Nazo wasn't always one for making speeches as his predilection for observation was far more innate.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

Pages torn from books, books pulled from shelves, disheveled lab equipment, and fragmented glass upon sanitized floor. These were a few of Gabriels least favorite things. Be it from a mind set upon the importance of cleanliness in a lab setting or a descending sociopath of certain lamented proclivities, often misunderstood and undervalued, he felt the slightest ping of anger towards the small beast lashing about in glee and giddiness. But then he thought, and thought really hard, and decided in an instant that the glass was on it's way out as it were. Whether through the creatures invasion or the limp and swollen body of an Arkanian Scientist, this place no longer held any value to him as a pursuer of truth in the field of study. Not in any form he could respect, anyway.

Crimson eye lifted from golden ore, transposed and transformed in ocular lens, to the scientist and the sudden onset of death resulting from a vicious bite. Foam at the mouth, seizures and obvious pain, and a chocking distress. It was obviously a biological weapon or poison of some sort, though it didn't seem to have a specific potency to Arkanians in particular. The sample size was too small, he would need more evidence to drive that conclusion in either direction. Gabriel noted the speed of the symptoms, as it was quick and acute, leaving very little room for treatment. Another note to store in the bank, just in case he needed to withdraw it at a later date.

His attention was drawn, somewhat lackadaisically, away from the dead to the walking statue and the sound of broken glass beneath foot, crunching and squeaking against laminated floor. The Sith Lord didn't recognize the small creature's species and he didn't truly recognize the species of the seven foot tall figure either. This wasn't something he vocalized, but the eye wondered and wandered and the mind contemplated the options. There were numerous species that could achieve such heights, even the human species in exemplary situations. Nevertheless, there was not enough visually apparent to make a decision beyond curiosity. It had been a long time since the Sith Lord found himself upon unsure footing, being one to have experience with a multitude of species and abilities, from either the view of a cut prone scientist or a destruction prone Sith Lord. The poison, or virus, a differentiation that held little pertinence, amused him more than it interested him. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he was even interested in the creatures before him. His purpose was in the here and now, Arkanian scientists stomped down and scraped from the boot. Perhaps it was because he no longer held accreditation, perhaps he was venting anger against the father that never showed him anything beyond contempt, or perhaps he was merely a vessel for an unadulterated capacity to create pain and fear. In the end, it was likely all three and yet separated, they meant nothing to him. His father was an empty silhouette not even worthy of plaguing his dilapidated memories, these men and their certifications meant nothing to him. He was beyond their judgment. He was the embodiment of pain and torment and the learning that would always follow. Even if the scientists weren't the ones to learn from their own pain, someone would grasp at the nuances and understand the endeavors, pregnant with subtleties that drew the attention towards future goals. In his own amused form, Gabriel chuckled between parted lips that resonated in an almost hiss like exhalation. The irony of the situation hit him in something resembling an epiphany: that these scientists had unwillingly donated their bodies to the pursuit of truth, the truest purpose beneath the arches of science, was a source of great entertainment nearly silently appreciated.

But the grace and the non-loquacious nature did, by virtue of it's presentation, draw Gabriel's attention the the tall figure and his apparent capacity for the details. He seemed to just be observing, a function Gabriel not only understood, but felt resonate within him. Pulling himself from the microscope, the adhoc geneticist approached the dead and dying and leaned down to inspect the now lifeless lump of flesh. The way it spread, it was likely not contagious, otherwise the other two would be showing some sort of symptom. He scooted over and looked at one of the other scientists, suddenly halting their screams for mercy and compassion with a piercing quizzical stare. Gabriel smiled and stood up, kicking the bound extremities of the scientist, likely just to hear a whimper escape. With a flick of the wrist, a needle dismounted from a stand, attached to a clear syringe, and plunged into the neck of the dead scientist. Slowly pulling on the plunger, the beige wight shaft filled with blood and the Sith Lord pulled the needle out, the red venous ooze still active and warm. He gave the tall figure another look before approaching the table, caressing a small cardboard box. His fingers drifted over the slides, feeling for the spaces between before pulling a piece out. It was clean and fresh and sanitary as he placed it on the enamel of the table, a click of delicate nature following. With a drop of the blood and a covering from the plastic slip, the droplet pancaked and quickly found itself replacing the phrikite beneath the objective of the microscope. Gabriel gazed through the scope, not giving anymore visual recognition to the small creature or it's master, though he quickly realized that the relationship was potentially far more complicated than that.

"Poisons and bio-toxins can impact the body in numerous ways. Of course, it's dependent on the type of toxin and it's classification. We find ourselves within the realm of venoms...but that's just splitting hairs." He adjusted the lighting. "You have Neurotoxin, Cytotoxins, Hemotoxins...If I were a betting man, which I'm not, I'd wager it's a mixture of the cyto and hemo...destruction of cells and blood, respectively. Of course, without proper sampling, I can only tell the impact on blood. You have several components of blood: Erythrocytes, Leukocytes, Thrombocytes, and Serum. And here, you can see the breakdown of the cell membrane of the RBC...or Red Blood Cells, previously called Erthrocytes. The marrow of a typical creature will generate red blood cells every 90-120 days, leaving the body properly oxygenated, carrying the terminal electron acceptor to all the extremity vessels...except for in particular species. But in this case, the destruction is far too wide spread and acute to allow for survival without immediate treatment." He leaned away from microscope, motioning towards [member="Nazo"] to see for himself. "Without the cellular membrane, the cell itself hemorrhages out...and the body is incapable of regulating itself as the blood within the arteries and veins clot."

 

[Nazo]

The product of questionable experimentation from an unknown expanse of time, the diminutive and twisted version of the default Gizka hailed from such stringent and torrid affairs. It wasn't illegal to 'work' on these creatures. Their short lifespan and continued breeding prowess actually made these reptilian lizard-like creatures a prime choice for test subjects. One simply could not create an omelet without cracking a few eggs - and such was the trial and error process performed on a litany of the creatures until the day in which the creations were loosed and the experimenting geneticists had the tables turned so wholly that they in turn became the less than lucid examples of Nazo's brand of physical alterations. Unlike their original goals, the end product was not an advantageous design to engineer a more violent defense mechanism - no, more akin to their organs, muscle, and skeletal structure turned inside out until the last vestiges of exotic agony vanished into the abyss of non-existence on the physical plane. Had Nazo been trained in his connection with the living Force, it might not have stopped there, but continued with the intricate prodding of an immortal set of souls. The servant of Liad - his first mentor had showed him the ability to unlock the secrets of the ethereal mystery that became fruition when the physical expired.

A skittering of taloned feet shifted and clattered upon two-toned tiles drawing the scaled hide of the creature's body mass to brush in affection across the fringes of Nazo's garment. In admiration of such devotion, the tilted mask rested lifeless ruby eyes upon what most considered to be a pet. It was probably one the most apt descriptions of their relationship - while Nazo drew more near towards the term of friend, though it was likely his definition was far too mired in cryptic enigma to truly capture the commonplace noun in it's redundant and often inconsequential meaning for most sentients. Metallic clawed digits rose in silent instruction, curling and unfurling in grace before the raise of sleeve and accusatory vantage point drew his friend's attention away from himself, away from the man inspecting the corpse and towards the passageway that linked this room with a host of others serving as an office of laboratories much akin to this one. Feint shadows skipped across the corridor outside, which immediately snapped the attention of this curious creature in an instant. Beady eyes glossed over with a reptilian sheen and collapsed iris as the low chortle of sound echoed and it raced off in search of a insect morsel. The tenor's dulcet tones of mirth drew Nazo's current attention to shift in slow rotation, the mask or porcelain white and painted red captured the stark contrast between an eye of crimson and the veiled and sealed flesh of the biped encapsulating what should have been a pairing to the first. Another mask tilt - perhaps envisioning a host of ways in which to peel back the fleshly lid to gaze into what might be behind it. A small mystery to solve, a puzzle to unravel that might warrant but a moment's interest in time. Physical deformity was nothing new or grand in the scope of reason and philosophy - as the med bay he oversaw for several years was home to a wide assortment of injury, illness, and wounds so deep and profound that they stole out life on every turn.

That would have been the continued focus if not for the movement and direction to which drew out the already stagnating life-blood of his friend's chosen victim. A thin bead of crimson directed by a vacuum pocket of air, lining the syringe and the tube to which it fed. This act he'd seen hundreds if not thousands of times in repetition on various incarnations of patients, both dead, living, and somewhere in between on the threshold of either. While he rarely used such tools of the trade, the seven foot tall observant figure was well acquainted with the action. In point of fact scientific discovery and real hands on work were beyond him. For over two centuries there were not even hands to work such devices, or operate the equipment necessary. Passive in his exploits, while one of the two brains within his being worked over the procedures, as if he would be taking an exam for a higher elevation in collegiate degrees. Much like these learned men had done in their aspiration to the field of science and perhaps medicine. Knowledge however was secondary to the discovery of mysteries. Knowledge would help, but the reason and practical understanding brought with it the wisdom that was far more precious and pointed than all the data one could accumulate. Movement stirred while Gabriel turned his back to prepare a slide in which to further examine the effects of the venom that layered over the sharped barbed teeth of the engineered Gizka. Carefully placed footfalls drew in concourse around an island tabletop, as metallic digits graced the edge of the cool metal barrier creating a tell tale twinge of metal on metal in a slow draw as he rounded the obstacle. A trail of black spots began to form, cropping up to form a haphazard path which eventually shifted into the line of motion from Nazo's touch. Molecular destabilization occurring seconds after impact, however only forming surface abrasions to the work station before it relented and his hand fell silently back to his frame.

"Prognosis of the patient; terminal unless localized triage is afforded." The voice rang out, not in audible waves of sound, but the telepathic communication he'd adopted as a means to interject thoughts and design to those in question. No muscles could form speech in the characterization of his species - and thus relating to the scene took a more mental approach. The voice reaching disembodied ears to resonate within the mind was a combination. The soft and higher pitched vocals of a young child, stating in plain, and uninhibited truth - while masked over that lay the deep timbers and throaty growl of a demon spawn from the pits of Mustafar. Where the distinct myriad of voices merging together had originated from, even Nazo wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps his own creation, or perhaps a mixture of tones he'd heard before in the cosmic tour he'd been doing for most of his mobile life. This however as a quote, something he'd heard many times in the process of observation - a nurse had said it in point of fact, and it was a direct quote about the situation; the only reason the word patient had been used. "Arterial hemorrhage leads to the swelling of the pallium, inciting nerve center trauma before expiration." Another cold and callous description of the inference that Gabriel had made from his initial glance into the microscope. "Addictive." The last word was not a quote, but a summation of how the effects of this toxin caused ripples in the Force of negative emotions, drawing his presence and his interest. That'd be a larger leap though to follow the shifts in logic.

The glance at the microscope offered freely was given for a moment, before the blank masked stare returned to the solo-eyed man. Even if he wanted to have peered through to observe the blood under high magnification, it likely would be a failed attempt. While he could see quite clearly, it was a rather unorthodox approach - and he was as of yet unable to perform that function with any reasonable amount of clarity. A similar resonance though existed to pull his attention to Gabriel, and what secrets were locked (not only behind the veil of flesh hiding his eye), but the strong and potent connection to the Force in which kept Nazo's potential interest from waning and waxing errant. While he mentioned nothing of the sort - the ability to speak telepathically was just as much Force born as any. Forged out of necessity was the ability to find kindred spirit with the Gizka he'd left to currently hunt for food in the corridors of this building.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

His own words brought to mind thoughts of old incantations and diatribes, words spewed from a figure of fatherhood adapted more to the life of a scientist than one of responsibility. A life gleaned early from the view of the objective, the lens and it's sacred reflection, dogma of hypothesis and observation tripping clumsily on it's coattails. What landed in the purview didn't always have the ability to jump, animals to gems it mattered not. What mattered is that it could be studied, it could be pulled apart, and then it could be thrown away. A childhood dominated by the very process found itself victim to it, one often misled with notes of objectivity and the lack of emotions. Dysfunction became common, ice formed because it was cold, and a child grew into a man that learned to accept this way of things. Perhaps that was where the Sith Lord got his indifference, more than genes passed down from an ungrateful father given the chance to birth and raise something more important than himself. It must have been while he wasn't looking, it must have been that one time, or perhaps it was another. An early life of missteps, calculations gone awry, and choices that took the left fork when it should have taken the right, that led to a young Arknanian hybrid, taught first by the principles of Jedi and light, to massacre his own family.

The process of science was, at first, mundane and ethics found it's way into the paradigm, a father who was first and foremost a scientist found himself at the mercy of peer reviewed judgment. Was he a scientist? Was he a monster? Was genocide really something so extravagant and absent the scope. These milestones and plans, vigorously planned and regretfully undocumented by a man who preferred a scalpel to a pen, were of the most crucial sort. Why settle for stone when you can bend the flesh, his father snorted, it always grows back! Remove the ear, see how it listens. Take the teeth, see how it eats. Take the tongue, see how it speaks. Sins, all of them, in vague utterance from his father, Gabriel would soak in the knowledge that his father did what he had to because he could. And to think, he married a Jedi, and Gabriel descended from the crescendo of their union, never the better for it. And when it came down to it, it was not for the scalpel nor the scope, but the torch and the question of what happens when a family burns? A man cursed by the loss of a brother, destined to repeat the mistakes of his father, but a shell set to purpose by that longing and nagging feeling at the nape. What happens? What happens when someone loses everything? Are they truly capable of anything?

Control, control, control. You must always have control...in the lab. Otherwise, his father would always say, you could not discern the outcome in meaningful ways. Insight from experiments like nails from toes, pulled hard and thrown away when the outcome didn't lend to thoughtful purpose. Why not, they always grow back? Burdened by the transgression of astute men not willing to go the distance, his father felt the weight of their inadequacies lifted high upon his shoulders. Shackles and gallows that strung him up but left the barrel under him, forever paralyzed by their ineptitude and inability and aversion. Forever punished and shunned for his ambition, for his desire to steam ahead. To take controlled settings and understand the chaos that afflicted them. He set out with a mission to understand that which no one fathomed, a problem of fixing something not broken. How far can you push a species before it pushes back, an important question indeed! Forsaken, Reverance within could relate. An arm controlled, a body controlled. The fling of the torch, the smile upon face, the ash and the clouds and the smoke and the smell. That rotten thing, Gabriel recalled, that rotten turning over of the stomach when he had realized what had happened and smelled the miasma and consequences in the cold winters night. The sins of the father and that doomed repetition, the fire burned always and forever.

The Sith Lord blinked as the thing, he had declared it so, spoke to him through the force. Always the force, people often did so pregnant with catharsis. But this was different, he decided, and the resonance of the voice in it's duel and eery nature spoke lengths to it. The metal click against table, the odd mannerisms, that jumping and biting pet, the failure to observe that observation given...the greatest of sins to things capable. But, perhaps, this thing was unsuited to seeing with the eyes. Those lifeless rubies that stood stoic and unmoved, transfixed in a mask upon large statue, Gabriel couldn't help but think that something important lied beneath. Would he fall to his father's habit, and break the fowl from shell, or wait for it to hatch itself. Years of life upon this world and beyond had taught the antediluvian man the importance of patience. He would give this thing, this being, the time that it needed.

Slow crawl and steady, Gabriel's lips moved into a smirk that favored the left side of his face, the seeing side. He wasn't afflicted with any sort of stroke or mental defect, though the burn and the injuries did took their toll. But so did habits and when the cage gives little space and light to only one side, he began to greet it in such ways. His new lab partner spoke in dialogue, as if reading from a book and reciting text written against paper. Addiction, Nazo said, and Gabriel nodded his head slowly in contemplation. He knew the woes of it, he knew the pleasure of it. How odd a thing as that, to feel addicted to the understanding of things, even at the cost of it. To be addicted to understanding somethings meaning, beyond flesh and bone and blood. To be addicted to it's pain and the vibrations that flowed out. In the distance, a toppling of more scientists, the plunge of virulent teeth from an unknown beast. The little beast was making friends and not the sort it could keep.

"Expiration..."Gabriel uttered before turning back to the scope. The battle was over for this sample, activity all but gone as the light faded away and he approached another one of the scientist, bereft of any feeling of remorse for their state. They were the embodiment of his father, that thing he hated most. "Tell me, doctors. If you had to choose between your hands and your eyes, which would you choose." He stated in ataraxia, overcome with a sense of tranquility that matched his tempered and controlled hate. Sliding the Sith dagger from the small of his back, he smacked the forehead of the first scientist with the flat of it. Black handled and rippled, it was a custom and sacred item, blood and sinew soaked deep into it's alchemical steel. "Speak up, I'm curious."

[member="Nazo"]

 

[Nazo]

Methods to the madness, as exterior observation might categorize the malevolent actions of the particular participants, but to what end that was the point unclear. Experimentation did not often warrant a foreseeable outcome - but was mired in the trials and tribulations of continued failure until proof positive bore the glimmer of success. A countless, and sometimes nigh to endless continuance of shifting variables were required if true progress were to be made. Stringent testing however was not the forte of this particular figure. He bore no formed scientific method in his ritualistic like testing of sentient beings. Often only a singular observation to gather data enough to satisfy the lusts of the mind. For one so alien in both physiology and mental acuity - it was the points on the line that diverted Nazo's path that both were highlighted and poignant in his memory. As it had been said before; the journey is the worthier part. Always seeking though - searching through the cosmic trail for a new nugget of unlocked potential that would herald a new level of conscious understanding. Time and time again finding a kernel to fixate on until the mysteries dissolved into practiced understanding. The passion was unmistakable, and the thirst seemingly unquenchable if only for a short reprieve before it would flare back up to drive the wandering enigma to another place and purpose.

In the genesis of tutelage came the aspect of power, veiled in secret and drifting through the black abyss of space. A being transfixed by power alone, trading information for purchase of devotion, and drawing in his wake the consequences of a double life. Two faces, two names - a life split in half of the whole. One to furnish the means to the end, the other to revel in the product of his work and fruit of his labor. Nazo's first instructor into the ways of the Force had drove him to confront his own hunger - and to challenge the scope of preconceived limits that might bind or weigh down the slug from achieving greater insights. The methods were crude, but effective - often channeling pure brute force over anything so temperamental and refined as manipulation on the smallest of molecular scales. Nothing esoteric or metaphysical save for the bolstering affect of the bath of rage and temperament needed to affect the outside world. The discovery of these traits - these powers awakened an avenue not explored, and in debt of knowledge Nazo had stayed to learn from the human until passion and drive no longer illicited the same satisfaction he'd come to expect from each further lesson in the basic use of this all encompassing tool.

Another pinpoint to shift the course of self study had led the being towards a world consumed by death. A barren wasteland spanning not only topography but of time, ceasing all life from a wasted and ruined rock. A meeting of perhaps chance or fate, neither of which were vast strongholds in the tangled webs of Nazo sentient intelligence. A journey in which a servant became catalyst to curious sorts that would broaden and expand philosophy, drawing him to new levels of immeasurable knowledge and understanding. Death was not the finality that he had so thought, the physical expiration (much like the impending doom of these bound scientists) but only a journey in transference. Like a sickly pale visage, the flames of a soul rested chained and shackled on the outstretched palm of aged and scarred flesh. Even the embrace of demise could not alleviate the accumulated torment of the spirit that lay bound to the will of a servant of Liad. A false god of knowledge notwithstanding, the image that flickered like the flame of life was released and drawn by another scarred man who called upon forces unseen. In this Nazo's instruction flourished to understand and reckon the deep seeded secrets that came with the actual transmuted energy that could be reigned in and drawn to his own will. This likely would have been a continued path until the spear of final moments both physical and metaphoric struck down the embodiment and opened the threshold to a new chapter.

The road less traveled had begun again, in frozen arctic tundra that mattered not against the thick and durable hide of his species. Nazo's mentorship had taken another unexpected turn in the face of a devouring force. The eater of knowledge and skill drawn out the last vestiges of a mind torn and broken to merge with his own conscious efforts. Likened to his own hunger in the physical sense, the Anzati had no cause for paltry religion or abject devotion to the unseen deity of the mind. There was only one certain truth for him to pass along to this masked figure that currently watched Gabriel stoop and address the still living doctors. There were the predators and there were prey, nothing else existed in the scope of reality. Energy coursed and ripped through the sage grey hunter, in turn offering to impart knowledge and instruction for the simple ideals that bound them together. This journey would forever cement the idea that in the hierarchy of the natural and unnatural kingdoms, those that resided at the top of the proverbial food chain were destined to take from the galaxy what they would without regard or cause for concern. That philosophy a certain elation to the warped and twisted soul of this devouring slug. The devourer of matter had taken strides in his vocation, and even apart from the instruction - Nazo continued to inspect and flourish.

Stagnation though led to a lapse of growth and would only serve to bore such a restless and active mind. In retrospect, this new face both scarred and worn held a certain appeal in the stance, the tone, and the way that Gabriel addressed the situation. Neither flowery, or verbose - but direct and pointed. While misanthropic by nature, there were exceptions that could be warranted in the face of possible new knowledge. The static pose shifted as the blade's glint cast across the face into a muted slap of attention towards the forehead of a cowering and stunned silent medical professional. Movement and momentum gained, the lanky and robed figure drew closer to genuflect not in worship, but in interest while canting his masked visage to the left at a both unnatural and odd angle. Metallic digits drew from the confines of the sleeve to tap likewise on the other sentient in similar fashion to the life's edge being placed upon flesh. The flinching of the biped, and his hollow groans of fear only drew his attention further towards Gabriel's query.

"If thy hand offend thee, cut if off." A verse of prose from an ancient text perhaps read on one of his long sojourning travels. The telepathic voice this time not only cast it's vocals into Gabriel's mind, but that of both scientists that looked both terrified and puzzled to hear a voice but not understand the source. The squinting of the eyes was a dead giveaway to their troubles, but wouldn't interfere with the next motions. Deft digits drew out and forcibly opened the scientists eye-lid to stare at the revealed eyeball. "If thy eye offend thee, pluck it out." This time he did what he said, and unceremoniously plucked the eye from the socket with a sick 'pop' distending the nerve cluster and retinal tissue until it severed from the actual skull. The rotund and liquid filled orb then was placed in the pried open digits of the scientist. Folding over the fingers again to encompass the torn organ, patting it affectionately at the top as some sort of morbid keepsake. You could almost feel Nazo smiling (if he had lips that is).

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

It would be a lie to say the action didn't surprise the Sith Lord, the plucking of the eyeball, and the return of it in such gifted ways. A present pulled unwrapped from fleshy pouch and given to the needy, suddenly and ironically missing an eye himself. The man didn't scream, not yet, as [member="Nazo"] gave the organ back to his victim in such endearing way. He just stared at that white thing, iris less and bloody, gore and flesh hanging from it, a thing once with purpose and now without. He just looked upon it, blinking the empty eye-lid, his body succumbing to the reverberations of shock, as his brain attempted to cope with the pain of such transgressions. So easily plucked, it was fluid and water coursing unimpeded down a channel, a being who felt indifference for the creatures that stood his victim. Or maybe it was a her, or maybe it was neither. Gabriel had not the evidence to discern. Either way, he realized that the tall figure was but a thing of studying and observation, feeling neither glee nor happiness nor sadness, merely a persona and person moved by interest and curiosity.

Screams resonated outwards, lingering in dreadful pangs that shook the inner portions of Gabriel's ear. He winced, the man in front of him not yet harmed, felt need to precede the damage soon incurred with noises of fear and anticipation and dread. Gabriel twisted his waist as he knelt, his arm followed, and the flat of the blade in hand smacked hard across the mans jaw. Had he not been attached to the other scientist, he likely would have moved much further than he had. Instead, four teeth flung out from bloody mouth, dice dancing across the lab floor as they clicked and clacked against one another and once sterile flooring. Some landed unimpeded, others landed upon broken glass left in the wake of the monstrous creature now tormenting other scientists down the hall.

"Don't fear..." The Sith Lord spoke, as he lightly tapped the top of the near unconscious scientist with the dull flat of the blade once more. It made a hollow sound and Gabriel couldn't help but smile at the thought that perhaps there wasn't anything left in that Arkanian head but air and mush, trauma forever laying waste to the intellect that once resided within. "Don't hope..."He smirked as he used his free hand to bring the head of the scientist back up to eye level. He stared into those eyes, a luxury that his new friend had removed from the other scientist, who had now succumbed to shock from the abrupt removal of flesh from skull. "Don't linger on it...rest assured in knowing that no matter what you do, you will suffer. Take comfort in that certainty...And strike hope from your heart."

He paused as he held the shoulder of the scientist, taken to tears and languish. Pulling his sleeve back with the knife arm, he revealed a limb covered in the callouses of scars intermingled with the print of tribal tattoos that shined a subtle hint of emerald. Trophies, he thought, of years passed. Notches in the belt. A method of recognizing his heritage, the half of him that didn't weigh him down with the baggage of dark tutelage and the quickening of blood beneath surgical knife. Perhaps it was a flawed perspective, a luxury of a life not spent on Kiffu. Had he been born on that planet, perhaps he would think highly of Arkania instead and salivate over the notion of destroying and flaying Kiffar vagrants. Nevertheless, there was no purpose in the prognostication of a future that will never exist, no purpose in dwelling on things that could never pan out. He would be in the here and now, revel in the pain this man would endure, the pain that he would endure in the future, and the satiation of the one within. Crimson eye traced those black tattoo lines, looking over to the statuesque being beside him, likely taken in by visual inspection of things considered less than unique and less than spectacular. Or perhaps it had never seen a body marred in such ways, destroyed and rebuilt by combat, iron forged against anvil and marked in ways that gave the skin less and less semblance of actual skin. Flesh turned into painting, ink used to cover atrocities that withstood the erosion of time.

"Don't worry..." He turned back to the scientist and focused the power of the force into his ability to impact the ones around him. To dive into their receptors, their perception of pain and tolerance, and to mold it as he saw fit. A life of pain and standing against it made him a master of this ability, made him understand misery beyond the capacity of most. "I won't even cut you..." He said as he smiled, giving reassurance where it shouldn't have been accepted. The captive smiled until he suddenly felt the pulse of pain within his mouth. Gabriel reached over to cover his mouth before he applied more pressure in the force, drowning out his own pain in the pain of this man and it's amplification. With this power, he could turn a removed tooth into an amputation, make him live through the pain of death itself, and never relinquish consciousness. Such was the power of Crucitorn, an affliction of the mind without the supplementing chemical reactions to aid in the staving of it. Instead, this man's body turned into a fire within, pain deflecting from the mouth down into his limbs and core, as if being torn apart. His screams were muffled and dulled, hollow sounds captured within the cavity that he once used to form hypothesis and conclusions. Gabriel let the anger and hatred for his kind leak out like a sieve, intentionally fueling the pain and watching as hope left the scientist's eyes, replaced with something closely resembling agonizing pain interrupted with brief moments of acceptance. Gabriels single eye formed into a contemplative slit as the scientist shook against his constraint, convulsing in an attempt to push the pain off, like kicking a dog that had bitten in hard and refused to let go.