First Reply Fear Leads To Hate

[Nefaron]

Taris​

"You fight, you win, you get stronger."

It was the unspoken rule of the arena. Fight, win, kill. The only fate for someone who lost was the end of their life. It was illegal, in most places. But here after the fall of the Sith Empire, laws hadn't mattered. Not down here. Owners came with their slaves so those slaves might fight for the entertainment of others. It was a cruel fate, but some turned it more twisted than others. That was the case for Nefaron. Born into this life he'd long come to terms with killing. Not because it was a fate he didn't think he could escape, but because he truly believed in his masters words. He would kill and grow strong.

As a Sith.

The mythical beings that could bring worlds to their knees with their unseen power. A power he had no idea on how to utilize by himself, but that's why he fought and killed. He bowed his head before the Weequay he worshiped, waiting for permission to stand. The Slaver couldn't hide the little chuckle. For the past several years this had been his cash cow, a fighter with the brutality needed to win in the ring and make him money. But now there was more cash to be made with a failure.

A new player had entered the ring, and was very interested in making sure Nefaron would loose to their chosen fighter. All bets were on the Zabrak champion. And the one person he thought he could trust had chosen to sell him to the wolves.

"I will win, Master."

"Mmhmm. Now go on, fight, win, kill. You know the drill."

He looked pretty proud about his little rhyme, but Nefaron took it as pride in him. He turned from his master, walking back towards the ring he'd killed so many in. Clenched his fists in preparation. These fights were a brutal sport, with the fighters never wielding a weapon or wearing armor. Tooth and claw were their tools, if they had them. The Zabrak stepped into the ring, lifting his fists, curling his fingers. Narrowed his eyes on his foe as he moved to step into the caged room.

Only to be stopped by his master. He blinked, glancing to the Weequay as the man patted his shoulder. There was an odd prick sensation, but Nefaron's nerves had long dulled to such small pain.

"You did so well for me."

Nefaron looked confused, but didn't waste any time to linger on it as he instead stepped into the ring. The door closed, and with it everything blurred. His stance broke in an instant as the ground seemed to try and rush to meet him. He barely kept up, but his opponent was already on him. A fist crashed into his chin, sending him right from his feet to on his back. The world spun. Fogged over. Frantically he looked around, trying to find where his owner was. Across the way, with the owner of this opponent.

Exchanging credits.

He knew about this. Some fighters taking the fall for others. It was a game slavers played with their slaves, but he was Sith, wasn't he? All his life he was told he was Sith. He couldn't linger his gaze on the Weequay for long as a fist once more slammed into the side of his head, sending his already foggy brain to the limits of consciousness. Something in him snapped. Rage, an overflowing amount, ripped from him as he threw his own punch back. At first it looked like flailing, and indeed it was, but the moment it connected his opponent buckled over in a cry of pain.

Nefaron didn't hesitate. Another punch, almost mindless as he roared, shattered bone. Not just his opponents, but his own. The Force moved darkly around him as he swung his now broken hands again and again, pummeling his opponent into the floor. Bones shattered, and it wasn't long until the life of his opponent had snuffed out. But he kept swinging. No one dared to try and stop him as he continued to beat the corpse before him. All he saw was red. And all they saw was the animalistic rage he'd succumbed to.

 

[Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax]

Subbed gear: Svikin Hjörtu, Old Lightsaber, Dark Valkyrie Armor
Nefaron

Sitting above the commotion, a woman watched the commotion unfolding below. She was amused with the show and unsuprised at a textbook example of greed. "Humm to betray something with... potential, foolish." Teresa said musingly to herself sliding from off the light's scaffolding. The woman would land a top a rodian, a knee firmly planted between it's shoulder blades. Black feathered wings sprawled out taking up sizable space as this seven foot tall, pale skinned epicanthix stood.

Spectators that was already moving towards the door stopped in their tracks. The looks of sudden realization that escape was not possible brought joy to Teresa's. "Now, now I am not as unfair to not offer a little chance." She began to lean forward with a devious smile making the small beings feel smaller. "You can either beat that one, or me. Just note I will crush all who come for me, and some who do not." Four blades activated as they floated in front of the woman slowly rotating in a circle. One was a red blade with an old worn hilt, similar to the purple blade with a unique old design, the other two was a pair of black cored red blades with a new hilt.

There would be one trying their luck as they ran and slid under her wing. Just as quick a saber broke formation and darted to the human leaving a deep orange glow through one shoulder to the other. That very same old blade moved once more with speed stopping before the Zebrak, a simple temptation hung before the man stripped down to instinct. "Be a good boy, have fun. You will feel... satisfied after!" Her voice boomed across the crowd to reach the man.

Her knee raised up quick as she dashed forwards, those black wings with red flight feathers closed behind her back. With a thud of an impact into the alien in front there was no holding back such energetic laughter.

 

[Nefaron]

Pain and rage clouded his mind, but not enough for him not to notice the surge of danger. Even an animal knew when to cower. He glared suspiciously, barely listening to the words. More focusing on the eyes that had suddenly turned his way. Death. They all wanted him dead. He didn't understand, though. It made him angry. Furious. He was Sith, wasn't he? Wasn't that what all of this was for? Him to be Sith? Get stronger?

He stumbled back a step as the blade came soaring towards him. Unnatural heat, death. He almost fell back in a mad attempt to evade it, only for it to come to a stop. Hovering before him. He squinted at it, then to the woman who'd sent it towards him.

Nefaron hesitated. He glared at the blade, untrusting. But he could feel danger around him. People were coming. Getting weapons up. They were going to kill him, weren't they? He curled his fingers around the hilt, ignoring the protest of his broken bones. And didn't hesitate further. Armed with a blade that could cleave through the weapons of the others, he became death. Unhesitating and mercilessly hacking apart the few who could actually fight.

Slavers that relied on their collars and slaves were nothing to him, who'd been trained in that very ring they made their bets on.

He stood among the mound of corpses, breathing heavy. Wounds still covered him, but he didn't seem to feel them. Or at least realize they were there. Instead, he just looked to the woman who'd been watching, his expression pulled into a thin frown. He lifted the lightsaber, the blade still very much active. Not as a threat, but rather possessively. He wasn't going to hand it back.

Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax

 

[Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax]

Subbed gear: Svikin Hjörtu, Old Lightsaber, Dark Valkyrie Armor
Nefaron

A trio of blades began to dance to dance from one to the next as people began to panic. Their colours streaked showing each sharp turn or fluid movement. A memorizing view for those not at Teresa's mercy. It was also such a delight to see the wild one set amongst the crowd. How one could not resist to grin ear to ear from such a wondrous spectacle.

The floor was getting sweet sticky with blood the scent mixing with sweat, smoke, alcohol and a few others. "Just so intoxicating." While the blades continued to dance, her hands would seem to flow through the air as powerful legs swung into those that got close. Even the woman's wings acted as weapons in their own rights with such reach and thick feathers.

Those with weak resolve chose flight over fight every time. Not all sliced by her blades died, there was a use for each of the dismembered. The crowds began to thin in no time between the two participating in slaughter. Bodies piled, grunts and groans could be heard. Yet no more rushed the door to face death and each one that chose to fight lost. Only two remained stood.

Teresa's eyes peered back with their golden orange glowing orbs surrounded by a void of black. "My my, aren't you just a beast." The room began to feel cold, one saber hooked itself to her hip as the matching pair came to her hands. The colour switched in a flash loosing that blackened core and red glow to complete black with a heavy dark smoke dropped from it.

Her breathing slowed as a focus washed over the woman diligently tugging on the essence of those barely alive. Each would feel their life slip from their grasps answering wished of a painless death. As for the berserker, he'd certainly feel his vitality return, senses clearing slightly, disappearing more by the moment.

"I am so shocked your master would treat his pet so poorly." Her tone was playful sounding as it was filled with sarcasm. Step by step the woman came closer to the zebrak. "Trust the one who rejects society, you do not need a master when you have the potential to rise above such weak beings. Just look at the chaos around. All as thrilling." Her main hand rose the blade as she slid it into was appeared was a sheath.

"Well, you are pet no more. Do you feel satisfied or perhaps is there something you want with this new found freedom? First, you may find yourself a different tool amongst the spoils. That blade you hold serves a much higher purpose than to remain in your possession." Now standing before the man with an aura a beast would understand as killing intent, Teresa opened her hand towards him. It was clear the woman was expectantly waiting for the saber back eager to see which reaction would be expressed.

 

[Nefaron]

He tightened his grip on the hilt further as she approached. Held out her hand. Nefaron spoke nothing in return. He didn't like talking. Whenever he did, he'd get beat. But right now, there was no answer for him to give. He was free? He wasn't a pet? He'd never been enslaved. He was Sith. His mind still wanted to believed in that, that he was Sith. That he wasn't a used scrap. Pride. His grip tightened as he glared and turned away.

"No."

Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax

 

[Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax]

Subbed gear: Svikin Hjörtu, Old Lightsaber, Dark Valkyrie Armor
Nefaron

The small shadows from the forming scowl contrasted against on the porcelain white face. Now the room was silent other than the humm of sabers, Teresa could feel it. The woman began to probe the edges of the man's mind dancing along the surface thoughts. That scowl disappeared with a lingering chuckle at the mans expense. Even after he turned away it was funny watching the defiance.

"You think yourself sith, and yet you cannot shake that feeling of self doubt. Look at you clinging onto something that makes you feel powerful." Any with a keen sense could feel the threat incoming. Teresa swung horizontally with the still active blade. She held back the speed but still with the heavy force behind it. "All I see before me is a pet with no master. Heed my warning that this is your last chance to drop that lightsaber before you become my tool to train on and I won't hold back."

 

[Nefaron]

"I said,"

Nefaron lifted the old blade in his grasp, igniting the red once again as he swung towards the blade launched for him. He could feel the danger. But as he battered it aside with his own raging hate, he didn't feel weak. Not anymore. Even as his body screamed at him in pain with every movement. She had laughed at him. She'd come here, toyed with him like a plaything, then demanded what she'd freely given.

"No."

Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax

 

[Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax]

Subbed gear: Svikin Hjörtu, Old Lightsaber, Dark Valkyrie Armor
Nefaron

The second the zebrack said no for the second time Teresa did not hesitate, this time there was no need to hold speed and power. Her arm swung with a harshness that came from the tip of a whip cracking as it came for the zebraki's head from top down. It was an obviously made movement, there to distract from the hand gripping the hilt of the saber in a sheath. Pulling it out and leaning into the movement her main hand came fast slashing across towards the abdomen.

There was a look in the woman's eyes that came across as vicious and a smile excited by danger. Not of her own danger, Teresa was certain she could handle the pup wondering what state he'd be left in by the end. Once she got going it was hard to hold back because it was simply too alluring to keep going. The next series of attacks came in, each time Teresa step forward intent to push the berserker towards the door. "You wish to be sith, yet bite the hand of one. Quick way wind up killed, you stupid little thing. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I see why your owner tried to kill you off. Potential is wasted on you." Despite the mixed back of emotions flowing from the woman anger was the one to take the top tapping into its raw feeling. Beneath was impatience, enjoyment, frustration and even curiosity.