Private Antimatter

[Xashe Tistya]

C R U S A D E R
Creuat
「tunnel vision fading in」
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯​

“You will pay for the arrogance from your lack of vision,”

Sparks flew as the mirialan held her ground. A bout of strength locked the two sabers against each other. Every ounce of her being pushed forward, urging him to break firs.

“I’d rather be arrogant than the emperors lap dog.” Xashe snarled over the blades.

His strength had grown with the free of darkness. The dam broke, forcing her to scramble backward to avoid his blade. The canyon below sung its foreboding tune - a warning that maneuvering would bring certain death. Still, the Jedi pushed forward, forcing another clash. The foundation of his teachings were there, if not warped, allowing her to meet the furious blows with an ounce of withstanding.

Again and again, they recognized each other, casting off one another’s strikes as one would bat away a fly. Slowly, her steps were forced backward, to the edge of hall behind. Xashe seized the chance. Throwing herself back into a tumble, three mirror images rose from the ground. A fallansi technique they had endeavored to master together. The illusions paced about the entryway, daring him to come closer, and see if he could gage what was true.

“Too weak to carry his own banner.” One of the Xashe’s stated with an eyeroll.

“Sold his soul for a taste of false power,” another agreed, as if chatting over Starcreds.

“He’ll die in a shadow.”

“Do you think he cringed when he heard about the Lightsworn?”

At once, the trio froze, looking to challenge their opponent. Every word was born of Xashe, blessed by malicious intent. Her crusade was a righteous one - but she’d be a liar if not to admit some part wanted to hurt him as badly as he had her. Retribution had been no part rehabilitation in the education he delivered.

“Think Sera will cry for him?”

One of the illusions developed a devious grin.

“No tears for a traitor.” The mismatched swore.

​

 

[Creuat]

B L A C K G U A R D
Xashe Tistya

PULL ME UNDER​

The years of peace did not make her weak. The same could not be said for many Jedi as they allowed stagnation sap away their strength. It was because of their indulgence they allowed Tython be absorbed by the dark powers.

Small sparks flew every time their blades met, only to die out immediately. Her swordplay with her lightsaber greatly refined, Creuat recognizing the patterns he taught her while adding her own touch to create her own style. He was impressed with her skills, a testament she was capable to grow without him when he granted her the rank of Knight.

However, she was not the only one who grew in strength. So did the Nautolan when he accepted the Dark Side, greatly amplifying his power. He demonstrated with such ferocity when he pushed back Xashe little by little towards the hallway she came from. She disengaged, putting distance between the two of them to then deploy a trick against him. Three copies of Xashe appeared out of thin air, the real one hiding behind her illusions. They were perfect replicas of Xashe, not a single hair was out of place.

He was confused by this trick until they began to speak; to taunt and mock him. He could only glare at the projections with anger, ignoring their words. She carried the same demeanor as he did. Direct and blunt, not a single word minced. She would never hold back with this confrontation a testament. If she didn’t have any sympathy towards her former master, then what would ever restrain her sharp tongue.

“Enough!” his patience grew thin when she mentioned his previous apprentice. He approached the illusions and with one swift stroke, cut them to have them disappear from his sights.

Her words were immaterial. He evolved beyond what any ordinary Jedi could dream of. A life of significance and purpose. Change was the constant truth of life, and he accepted that objective fact. A static nature would only beget destruction, and said destruction would make people evolve or destroy them.

“Don’t make me destroy you, Xashe.”

But was he capable of bringing himself to that conclusion? Kill his first apprentice? His successor in the legacy established by his mentor, and passed down to the next generation.