As he breathed rhythmically, in the familiar Jedi pattern he was taught as a youngling, he allowed himself a moment of calm before his cruel duty would begin. Despite being far from inexperienced in matters of Sith rituals, his heart rate was still more elevated than usual, he noted. Despite his thorough preparation, there were uncontrollable variables that could yet cause a disturbance. These could then lead to a mistake and the subsequent transformation into an unthinking creature driven only by endless hunger. Though perhaps it was that thought which unnerved him the most. The Sith's autonomy and independence were what Atlas cherished most. The thought of his identity being ripped away made him cringe involuntarily. Perhaps his late Masters, both a Jedi and a Sith, had driven him to adopt this rather radical adherence to the self, perhaps it was only his sense of self-preservation. At this point, he could barely tell the difference. But instead of carrying out the line of thought in more detail he shook his head and sighed, letting the matter rest and his attention return to the task at hand.
The guard stopped and held his hand up to a large door's control panel. With several clicks and a hiss, a diagonal gap expanded, first slowly then with haste, allowing passage through the artificial bulkhead within the asteroid which separated the corridor from a massive hall. Atlas stepped past the guard, not bothering to wait to be bidden inside, and appraised his surroundings. It was spacious, several dozen hooded figures were standing expectantly on either side of the room within the shadows cast by second-story platforms supported by the odd pillar, their attention focused squarely on the intruder. The platforms themselves had even more of the cultists, who joined their brethren with their own gaze. The hall's centre was marked by a long walkway which lead directly towards a raised platform surrounded by stairs upon which two more figures stood. One was clad in much the same attire as the rest but held more decoration, he had an air of authority about him relayed through size and ostentatiousness of dress, which was adorned with scores of trophies. The other, however, seemed meek in comparison, an old and decrepit man in simple cultist's rags. He seemed frail as he stood next to what Atlas presumed to be the cultist's leader. His face marred by unnatural lesions that made his appearance most unsightly, he nevertheless exuded a most frightening presence. Simply laying his eyes on the man made Atlas wince involuntarily.
Despite his knee-jerk reaction to flee the scene, Atlas strode with feigned confidence towards the room's centre, where a large altar had been placed. Wordlessly he proceeded to detach the box he carried on his back and laid it on top of the altar. The smooth grey stone was marred by a multitude of cuts and scars, painted in faint hues of natural colours from the many rivers of blood which had flown through the riverbeds carved by careless blades and panicked nails. A red cloth adorned with golden trimmings at its edges was laid out to mask the wear. Atlas began laying out the tools he'd brought. The table's surface was just above hip height, the dimensions large enough that Atlas had to move around the table to access its entirety. The amulet was laid at the foot of the table, where Atlas would take his place during the ritual, alongside a cage holding a K'lor'slug egg from one of Korriban's many tombs and a black cylinder suspended in a transparent blue stasis field which appeared far more like glass than energy. Several crystals deeply seeped within the dark side were arranged at each of the corners, pointing towards a much greater one suspended by a small repulsor platform above the altar's centre.
He gazed towards the cultists on either side until one was shoved out of their ranks, stripped of his robes and only left in rags. The man did not seem fearful of what was to happen. Did he not understand what the ritual he had been chosen for would do? Atlas glanced towards the figures standing at the end of the walkway, his brows furrowing just barely. It may have been wise to withhold the information, but some small sentiment of compassion had always remained within the Sith, despite the crimes against sentient life he had committed. A nagging glimmer of morality he'd always clung to, despite having every reason to abandon it entirely. He shrugged the thought away with a brief shake of his head as the cultist approached, however. With a few gestures Atlas indicated the position the man should take, arms at his sides, he was to lay on his back with his head towards the Sith and so he did.
There was a moment of hesitation as Atlas met the cultist's eyes. Though all he saw was a desire for violence and destruction, he couldn't help but notice the strained muscles and clenched fists. Though the man made no outward expression of fear, the sheen of sweat and the quick, audible breaths the man was taking were indications enough for Atlas. His mind wandered again, there was yet time to stop the ritual. It would no doubt draw the ire of every person assembled in the room, but the option to save a life rather than take so many still remained. With another sigh, Atlas expelled the thought. He shifted his attention outward, rather than to his own thoughts this time.
The ritual had to begin, they were running late. As his focus converged on the man before him, Atlas began being able to feel the fear radiating. His arms extended forwards, a sharp intake of breath from the cultist accompanied the movement, as did a spike of emotion. The Sith let his hands run through the air and come to a stop above the cultist, where he began playing with invisible strands. Through the Force, he felt the emotion from the man, as though it was a physical string extending from the large crystal above and attached to the body below it. Atlas grasped as many of the strands as he could and pulled them towards himself drawing breath deeply as he did. The cultist's fear coursed through Atlas' core, where the crucible of the Dark Side turned it to raw power for Atlas to draw upon. He released it as lightning from his hands, golden arcs burning through the air all towards the same target, the crystal, which began glowing in the same shade, illuminating the hall. For several heartbeats he let the Dark Side flow into the crystal, stopping abruptly when he felt a sudden sense of danger from the glowing stone, as though it had reached the limits of a before unknown patience and was about to lash out against its tormentor in retaliation. In Atlas' place, the four smaller stones drew the crystal's ire. It released the energy it had stored in the same form, but instead of connecting with the smaller crystals' surfaces the golden arcs of lightning were redirected towards the limbs of the living creature trapped between them, encasing them in long spirals of golden energy that came within a hair's breadth of searing the flesh they restrained.
"We may commence." He called out to the figures at the walkway's end. Another tremor interrupted him before he could speak again, the sounds of explosion and gunfire erupted from far away. Atlas let the Force wash over the asteroid. He could feel the hatred, the fear, and the bloodlust that had suddenly flared within the hangar. It appeared their ritual would have an unexpected audience.
[member=Nulgath Zardai], [member=Aeneis Valdemar], [member=Kian Karr], [member=Kaleleon Seleare]
