Private In Her Name

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Dathomir

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace’s lightsaber howled through the night, and the next Sister dropped before her lips could finish the word 'Weave'. His shoulders heaved with the weight of the swing, every strike not just a cut but an exorcism, his rage poured into muscle and bone. He didn’t just carve, he cleaved, throwing the whole of himself behind each blow, the fury in his chest bleeding into motion.​

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They still whispered even as they died. "Final Weave". "The prophecy made flesh". "Her death crowns him". The words hissed around him, crawling like maggots through the air. Some fell to their knees in worship, arms lifted, faces lit with awe even as the blade came down. Others broke first, screams rising when they realized he would not stop. Their reverence dissolved into panic, but it was too late. He was already moving.​

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The massacre blurred into a haze. His lightsaber burned a wide arc through the mist, leaving sprays of ichor to steam on the soil. Chains of magick lashed at him, green fire bit at his skin, but his anger cut through them. A body staggered, another shrieked, then silence as the lightsaber dragged them down. He lost count. Fifty? More? His arms ached, his lungs pulled ragged, but still he pressed forward, weight thrown into every cut, as if the violence itself could empty the fire inside him.​

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Some fought with desperate ferocity, hurling fire and illusion, but their defenses only stoked him. His blade carved through shields, through pleas, through everything. Others tried to flee into the fog, yet he hunted them down, a wolf among shadows, his strikes snapping with cold, merciless rhythm.​

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Against him, they were nothing. His power dwarfed theirs a hundredfold; every spell, every strike broke against him like waves on stone. To them he was no man but a god made flesh. And gods did not forgive. They would drown in his wrath.​

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And then... stillness. The chants and screams guttered out, and Ace stood in the center of the carnage, chest heaving, lightsaber humming low. Around him, bodies lay strewn in heaps, their green fire sputtering to embers. He wasn't even aware Verse was close by, that she'd seen everything.​

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Then movement lingered in the shadows. Small figures pressed close together, eyes wide, their faces streaked with dirt and ash. Children. A handful of them, tucked behind the huts, clutching each other. They didn’t scream. They whispered still, voices trembling, the same word spilling from their mouths.​

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Final Weave. But there was no reverence in their tone, only fear and horror.​

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Ace’s jaw clenched. His grip on the hilt tightened. Slowly, deliberately, he turned toward them. His boots crunched through the soil as he began to walk, lightsaber dragging at his side, its blue light painting across their terrified faces.​

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He closed the distance, the fire inside him still burning, a storm demanding more.​

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Ines Pen-Ar-Lan Calyx Sundrift​

 

[Ines Pen-Ar-Lan]

Trust Fall
Acier Moonbound ​

Horror.

First his mother, then the Clan Elder and her fellow Witch. It was brutal but controlled - what followed, however, was horrid. Surprise coursed through her as Ace cut down a third Witch, it was evident in her eyes. Then, he swung again, killing a worshipper on her knees. The girl shook her head in disbelief but was barely given a chance to process it before the blue blade crashed down at another. Surprise turned into concern and would quickly fade into pure horror as she realised what was happening.

The hand with which she had checked Orryn's pulse slid down to grasp the woman's arm. Apologetic eyes ventured back to study her features as she let out a small whisper "I'm so sorry" left her lips before she let go of the arm and stood up. Analytical eyes scanned his movements and the looks he sent. Fury, rage and loss filled him to the brim. The strikes he produced were far from precise and well thought out - this was even more wild and uncontrolled than anything he had displayed so far.

Careful, doe-like, steps brought her forth as she followed in the path of destruction that he was carving through the village. "Ace, you have to st-" her words were cut short as the ashen-haired Rebel took down two Witches with a single wide swing. "Blast it, Ace! Don't you get it?! This isn't what-.." another swing brought down another, this time a lowly villager. It was becoming increasingly evident that he wasn't listening.

Verse did not come too near. Instead, she lingered behind him, at least seven steps. Agent Pen-Ar-Lan was well aware of how dangerous and unpredictable Jedi and their ilk could be - and for now, Verse was living in that reality too. Coming too close could mean that she'd get cut down herself. Still, she let out smal pleas behind him, doing what she could to make him hear what she had to say over the noise of Witches chanting or screaming in horror as his blade buzzed through them.

At one point, she saw a girl, far too young, staring at the man with the blue blade. A killer's intent burned bright in her eyes as green ichor flared from her fists. It was a death sentence: None of them had been able to even come close to harming the 'Final Weave' so far - and each person who had tried had been cut down. Sharp instincts and incredible reflexes had the blonde summon her blaster with lightining speed. Even firing from the hip, her aim proved to be extremely accurate: The stun bolt hit the youngster before she had the chance to go any further.

Verse let out an innocent sigh of relief as it seemed like she had at least saved one of them. Her attention then turned back to Ace. Her free hand shot up to her mouth in a futile effort to cover up her distraught expression: The reason she had specifically noticed the young girl intending to attack him was because there were only young girls left. A brief moment of hope was quickly quelched as Ace slowly turned to face a little group of girls, huddled together in fear and horror.

The sound of her boots against the ground grew more intense as Verse picked up the pace. So far, she had been intentionally trailing behind him, now she seemed intent of catching up to him. Suddenly, her boot caught something, causing her to trip and fall into a frighteningly deep puddle of mud, dirt and blood. Her gaze shot back at the lonesome arm that had caused the accident. A heart tearing screetch left her to intermingle with the panicked screams of the small number of young survivors whom Ace was approaching.

This was unsustainable. Verse closed her eyes hard. Methodically, the girl recomposed herself. The screetch ceased, her breathing calmed and her hands stopped shaking. When she opened her eyes again, the innocent and horrified expression of Verse Melnau gave way for an equally horrified, but far more sharp and composed expression. Agent Pen-Ar-Lan shook her head in a decided "No"

Grace and agility brought her back up to her feet with one smooth motion. Drenched in blood and mud, she sprinted up to the murderer she had arrived with. This time, her steps were light and controlled, easily avoiding obstacles as she stepped between and over what Ace had left in his wake. By the time she arrived by his side, Ace would be but a few meters away from the young Witches.

Ines spun to walk in reverse ahead of him like she had so many times in the past. After using the back of her right hand to wipe some gore away from her eyes and mouth, she gently placed her palm on his chest. "Ace, you have to stop this." Her voice was not so different from what he was used to: It was pleading, shivering and unthreatening - but the brightness and joy he would have grown acustomed to was completely erased.

The way in which Agent Pen-Ar-Lan carried herself then made subtle shifts. Her breathing became slightly more laboured and her eyes lost some of their youthful glow as her eyelids seemed to fall a smidge. Few, if any, observers, even the most perceptive ones would be able to tell what she was doing but this was a deliberate manoeuvre on the Agent's part. The hand that had rested on his chest softly crept up to tug weakly at his collar, the exact same place that Orryn had held on to in her final moments. "This isn't you. You have a beautiful soul, Ace. Don't let them turn you into something you're not." Her voice bordered on sounding weak in its plea - another discrete echo of his mother.

It was a bold way in which she tried to calm him down. Chances were that he'd snap - but then, she worked with subtle hints rather than overt references; allowing his mind to bring him into the headspace she wanted him in, seemingly on its own. Still, Agent Pen-Ar-Lan remained careful and vigilant. Her mind was too clouded for a force user to read and her left hand was hidden under her poncho, gently gripping her blaster, aimed straight at his core.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Dathomir

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

All thought narrowed to one thing: wipe them all out.

It was a single-minded, animal hunger that made the world thin at the edges. Every footstep was the drumbeat in his chest driving him forward. He moved as if drawn by a single thread, each step a promise to finish what had been started; to cleave, to scour, to end them all.

Then a palm landed on his chest. It was light. A small, human weight, soft against his chestplate. The contact cut through the tunnel of rage like a blade. For the first time since Orryn's last breath, something slippery and terrible that had been living in him slipped away. The feral focus that had narrowed his eyes unfurled; the blank, apathetic glaze in his face cracked into something like recognition. The monster receded, not with a roar but like smoke driven off by wind.

Ace's shoulders dropped. The lightsaber's hum under his fingers felt suddenly obscene. He blinked, and the village snapped back into awful clarity. Charred huts, toppled totems, bodies splayed and steam curling where blue had licked flesh. A child's whimper made the hairs on his neck rise like static.

Then he saw the children. Really saw them. They were crouched behind a splintered fence, faces streaked with ash and mud, eyes blown wide with something that was barely human anymore. They mouthed the single word like an echo of the night: Final Weave, but their voices trembled with fear, not reverence.

"Stop... stop calling me that..." He said softly, broken.

Ace's hand slid along the hilt until his thumb found the activator. He closed his eyes as if to steady himself, and then he killed the blade. The blue vanished and the hum died. His lightsaber hit the dirt with a thud and rolled away. Ace placed a hand against his forehead and took a step back but then his knees gave.

Horror came in a wave. This wasn't anything like Tessk, a flash: a fierce, sharp taste of the Dark he'd feared and loathed and briefly tasted, something he vowed never to drown in again. This was different. This was worse. He had not been overtaken, he had let it in. He had cupped the rage and fed it. He had called it up to solve a wound with a blade and then worked the blade until the wound was a field of corpses. And yet, the wound festered. Nothing had changed.

Shame burned within him. The knowledge of what he'd done hammered at him. He hid his face in his hands and let the sound of the night fill the space where his voice used to be. He only sat there in the dark, silent, every breath a small mourning, every exhale a confession he could never take back.

The despair was quiet and total. It was the absence of the thing he had clung to - pride, purpose, the illusion of being right. Replaced by a simple, terrible truth: he had become what he most feared. And there was nothing left to do but sit with the ruin he had chosen.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered.

Ines Pen-Ar-Lan​

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[Calyx Sundrift]

The hilt was cold in his hand. The corridor blazed with blue light as he swung, every motion carving through figures shaped of shadow and smoke. Each flash of plasma revealed faces twisted in terror. Women. Children- he couldn’t tell anymore. Didn't want to tell anymore. The smell of scorched flesh clawed at his senses. And the sounds - oh by Surik, the sounds - of saber meeting bone, of flesh melting and cloth burning, of screams cut short.

And the rage. The pain. His own heartbeat thundered in his skull, echoing through the metal walls until it was indistinguishable from the screams.

Then, silence.

Calyx's eyes snapped open. Drawing deep, slow breaths, he managed to settle himself. His stomach was lead, and he was trembling. His sheets were tangled, damp with sweat, and clinged to his skin like accusation. But the walls were the dark brick of his hotel room. They did not echo violence and death.

He pushed himself upright, swallowing against the taste of bile. The echo of the nightmare lingered in the Force. Faint, but real. Calyx ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. The air felt too thin, his own heartbeat too loud. He could sense it again. That tangle of emotions pulsing somewhere beyond him. Manifesting as fear. Anger. Grief. Pain.

Not his.

Someone else’s.

It was as if someone had crawled into his head and taken up residence. If he could feel them this vividly, then could they feel him too?

Calyx drew in a long, measured breath and exhaled slowly. That presence, that was Acier. He'd become increasingly certain of it.

Calyx rose, bare feet meeting the cold floor. The shock of it helped. He crossed to the window, parting the curtains just enough to let the night spill in. Ghorman lay beneath him, a patchwork of lights and long shadows. The planet was his most recent hideout.

Acier.

He leaned his forehead against the glass. The chill sank into his skin.

Burn me Acier, what are you doing?

The only answer was the steady pulse of that other presence, faint but unrelenting. Somewhere far away.

And yet far too close.

Ines Pen-Ar-Lan Acier Moonbound