"Cuyan'ika"
THE FOUNDLING
Dressel | Low Orbit, The Akaan'ar
Equipment: In Bio
Engaging:
Taam Moghul
Goodbye Raven
Blinded.
The wide palm of his hand filled her vision.
Inch by inch, the display before her lifted from her eyes. A growl rolled from her throat — deep, dragged out by the distortion. Instinct took hold—she tried to stop him, but gravity weighed on every muscle. Slow as molasses, her hands closed around his wrists. But before she could stop him, he was in her sight once more – only not through the filter of a helmet visor.
Her helmet fell to the ground with a dull clatter. The Harpy’s glare caught his. Wrothful. Blades in their own right, the rage within her sharpened their edge. In contrast, her lips peeled into a crooked smirk. A golden fang stood amongst the neat rows of pearly-whites, stained with her own fresh blood. Her black mane bristled high. Looped, golden earrings hung from her ears. The gray fur of her hide mottled with spots of black.
Breath lashed sharply between gritted fangs. She moved, driven by the desire to feel his blood coat her claws. Leadenly her muscles tautened, drawn sharply under the bodyglove.
But before her reprisal, the Jedi took the fight to her.
The violet plasma of his blade loomed closer. Her features sharpened. The edge of her crimson glare dulled as something else flickered across them.
Fear.
Her heart sank. She watched the impossibly sharp plasma blade arc towards her. She tipped back, trying to shrink away—but as if cast from lead, she lagged. The ace up her sleeve worked against her; a blade that cut both ways.
And cut her it did.
The pulsating violet blade found purchase through her durasteel shoulder pad, marring her hide in its wake. A cut unlike any blade she knew, until now. The Harpy’s maw parted in a voiceless scream as pain set fire to every nerve in her shoulder.
But her fury burned hotter.
She tipped forward, pushing at the same time. Her vice-like grip locked around his wrists as she pushed away the lightsaber, inch by inch. Her boots kicked and scraped across the debris strewn floor. A snarl ripped from her throat as she leaped forward. Her legs flanking his sides, she sat atop him.
Leverage.
She began to manipulate his lightsaber. Inch by inch it drew closer to its wielder. Her strength returned as the artificial gravity distortion faded. Seeking to sap his strength, she moved first.
The claw of her thumb plunged to find purchase with the flesh of his wrist, threading towards the gap between the joint and the vambrace he wore. The flamer atop her vambrace belched in the same beat, spewing a wall of flame to burn the Cathar’s face to a crisp as she began to guide the tip of the saber towards his chest. Her eyes widened. A manic cackle ripped from her core—sharp and delirious.
At the same time, her grasp of his other wrist relented on purpose. Letting go, she straightened and pressed her digits together. Her claws lined to form a single, wide blade before she struck to plunge deep into his flank and carve out his kidney.
He’d pay for this assault in flesh.
The wide palm of his hand filled her vision.
Inch by inch, the display before her lifted from her eyes. A growl rolled from her throat — deep, dragged out by the distortion. Instinct took hold—she tried to stop him, but gravity weighed on every muscle. Slow as molasses, her hands closed around his wrists. But before she could stop him, he was in her sight once more – only not through the filter of a helmet visor.
Her helmet fell to the ground with a dull clatter. The Harpy’s glare caught his. Wrothful. Blades in their own right, the rage within her sharpened their edge. In contrast, her lips peeled into a crooked smirk. A golden fang stood amongst the neat rows of pearly-whites, stained with her own fresh blood. Her black mane bristled high. Looped, golden earrings hung from her ears. The gray fur of her hide mottled with spots of black.
Breath lashed sharply between gritted fangs. She moved, driven by the desire to feel his blood coat her claws. Leadenly her muscles tautened, drawn sharply under the bodyglove.
But before her reprisal, the Jedi took the fight to her.
The violet plasma of his blade loomed closer. Her features sharpened. The edge of her crimson glare dulled as something else flickered across them.
Fear.
Her heart sank. She watched the impossibly sharp plasma blade arc towards her. She tipped back, trying to shrink away—but as if cast from lead, she lagged. The ace up her sleeve worked against her; a blade that cut both ways.
And cut her it did.
The pulsating violet blade found purchase through her durasteel shoulder pad, marring her hide in its wake. A cut unlike any blade she knew, until now. The Harpy’s maw parted in a voiceless scream as pain set fire to every nerve in her shoulder.
But her fury burned hotter.
She tipped forward, pushing at the same time. Her vice-like grip locked around his wrists as she pushed away the lightsaber, inch by inch. Her boots kicked and scraped across the debris strewn floor. A snarl ripped from her throat as she leaped forward. Her legs flanking his sides, she sat atop him.
Leverage.
She began to manipulate his lightsaber. Inch by inch it drew closer to its wielder. Her strength returned as the artificial gravity distortion faded. Seeking to sap his strength, she moved first.
The claw of her thumb plunged to find purchase with the flesh of his wrist, threading towards the gap between the joint and the vambrace he wore. The flamer atop her vambrace belched in the same beat, spewing a wall of flame to burn the Cathar’s face to a crisp as she began to guide the tip of the saber towards his chest. Her eyes widened. A manic cackle ripped from her core—sharp and delirious.
At the same time, her grasp of his other wrist relented on purpose. Letting go, she straightened and pressed her digits together. Her claws lined to form a single, wide blade before she struck to plunge deep into his flank and carve out his kidney.
He’d pay for this assault in flesh.
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