Kark With Me, You Know I Got It [Harrip]

[Sheff Zee]

He shook his body loose, his hands were clenched tightly and he felt as if he could simply break the falcata just by clenching the hilt. He had already stabbed it through the beast's chest, through it's lungs, burst it's ear drums, damaged it's eyes, and tore open it's side. And yet it still came, it instilled a fear and necessity to destroy something that he had never been faced with.

For the first time as a Sith, he didn't want to destroy this beast. But he knew, he knew that if there were others out there like this creature he would have to destroy it. He knew that if he didn't put this thing down now, then in the future there could be more of them. He imagined hundreds of them moving on his home's capital and the Force started to wrap around the Rakghoul.

He imagined them burning his own castle, his own chambers, his own home. His parents being killed, he was filled with fear at all of it happening. He used it to further empower himself with the Force. He felt as if he was light on his feet, as if he weighed nothing as he continued to siphon off his Force reserves to this one and single force grip. His right hand was up in the air, open palmed as he continued to wrap the force around the rakghoul.

He imagined his own anger at himself for being afraid of the creature, he imagined all of the things he hated, and used those to hold and stop the movement of the Rakghoul. He constricted it with the Force grip.

And then his hand closed.

[member="Harrip"]

 

[Harrip]

Gargoyle felt itself stop moving, then it felt himself being crushed. By the Force, it felt as if it were in a compressor. It struggled, but the Force was far beyond the power of even the Rakghoul. "Tricks! The little Worm has no honor! Coward!" Gargoyle cried at its adversary.

Harrip was given a moment, just a moment where he had the voice. The fear of Gargoyle must have broken its control. He could utter three words. "To die alone..." He spoke, and Harrip wept. Gargoyle however did not give. It yelled in fury. It screamed in outrage, its voice would make almost any creature cringe at the sound. For the noise it was making was unnatural for most life.

Gargoyle struggled, struggled for dear life. For it had only self preservation as guide, but that was a powerful will. It stretched out a hand even as the Force clamped down on it.The pure might of the Rakghoul was not enough to overpower that of the Force, but it could hold out against it.

In those moments, Gargoyle had only the thoughts of protecting itself, to survive this fight would be a miracle in and of itself. But Gargoyle only saw this as a challenge, to overcome a Sith would show itself that it was capable of being a Sith killer.

Harrip however could only think of those years on Taris, speaking only Rakghoul. Being alone in the world as the only one who could think beyond instinct. Alone he was in the galaxy, the Abomination of Vitiate used to be his name, before that Patient #23, before that Mikel. Mikel. His name of millennia ago. Shared experience was impossible to find. Someone who could understand, there was no such thing. He had hoped to find love, but where was that for a monster among men. Certainly he was truly just a lost creature, an animal without home. He wondered what death would feel like, and maybe be glad of its embrace. For as a human he would have died many years ago. But then as a human he might have been fulfilled, he may have had love, he may have felt the sweet relief of death at an age of only 83. But that was not to be. He would die, here on a planet that he knew little of, to man he had attacked for no reason, to never know love or his purpose, and utterly alone.....

That was his destiny. If only this Prince could understand. He might have had pity, but then he might not. He might have been a just ruler, loved by his people. A person who all his subjects would look up to. Or he could have been a tyrant, loathed by all those around him. He might have been the blight upon his people and a torturer to those who followed.

[member="Aeon Caedus"]

 

[Sheff Zee]

He felt the sorrow that the being held, and the only thing he could have done with it through the Force was consume it. He took it, bent it to his will through the Force, and then he force it to only add to his reservoir. It had been consumed, and it only added to the Force Grip that crushed the life of the Rakghoul. He felt something break within him, was it empathy? His heart? He felt nothing within him, just the loving embrace of the Force as he crushed the Rakghoul's form. He was merciless, he felt as if he was a God, but more importantly, he was tired.

Blood stained the side of his clothes, he knew thatn ow, but he didn't stop. He was wild, bloodthirsty and would never end the suffering of the Rakghoul. But he had to finish this fight, he knew he had to, so he threw his falcata straight at the Rakghoul's face, most probably through it's brain when it connected, always guided by the Force. It was raw Force power that let him do what he was doing, but he knew if this Rakghoul didn't die from that sword, then Caedus would.

The crushing sensations would have only become tighter, stronger, he was grasped by anxiety and fear for his own life. He tried to siphon off as much as he could to his draining reservoir of the Force, but there was too much for him. Die. Die. Die. DIE!!!

And he thought he heard a cracking sound.

[member="Harrip"]

 

[Harrip]

Gargoyle struggled and struggled until it suddenly stopped feeling. A blade stuck out of its head. It no longer moved, it didn't breath, yet the consciousness of the beast was still there. It coughed out blood saying, "You will die...." Then it no longer moved. It had been slain. But even in that moment Gargoyle felt its strength just returning. It felt new life, not in its actual limbs, but in its mind. It would come back. It would some day hunt down this Prince and leave him as a crumpled ruin. Next time Gargoyle would not allow Harrip to slow it down, it would strike with all fury. It would strike with all the strength of the Rakghoul and its plague. It would heal, all things heal with time. And when it did heal, it would hunt the Prince to the ends of the galaxies.

Harrip noted the body stopped working. He felt the pull as he was leaving his body. He looked down at the form on the ground. An abomination of Sith creation. Yet he could not help but feel pity for the Prince. Gargoyle had beaten him up and left him severely wounded, he may not survive the infections that would occur with such open wounds. He looked back to the body, thinking on what could have happened. If he had stayed away from the Prince. Death was welcome, even now he could see something in the distance. It appeared as a well dressed man and wife, holding hands as they walked serenely down from the heavens. Death was calling. They walked towards him, apparently oblivious of the Prince and the body below. They did not open their mouths yet he heard their voices.

First the man spoke saying, "You have done well. Time to come home."

Then the woman released her husband's hand and stepped over giving a slight embrace to Harrip. "Time to let go. Come home." She spoke warmly.

Death spoke, madness had said. He felt tears well up in his eyes. He knew it wasn't possible, but it appeared that Death was speaking through his parents. It wasn't possible but he saw it. Death was calling. He would remember the day he died, a sad day. If only rain had started, it would have been nice to have rain on the day he died. It would remind him of Dromund Kaas and Taris.

Death spoke, his 'mother' said, as if reading his thoughts. "There is rain where you are destined to be. Come home." Death was calling.

His mind raced through his life as a human. He could see his Master, hear him speak, and even understood him. Death was Master over all, and it was calling.

He looked upon his new form, free of the Rakghoul he stood proud that he was man again. No longer would he fear for those around him, no longer would he fear that he was being hunted. Death was calling.... calling him home.

That is the destiny for all, Harrip thought. Death is a drink of cold water to the one who has thirsted his whole life. Death is always ready to pick those people up and take them home. The warm embrace of Death; there was nothing like it in the Universe. Death would call, and it was calling now.

He would answer its call. He would run willingly into its arms and hold dearly to it. He would stand before the might and awe-inspiring power of Death and thank it for rescuing him. Death was calling, and Harrip was going home.

He felt the warm embrace of Death's great arms. It told him to watch the procession below. And behold beneath him the Galaxy was but a marble amongst many others, he saw the Universe before him. Harrip was gently placed amongst the stars. He looked down into the Galaxy that he had once been part of. He could see the men and women going about their lives, never thinking that in the Galaxy alone they were not even grains of dust. When he thought of the whole Universe they were less than atoms. He looked upon the scenes of people living, playing, and dieing every day, everywhere. He looked up to Death, as a child would his parents. Death knew his thoughts and nodded. Harrip looked upon the marble below and could see the Prince and what was happening. Death was calling, and he was almost home.

The stars about him were a beautiful sight, they were each and every one unique. They each had names, and while he watched the scene below he tried to remember the name he had given the stars when young. So many years ago, but Death knew each word he had spoken. Death knew everything of him, of the people below, of the galaxy, and of the Universe. Death was calling him and it did so personally.

Harrip's mind went out to the Prince, the few moments after Harrip's death. He said to him, his voice restored, "Thank you."

[member="Aeon Caedus"]

 

[Sheff Zee]

He felt as if he had heard something in his mind as he dropped down to his knee. And then his second knee slowly slumped down onto the ground as well. His hand practically dragged through the blood that leaked out of his side and over his face and pressed the comlink in his air.

He felt as if he had called for help, but he really hadn't. His voice was coarse, his form tired, and he thought he heard the sound of a shuttle landing close by to him and someone crying out his name. But he ignored it. He wondered about the voice that he had heard in his head, he wondered about the life he had just ended, where it was, it was his conscience forcing this upon him.

Though involuntarily, he smiled a dark smile. A smile that was heartless, a predatory smile, a smile that someone who cared for none but themselves. That was his face, and though he felt as if his body was numb, his mind was still acting in overdrive. It was still going, replaying the events that had just happened and a single tear drew from his eye.

From what the tear was for, he didn't know. Though it vexed him, and then he felt the heat of a light upon his body, he was on a table or something that fit perfectly to his form. He heard the clatter of something metallic upon the floor nearby him, and he tried to turn his head to look, but he saw nothing. His eyes were closed too, and he heard the tell-tale sounds of his own security guards giving orders and preparing a bacta tank for him.

"We're bringing you home, my Prince." He heard and then he finally slipped into unconsciousness again.

/Thread.