Duel Galactic Kaggath Round 2: Darth Malum vs Allyson Locke

[Mauve]

x

Molten rock covered the arena floor, churning under the pressure of its own heat. The dying corpse of the Wroyshr tree lit up with flame, descending steadily as its base burned away. Great branches broke away and were quickly consumed by the lava. As it devoured the last remnants of the first round’s environment, the second round’s stage took shape.

Platforms were scattered throughout the arena. They ranged from small ones which could barely hold one person to larger ones that evoked small duelling rings. Dozens of them floated at various heights, their machinery shielded against the heat from below.

Together, they formed the battleground for this round: a precarious battle above all-consuming lava with limited space to stand on.

Those who fell would be incinerated by the lava and forgotten in a tomb of molten rock.

The announcer’s voice cut through the excited chatter of the crowds as the combatants were ferried into the arena on small, floating platforms: “In remembrance of the Battle of Mustafar, fought by the First Order and the Galactic Alliance many decades ago, we present to you the second battlefield of the Kaggath!”

“Welcooome back to rooooound TWO of the Galactic Kaggath.

“Facing off across the platforms - oh ho ho - do we have a show for you TONIGHT. Reprising her role as the hunter in the shadows, the arrow in the darkness, it’s ALLYSON LOCKE!”

“And standing across from her, it is the Lord of Darkness himself, the Master of Shadows, the TSIS’KAAR, DARTH MAAAALUUUUUUUUUUUUM!”

Allyson Locke | Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Malum of House Marr //: Mauve //:
//: Attire //:
//: Equipment //:
//: Bow & Arrows //: Cybernetic Eye //: Jacket //: Arrows of Absence x 25 //: Bag of Absencite x 5ea //: Sword //:
//: Non Transferable "Equipment" //:
//: Ava'kash Brand //: Emperor's Echo //:

Another battle.

Another opponent.

Allyson tried to remember why she was doing this. She had nothing left to prove. She had walked away from the Alliance on her own terms. When Darth Empyrean opened his arms, she stepped into them willingly, embracing the darkness he offered.

There were others too, Taeli Raaf , always striving to prove the Corellian's worth to herself, and Darth Carnifex , ambitious enough to turn a former enemy into a weapon.

Each of them had shaped the Shadow in one way or another. Allyson wondered, briefly, if her path had ever truly been her own—or merely a series of manipulations by others.

Allyson shook her head. Enough. Doubt didn't serve her here.

She was where she chose to be.

This wasn't about proving anything. This was part of a plan. Her plan.

Drawing a steady breath, she grounded herself. Just another fight. Just another target. Nothing more than another obstacle in her way.

With the exhale, the world around her slowed. The Force narrowed to a pinpoint—microscopic and focused—as she drew inward, folding her presence down to nothing.

Gone from the Force, she blended into the background noise of larger beings.

The Shadow disappeared.

Her movements were deliberate as she stepped forward onto the nearest platform. Heat rippled up her legs. This wasn't an illusion. This was real. And death here would be final.

She didn't bother waiting for her opponent to act. That wasn't her style. She moved first, always. Disruption was key. Break his sightline. Close the distance. Take the shot.

She had skimmed some of his footage, but a phone call took precedence over it.

Darth Malum—that was his name. It rang a bell, but not loud enough. The announcer said Tsis'kaar, which told her all she needed: he liked masks and was in one of those little Sith clubs.

If she could forget that meeting, she would.

She had come to learn the Empire's sub-factions were each twisted in their own unique way. The Kainites, for instance, after fighting Lirka Ka , Allyson was pretty sure they were masochists.

That was something she still hadn't brought up with Madelyn Lowe .

Jumping from the platform's edge, she let herself hang. Her feet brushed the metal, swinging her body into position beneath a lower platform. No scrape. No sound. Not a single pebble displaced.

Perfect for now. But she needed her opponent to make a move.

Drawing her bow, she ran gloved fingers along the string, summoning a fresh block of arrows into her quiver. Instead of grabbing one of those, she reached back and pulled a different one—an Absencite arrow.

She didn't know much about Malum—just that he was strong and a Force-wielder. She'd gone into worse fights with less information, but that didn't mean she liked it.

Silence settled until the whispers came.

One she recognized.

The other she didn't—but she'd seen it in dreams.

Still beneath the floating platform, unseen, unheard, Allyson centered herself and waited.

The whispers called again, patient and pressing.

Waiting for her to listen.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The thrum of the crowd strummed through his ears as he passed through the metaphorical gateway that represented the symbolic passage between the violence of battle and the tranquility of rest. A ghost of a smile parsed between his lips, as soon as his mask became visible, the black sheen of plate and steel, the crowd's excitement reached a feverpitch, tremours echoing along the stands, to even the magmaous arena. It seemed that after the previous round, as much as he could catch between the limited period between the first and second round, he had become something of a crowd favourite.

How humbling.

Yet, at the same time disconcerting.

The noble scion basked in the praise, in the cheers, and the energy that drummed through his dark boots.

The Lord of the Tsis'Kaar could feel the heat at his cheeks, one who so masked himself in the shadows, so exposed.

He imagined there would be much to do with shadows this round, as soon as the next round had been announced, one who had scarcely taken a scratch the previous round, had been quick to find himself a recording of his opponent's match. What he had born witness to had hardly concerned him, but it did have him quickly raising a brow.

Though such an expression of interest had existed far beyond the fates... or more likely, the criminals that ran this little compeition's interference to have them be paired for this bout. He had been intrigued as early as when Darth Empyrean had asked... nay demanded his creatures's... this creature's presence at one of his meetings. It had been only good fortune that whatever feigned discussion held that day had been enough for the woman to have left early, and as far as he had heard, kept her distance far, far, away from him and his. Still, some agent of the Emperor had been enough to arouse interest, arouse intrigue... but little else.

Until she had returned to his life, in annoyingly public manner.

Her... her... this bow user, this complete unknown of a woman, she? SHE?! Was worthy of being made Champion of the Sith Order?! His pride had been rankled the moment of the announcement, their frequently absent Emperor, strode down from his ivory tower upon Jutrand, not to confer the honour upon one of his Dark Councillors, a Sith Lord, the only one of note, the only one of importance on this battlefield...

...But instead upon his no important agent.

The insult bit, it bit down with the power of a vornskyr's maw, and dug its fangs deep. It was an insult to him, it was an insult to the entire House, it was an insult to the entire Order.

...It was not the first time the Emperor had shown his utter hatred for those who he claimed to rule.

He could not deny, that it had been with an immense pleasure, one that flowed through his veins as easily as his heart pumped blood across his form, that he had been selected to fight her next. Indeed, to prove to all the power of his House? His blood? What better opportunity then to dash the Emperor's champion's corpse across these cold rocky walls. Yet, as the uncharacteristic rage passed, as easily as the whispers formented by his mind, the cool calculus began to spin the gears of his mind.

It had not been only the Emperor that had pledged their reputation, their sponsorship upon this complete unknown... there too had been others. Ta- Darth Arcanix, Ka- Darth Carnifex, Srina... and then others too, that had him bewildered. He did not know Judah Lesan, but he had read aftermath reports with enough mentions of his name... on the other side, to know he was a foe. While Locke and Key Mechanics... he had to growl in frustration at not linking the names together, that somehow this unknown was connected to one of the premier conglomerates of the galaxy.

He could imagine that some of those listed had joined in the Emperor's ridicule... but not all of them, let alone his Empress, who had granted him her favour. Yet, it spoke of something far grander, a conspiracy that wafted across from the skies of Coruscant to the galactic rim, she had too many connections, too many powerful supporters to be as unknown as the information he could find of her suggested.

And how he so hated not knowing.

And how he so hated knowing that a threat to their Order, one either who seemed to exist as a void in existence, or otherwise was so accomplished in hiding information about herself, had gained the backing of so many powerful figures... she had to be eliminated, that much was growing increasingly clear. The possibility had of course crossed his mind too, of another startling possibility, that she may in fact be more than a threat to the Order... that she was an engineered threat, nay, a solution... to him.

It made some sort of demented sense he supposed, a figure that seemed to just come into existence without a backstory, without a history, one who held capabilities that existed only within the bounds of the Tsis'Kaar or Shadows, and wielded a weapon that could be seen as a direct counter to his one way of combat. She held the support of those who at various times had stood in direct opposition to the youngest Dark Councillor... could it really be? Peace... well no, not peace, for that was a lie, but a tranquility had been forged with all his former opponents, but the old adage held true ever still, to maintain tranquility one should prepare for war.

Had a cabal formed against him, and their solution been her?

Better than to nip this in the bud now, to throw her descicated corpse into the fire, and humiliate all those that dared stand against him. Another obstacle, another opponent, another felled who would lend a lustre, daring, to his great enterprise. He had stood upon the shoulders of these giants for so long, why not stand on the ground himself?

He gazed across the arena, as his feet took the first steps forth, the lava bubbled up at him, smoke parsing through the gaps between the platforms, as air bubbles hissed as they broke beneath the slow moving waves. If she played to her strengths, she would be in hiding already, drawing her bowstring, readying in position to fire upon him. In that moment then, distance would be his ally to find exactly where she stood, distance and positioning, to find her, and close the distance as quickly as possible.

He stepped across the pillars with practiced ease, seeming to not even concern himself with the heat beneath, a strange warmth as much as physical as it was metaphorical lulling him to a sense of certainty, ironically, a sense of cool.

Even as the sweat began to form by his forehead, he found himself far preferring this arena to the last.

He found himself by the central platform, the largest in the immediate area, no weapons drawn, even as a small arsenal existed beneath the armour, tall and proud, the Lord of the Tsis'Kaar had one leg back, as he dropped to an exaggerated bow toward nothing at all, the cheers of the crowd if possible growing ever louder.

"Did our Emperor not teach you proper manners?" Malum's poised voice called out to nothing, as he raised his head and form back to its readied position, "Neither seems any of your other sponsors, Locke." The hint of sneer was inserted into his voice as precisely as a needle drew blood.

"Why not make a pact with me..." A voice whispered, right at her ears, "...If I win, you tell me what I want to know, if you win, I'll tell you what you want to know." His voice continued on, but went unspoken, Malum may not know where she stood, but transmitted by the Force, it echoed along the walls of the arena, it would be heard.

It demanded answer.

Allyson Locke
Mentioned: Darth Empyrean Taeli Raaf Darth Carnifex Srina Talon Judah Lesan John Locke

Spoiler

Equipment:
The Amulet of Darth Marr's Ashes x 1
Band of Conjuring x 1
The Eliadian Ring of Flames x 1
Mk. 2 Ophidia Assassin Armour x 1
Lionskin Defence Gauntlet x 1
The Blade of Storm and Flame x 1
The Soulsabre x 1
Jin'Wodasir x 5
A Lover's Healing Potion x 1
A Seer Stone x 1
Grenades x 10 (2 Incendiary, 2 Chemical Gas, 2 Fragmentation, 2 Stun, 2 Smoke)
Shikkars dipped in Devaranonian Blood Poison x 6
Tsaisibola x 1
Tsariquira x 1
HG-88 'Big Iron' Hand Cannon x 1
Dishiarza x 1 (Carrying the Soulsabre)

 

[Mauve]

"What's this? Looks like the crowd has spontaneously picked up a chant."

The crowd rippled, doing the wave with a following, crescendoing shout of, "AAaaaaaaaaaaaalllyyyyysssoOOOOOOON! LOCKE!"

"Wooooooaaaa AAaaaaaaaaaaaalllyyyyysssoOOOOOOON! LOCKE!"

"Wooooooaaaa AAaaaaaaaaaaaalllyyyyysssoOOOOOOON! LOCKE!"

The crowd seemed highly emphatic. Perhaps... too much so?

Another chant began.

"Who's the wanker! Who's the wanker! Who's the wanker in the cape! Hey!"

Allyson Locke | Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Malum of House Marr //:
//: Attire //:
//: Equipment //:
//: Bow & Arrows //: Cybernetic Eye //: Jacket //: Arrows of Absence x 24 //: Bag of Absencite x 5ea //: Sword //:
//: Non Transferable "Equipment" //:
//: Ava'kash Brand //: Emperor's Echo //:

The moment his lips parted to speak, Allyson stopped listening.

He reminded her of the boy posturing for his peers, promising power he didn't possess. The memory rang louder now; she mostly remembered who he was.

Didn't matter. Allyson didn't care.

Darth Malum was just another bump in the road toward what she wanted.

While he continued his little performance for the crowd, Allyson took advantage of the moment.

She didn't move—but the shadows did.

Six flickers of herself emerged beside her, hidden in the Force like their master. Silent and unseen, they scattered, surrounding Malum on the central platform. Each carried a bow, drawn and steady. Illusions—each of them, except for hers. Her absencite arrow was real.

The instant his whispers tried to brush against her mind, the real arrow and several phantom ones were loosed. His attempt at making a deal fell on deaf ears.

And even if she had listened, he'd still be disappointed with the answer.

This wasn't like her fight with Thalia.

The bow she held now mirrored the brand scorched into her skin the day she pledged herself to the Asha'Kurat.

She had torn free from the Force's chains—the illusion of fate—and the weapon crafted from the light she bled reflected that defiance.

The Shadowfall's enchantments tapped into her mark, frustrating precognition and danger sense. Every arrow was harder to track, harder to predict.

It gave her the edge.

Still hidden (from sight and sense) Allyson heard the crowd roar. She tried to ignore them until she heard the chant.

Her name.

No one had ever chanted her name before.

A flush of pride bloomed in her chest. For the first time in a long time, she wanted to win for herself.

She drew another arrow. Her illusions mirrored the action. With precision, she nocked the long nanite arrow she had prepared earlier.

She didn't bother to check if the Absencite shot had landed. It was strong—armor-piercing and void-touched, but she knew better than to rely on just one shot.

Enhancing her aim with the Force, the nanite arrow flew faster than before. Mid-air, it fractured, splitting into eight smaller arrows, a deadly rain descending on the Sith's position.

Now she moved.

Deeper into the shadows, she clung to the underside of a faraway, spinning platform. A swipe of her hand across her nose came back wet, golden ichor streaked her skin.

She was reaching for it, tapping into the power gifted through her Sith lineage.

The whispers were louder than ever, arguing, jostling, fighting for her attention.

But Allyson pushed them down.

She stayed focused.

This wasn't over.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was not everyday that Malum fought an opponent who used doppelgangers as he did, in any other circumstance he might have been ecstatic about the matter, another like him, another to parse over notes over with, another who might understand the shadows as deeply as he did. Unfortunately, he felt none of the exhuberance, none of the excitement, none of the joy.

Because his opponent was Allyson Locke.

His whisper went unanswered as he half-expected it to. It was signal enough in his mind of what her intentions were.

How utterly disappointing they were.

It had not been difficult to predict her move, especially with review of her duel with the Jedi, one who masked their presence in the Force, one who masked their presence in general, one who wielded seemingly exclusively a very powerful ranged weapon, and one who held within their capability the power to summon copies of themselves.

Copies without real weight, his mind reminded.

He had nay dared her to employ the move, positioning himself at the centre of their arena, mocking her, all the while platforms orbitted the greatest one, in perfect for her to fire at him from all directions? How could anyone possibily resist such an action.

He flicked his gaze over the surrounding platforms, the cry of the crowd fading away (for perhaps the best for the young Sith Lord's ego), in the face of the gravity of battle. She was somewhere, indeed, she was possibly everywhere. It was a pity that the duel with the Jedi had only gone on for so long, because as the grim reminder at the back of his mind foretold that she would have far more tricks to play that he could not predict.

Indeed, it would have been a strategy he employed, revealing what had already been revealed, removing what certainty his opponent could have.

The copies had really been the only true trick that she had employed that had caught his notice, she had kept everything else remarkably close to her chest, he supposed... Tutaminis and Darkshear counted too, but what ever else she beheld in her arsenal? It was a mystery that he imagined he would be the one to uncover unfortunately firsthand.

The arrows appeared out of seemingly thin air.

Time seemed to slow, as if a lever was flicked at the back of his mind, the Battle Sense activating as he quickly counted what was coming his way. As he processed what he was seeing. It had hardly been in the traditional manners of the bows usage, the arrows had not been nocked, drawn... and it was as if he was catching them mid-loose. Of course, that was only what he perceived, the previous actions having been likely conducted outside of his purview.

Seven, he counted quickly. Seven all beheld at the arrowhead with crystals that seemed to be a crossbreed of ice and diamonds, she had not used them in her duel with the Jedi if he recalled correctly.

He strummed his foot along the ground, as out beneath him, as if his foot the epicentre, waves after waves of Force Pushes were unleashed, like an earthquake but in the air, he watched each arrow cascade through the air in mounting speed, their terminal velocities having long since been reached, and their deeceleration aimed to be immediate, yet, there could only be one.

The first faded as the wave struck it, a cascading rhythm, as soon followed the second, then the third, until all had evaporated as easily as rain forced against the sun. Leaving only one.

Leaving only one, who had the most particular reaction to his waves.

It was as if... his waves could not touch it. No... they could, but it was the touch of numbed fingers along one's own skin, the doubt of the reality of the experience struck high. Every assault of the wave struck the arrow, but as if there existed a sandback right in front of the oncoming projectile, protecting it from the destruction of the deluge. It slowed, that much was achieved, but drawn with such weight, slowing it slightly meant entirely little.

His mind wandered to the voidstones used against him a mere hour ago...

...So she had watched, she had learned.

Annoying.

As if the conductor of the orchestra, he flicked his hand forth, curling the will of the Force unto his own, demanding its allegiance, forcing its obedience, as the very ground became his plaything, the metal platform where he stood brought under his fealty, as the metal itself reforged itself, raising a makeshift pillar high, catching the arrow in its maw.

The crystal cracking, at the impact.

Yet it's presence still felt.

Annoying.

How many did she have in her arsenal? The question eluded him, for one who knew, who made a career of knowing, the ignorance was sallow in his mind. He had little time to think about it, as across his periphery, another wave of arrows made for his position, their tips did not glow with icey blue visage of the previous.

Instead their trick had been in watching as they fractured in mid-air, for barest moment, he wondered if some contraption had misfired, instead, the second passed, and Malum watched as from one arrow, eight were spawned. The mathematics were quick in his mind, even as his mind did not venture to attempt to count them all, fifty-six, fifty-six arrows.

Let him fight in the shade indeed.

He strummed his foot against the metal again, as once more the waves erupted out from beneath his feet, the tremours reaching the impetus to affect the lava, as each arrow brought to terminal velocity was struck aside, most fading from view as they fell away from view, while the eight remainder, the eight real ones, slowed with each gentle caress, deecelerating, before descending, most fell and burned into the lava below, the rest reached harmlessly his platform.

He flicked his gaze over the platforms again, red eyes careful beneath the mask, would she try a third attempt?

"It seems none of them did, well that is a matter we can correct." Malum hummed loudly across the pavillion, "After all, the Champion of the Order could not be seen as a coward," As the conductor of fate and destiny raised his hands, the whispers reached a fever pitch, for one as made as the Heir of House Marr, whispers were not an uncommon phenomenon.

His ancestor.

His Mistress.

Yet, there too had always been a third, one who had long ago without his knowledge infected the deepest confines of his heart, the deepest reaches of his soul and being. He blinked, his gaze filled with flames, a ruby red becoming a hellfire orange, the flames licked at his lips, licked at his fingers, with the tremendous power and will he held at his fingers.

The Emperor had sought to free himself from the will of fates and destinies, to bring the battering ram of all his strength against a power unknowable.

Malum sought to free the entire galaxy of that will, and he would take control of it, command it, bring its will under one more superior.

Himself.

The lava burst forth in a cataclysm of titantic proportions, as all around him, the whispers of one who had not sat the throne for decades broke across his brow, the urge, the instinct to belch up smoke and flame intoxiciating, as all around him, the warmth of the lava pulled him closer. That same lava that lapped up to the take the orbiting platforms in its maw, the metal hissing as the heat further intensified, melting through the seems, but if failing that.

Swallowing the platforms up whole and pulling them beneath the waves.

"Show yourself coward!" The voice that hissed out of his breath was primal, primordial, animalistic, "SHOW YOURSELF AND BURN!"

Spoiler

Equipment:
The Amulet of Darth Marr's Ashes x 1
Band of Conjuring x 1
The Eliadian Ring of Flames x 1
Mk. 2 Ophidia Assassin Armour x 1
Lionskin Defence Gauntlet x 1
The Blade of Storm and Flame x 1
The Soulsabre x 1
Jin'Wodasir x 5
A Lover's Healing Potion x 1
A Seer Stone x 1
Grenades x 10 (2 Incendiary, 2 Chemical Gas, 2 Fragmentation, 2 Stun, 2 Smoke)
Shikkars dipped in Devaranonian Blood Poison x 6
Tsaisibola x 1
Tsariquira x 1
HG-88 'Big Iron' Hand Cannon x 1
Dishiarza x 1 (Carrying the Soulsabre)

Allyson Locke
Mentioned: Darth Empyrean Darth Vulcanus

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Malum of House Marr //:
//: Mentioned Darth Virelia //:
//: Attire //:
//: Equipment //:
//: Bow & Arrows //: Cybernetic Eye //: Jacket //: Arrows of Absence x 24 //: Bag of Absencite x 5ea //: Sword //:
//: Non Transferable "Equipment" //:
//: Ava'kash Brand //: Emperor's Echo //:

He avoided the arrows.

She expected as much.

Each attack taught her something new about the Tsis'kaar leader. He kept talking—likely trying to goad her into replying, to bait her into revealing her position. If she had still been a rookie, someone ruled by emotion, he might've succeeded.

But not anymore.

Only one person had ever made Allyson break her mask—had forced her to reveal her heart in a way no one else had.

Serina Calis.

She had known exactly where to strike. With the precision of a honed blade, Serina had carved into her until that carefully constructed composure shattered.

Malum's words were nothing in comparison. They washed over the Corellian's mask, one forged from mockery and spite.

Calling her a coward? That wasn't an insult. That was the truth.

Allyson had been designed to run and hide—until the moment the Sith's pride made them sloppy. She had been conditioned, time and again, to withstand the wrath of Darth Carnifex and his ilk.

Every time the Butcher King threw her down, broke her bones, and sneered at her for clinging to the Light, she rose. She wiped the blood from her lips and charged once more into oblivion.

Being called a coward was child's play.

She smirked as she heard the anger lacing his voice. Rage poured from him, saturating the air. Allyson could feel it was reckless and perfect.

This was her art form. Annoy them. Frustrate them.

Let them burn out on their own rage.

Spicy, she thought, crouched still and hidden beneath one of the smaller, higher platforms. The lava below churned like the emotions in his chest. While he showed off his power, Allyson listened. The guttural sounds in his voice, the tone, the pitch—they rang with something familiar.

She stilled. Let her fractured mind search.

Csilla.

That feeling…

Vulcanus.

A voice not her own whispered the name of the seven-day Emperor. Allyson pursed her lips.

So. He had been touched, too. Same as her.

Whatever gift—or curse—Empyrean gave his chosen, Malum had received it as well. It changed little. But enough for her to shift her plans.

She needed to move. Higher.

Fire was never her ally.

Under the shadow's cover, she returned to the original platform where she had first arrived. From here, she had distance from the lava and full sight of Malum and the rest of the arena.

Closing her eyes, she let the noise fall away. Machinery hummed, brilliantly clear in the Force.

He may have bent the arena to his will, but machines had always answered HER. She was their Master, feared for her ability to unravel entire starships with nothing more than the flick of her wrist.

Tapping into the power that bled through her—Empyrean's Echo, the Asha'Kurat's brand—Allyson reached out.

And took control.

Pain spiked behind her eyes. Blood on her tongue.

This gift was always a curse.

But it was worth it.

The platforms surrounding the center stuttered in place, then changed trajectory.

One after another, they launched themselves toward the center like orbital strikes, crashing in a constant stream, hammering the ground beneath him.

He wanted to see her.

So she let him.

For a breath, she stood visible, gold ichor seeping from her eyes and ears. Allyson grinned at him, knowing that she was his better.

And then, in a blink, she vanished.

Back beneath the starting platform, just as the center one began to tremble…and fall.

Down into the lava below.

As Malum's platform began to plummet, her voice echoed from the mouths of her shadow clones:

"You talk too much."​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum smirked beneath the mask.

He would wonder what thoughts had brimmed beneath the facade of the cursed Corellian's face, they had to be amusing indeed, for her to use the exact same words he had used against so many of her superiors. It confirmed in his mind all that which he had imagined so far, they had been training this unknown for specific purpose.

A specific purpose that had contended discussion of him.

Yet for all that which she had not been buoyed by his taunts thus far, she just could not help herself, just could not simply resist the snark that he had so dearly hoped had existed within the woman that faced him. One born out of a pride that despite all attempt to hide, all attempt to exist within the shadows.

Burned with a rancor that refused to be totally hidden.

The face that greeted him, had not been what he had expected. It was not the face that which had greeted him so long ago on Alvaria.

It was face that a mother may have struggled to love, if only managed due to the concern even an enemy felt, at the golden ichors, the golden blood that seemed to leak out of her eyes and ears like a particularly broken faucet. Weakness, the echo had strummed into a scream, and she was succumbing to it.

He remembered what his Mistress had taught so long ago, their lineage born out of a monster. How control... how in like all things, control was the key to all matters of their existence, how a rage that transcended the life and death of the Graug Emperor, the Seven Day Emperor had seeped into their veins, that if not controlled.

Would find itself controlling them.

She had an Imperial master...

...T- Darth Arcanix had never taken the imperial colours, but her masters had... K- Darth Carnifex had been Emperor once... indeed, twice, apprenticed to another Emperor too, and then of course Darth Empyrean, their own Emperor... had he an Imperial master too? There was a sign in the echo, but golden ichorous blood hardly provided much evidence.

It mattered little if she would be dead in the next few minutes.

The smirk widened, as she began to fade from view.

Oh she would not.

He communed with the Force, every piece of equipment upon his form, that which he had utilised all in his effort to once triumph over all his foes. The ring ringed in Sarassian Iron, the band formed with the same iron, and held within its confines the Kasha and Qixoni crystals all brought his breathing into tempo, brought his will to the forefront. The amulet, that which was his most prized possession, that which he would only lose through prying it off his cold, dead neck, that which was his blood made ash, that which whispered, calmed, and made warm in familiarity of his purpose, of his existence. Even the Sith Steel of his blade empowered him with a strength that put him far beyond what should have been possibble.

Put him at a strength that had him duelling Sith Emperors and surviving.

With a blink, time and space contorted around him, masking himself beneath the Force from eyes both seen and unseen. Leaving behind, as where he stood once there was a copy, masked in the same face of their ancestor, its flicked its gaze lazily, finding the platforms converging against the main one.

It would have to make this convincing. Turning towards the closest oncoming platform, instincts seemed to always transcend the weakness of mere flesh. Timing it, as a forged heat beat against a fake chest, moments passing in the flickering miasma of lava erupting. Knowing that as soon as the rest struck, the central platform would face its demise.

Leaping forth, lies for legs struck across what should have been dangerously hot metallic platforms, the only hint that something was amiss. Eyes connected to the next platform, and so, and so it went, lacking lungs, lacking muscle, lacking aliveness, it could continue, leaping ever higher, leaping ever further.

As the real Malum arrived behind where Locke had only stood a second prior.

His ring burning hot against his hand, as he willed the Force to contortion beyond the way the fools of the Light had it wielded. An invisible energy transforming itself into something far too visible to ignore, a great caustic explosion erupted atop the smaller platform, as an inferno of pale blue flames overtook his surroundings.

And hopefully sent the annoyance tumbling over the edge.

"And you have spoken just enough." The amused doppelganger replied, feigning breathlessness.

Allyson Locke
Mentioned: Taeli Raaf Darth Carnifex Darth Empyrean Darth Ophidia Darth Vulcanus (Would tag Darth Moridin too, but no idea on his handle lol).

Spoiler

Equipment:
The Amulet of Darth Marr's Ashes x 1
Band of Conjuring x 1
The Eliadian Ring of Flames x 1
Mk. 2 Ophidia Assassin Armour x 1
Lionskin Defence Gauntlet x 1
The Blade of Storm and Flame x 1
The Soulsabre x 1
Jin'Wodasir x 5
A Lover's Healing Potion x 1
A Seer Stone x 1
Grenades x 10 (2 Incendiary, 2 Chemical Gas, 2 Fragmentation, 2 Stun, 2 Smoke)
Shikkars dipped in Devaranonian Blood Poison x 6
Tsaisibola x 1
Tsariquira x 1
HG-88 'Big Iron' Hand Cannon x 1
Dishiarza x 1 (Carrying the Soulsabre)

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Malum of House Marr //:
//: Attire //:

//: Equipment //:
//: Bow & Arrows //: Cybernetic Eye //: Jacket //: Arrows of Absence x 23 //: Bag of Absencite x 5ea //: Sword //:
//: Non Transferable "Equipment" //:
//: Ava'kash Brand //: Emperor's Echo //:

The swell of the Force shifted as Allyson dropped beneath the platform.

He had vanished—his presence erased from the Force in a way she knew too well. She couldn't feel him, but she could feel the residue, the lingering echo of teleportation. She'd thought it before, and now, she could recognize the signature.

Reaching into her quiver, she drew two kyber-tipped arrows and exhaled. With the breath, her doppelgängers vanished, dispersed into raw energy that flowed into the crystal cores of the arrows. She slid one back into the quiver and aimed the other.

The first arrow shot into the underside of a nearby platform that had survived her mechu deru onslaught. The second, she stabbed into the platform she was currently clinging to.

The central platform had already fallen into the lava. She had seen a figure flee before it collapsed, but the way the Force had shifted told her he'd moved again.

There weren't many places left to hide.

Knowing her luck? He was above her.

Allyson groaned softly and took a moment to breathe. She wiped the golden blood from her face. It still flowed freely, but she wasn't as concerned as she probably should've been.

Her eyes scanned the platforms. There, away from her, she saw a figure. She blinked. Her cybernetic eye didn't pick up any real biological readings.

A doppelgänger.

Blinking again, she crept silently along the bottom of the platform. Blue flame licked her cheek. She felt the heat, but not the pain. Drawing closer to the edge, she let the fire brush her skin, absorbing its energy through the Force. It flooded her muscles, sharpening her limbs with speed and strength.

Allyson was behind him now, close enough to reach out and grab his cape.

But she had grown up on the better side of Coronet City. And only uncouth women fought like that.

Shooting someone in the back, though? That was fair play.

Her cloak dropped for the briefest moment. At nearly point-blank range, the absencite arrow flew, aimed not just at the Sith Lord, but at the smallest molecule of his shoulder armor. Through the art of the small, she'd pinpointed it with precision.

Thanks to John Locke , she knew armor. The joints were always the weak spots.

As soon as the arrow loosed, she released her hold, falling into the shadows.

Down she dropped, closer to the molten wreckage. Clutching her bow, she focused on its core enchantment. Her body began to dematerialize mid-fall, pulled through Force and matter.

The twist in her stomach was sharp.

In the next instant, she reappeared, anchored to the arrow she'd embedded earlier.

Landing hard on the underside of the distant platform, she immediately vomited.

Yeah.

She was never going to get used to that enchantment.

Clinging to the metal, Allyson pressed her cheek against the cold surface. She drew in shaky breaths, trying to still the pounding in her chest.