Ozymandias
Maliphant was incapable of matching the spirit’s request, his armor holding back any possibility of him destroying the spirit. Nor did he hold the power of a Jedi, often able to clear the darkness away with pure light; no, Maliphant simply stood his ground as he desperately attempted to rip the abundance of currents around him to his grasp, though never enough to actually release a proper attack, especially not against something like what he faced now.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow, holding back all but the deepest of growls as every emotion a Sith takes pride in harnessing began to flourish in his heart. Fear, anger, passion, a series of hormones that drew all the currents deeper into him, only as the internal struggle of the unknown artifact began to feed on the various elements in turn; forcing Maliphant’s usually flawless complexion to fall to deep shades of purple beneath the paleness of his skin, while veins began to show themselves and his usual golden smolder turned bright and hot through his corrupted irises.
The Dark Side was taking the man, but against the thousands of culminated spirits turned into this entity, and the hindrance of his armor, he had nothing to respond with. He was weak, lacked the training, the outright power, and he was out of his element. Morrow would have bested him in combat, likely even now, and her lack of fight when it came to the creature was enough to put the final nails in his own coffin.
“Let… Her go…”, was all that he could say as his body desperately healed itself from the previous two assaults on his being.
His mind however, raced with solutions to the problem, raced with any semblance of rational that might prove himself the victor, then the harder he thought, the less that came.
[member="Darth Morrow"]
Instead, he gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow, holding back all but the deepest of growls as every emotion a Sith takes pride in harnessing began to flourish in his heart. Fear, anger, passion, a series of hormones that drew all the currents deeper into him, only as the internal struggle of the unknown artifact began to feed on the various elements in turn; forcing Maliphant’s usually flawless complexion to fall to deep shades of purple beneath the paleness of his skin, while veins began to show themselves and his usual golden smolder turned bright and hot through his corrupted irises.
The Dark Side was taking the man, but against the thousands of culminated spirits turned into this entity, and the hindrance of his armor, he had nothing to respond with. He was weak, lacked the training, the outright power, and he was out of his element. Morrow would have bested him in combat, likely even now, and her lack of fight when it came to the creature was enough to put the final nails in his own coffin.
“Let… Her go…”, was all that he could say as his body desperately healed itself from the previous two assaults on his being.
His mind however, raced with solutions to the problem, raced with any semblance of rational that might prove himself the victor, then the harder he thought, the less that came.
[member="Darth Morrow"]