Private Make the Shadows Dance.

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

The ancient sands of Korriban shifted like whispering voices beneath Serina's boots, swirling in eerie patterns as if welcoming her to the grave of long-dead gods. The tomb before her stood untouched, its towering stone entrance unmarred by the defiling hands of treasure-seekers or Sith zealots. It exuded an air of raw, undisturbed power, a lingering echo of dominion and despair that called to her like a lover's whisper.

Serina inhaled deeply, savouring the moment. The Tsis'Kaar, with all their secrecy and cunning, had not yet laid claim to this ruin—but she had. That was the thrill of it. To be ahead of them. To be unseen in her mastery over their games. Every step she took against them was a conquest, a proof of her supremacy. She felt pleasure ripple through her body like liquid fire, the sheer ecstasy of outwitting them wrapping her in a silken embrace. They were so careful, so precise, so convinced that their control was absolute—yet she wove herself through their designs as a shadow beyond their reach, untouchable, inevitable, undeniable.

And the hopeful she had stolen from their grasp? A prize. A promising soul plucked from their hands before they could shape them into another mindless fanatic. That soul would belong to her soon enough. She would guide them, elevate them, exalt them into something greater than what the Tsis'Kaar could ever envision. But more than that—she would corrupt them in a way no mere Sith Lord could. The hopeful would not simply follow her; they would adore her, worshipher, hunger for her presence, for her knowledge, for the pleasure that came with submitting to something greater than themselves.

Serina tilted her head back, closing her eyes as she let the feeling consume her. She was never denied pleasure—why should she be? The galaxy existed as a tapestry of delights waiting to be unraveled. Dominion, passion, decadence… these were the paths to true mastery. The Jedi rejected indulgence, the Sith twisted it into brutish savagery, but Serina? Serina refined it. To touch, to take, to twist and shape—that was power. And power was pleasure.

Her thoughts wandered, and a wicked smile played on her lips. The hopeful, when they arrived, would see in her something beyond a teacher. They would see the divine. She would make them ache for her approval, long for the touch of her influence like a drug they could not forsake. Not merely through the dark arts, not merely through whispered truths, but through the intimacy of transformation itself. To pull them into the abyss of her making and show them the rapture that lay within.

Serina ran a gloved hand along the tomb's surface, tracing ancient glyphs worn smooth by time. She felt a shudder of delight in her bones. This place will serve. A test, a lesson, a proving ground—not just for the hopeful but for herself. Every victory over the Tsis'Kaar, every soul pulled into her orbit, was another step toward something greater than empire, greater than order or chaos.

It was her will made manifest.

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

The galaxy had been splayed before her. Where the Jedi had restrained her, bound her into their pattern disguised as noble purpose and selfless notion, Kali'ka was now reeling in the uncharted freedom and potential. The Jedi had held such from her, until they could craft her for their own gain. That freedom had come with a price. Being betrayed, left for dead. Days of agonizing suffering, dragging her broken body over rocky ground, bloody fingers clawing at the dust to pull herself forward inch by inch. Until her raw palm fell upon that thing. Discarded, like her, in the bottom of a ravine. Broken like her as well. But, unlike the dying padawan, the amulet still possessed power.

The fallen Sith talisman had played upon the fatigued mind of the abandoned padawan. The amulet's Darkness found purchase in Kali'ka's weakened resistance, in her doubts, in the depths of her despair... turned it into fear...and then hate. There was sweet succor in that hatred. It fueled the woman's will, it quenched the Light that faded moment by moment. Purpose was found in that spite and resentment. Kali'ka clenched onto that amulet, onto the Darkness that shadowed her and offered her something other than death.She could say she saved herself, found survival, and then thriving. But Kali'ka knew it was the Darkness, without which she would now be rotting flesh and drying bones in the pit of that ravine.

Now, she saw an endless horizon of means by which to sate her awakened hungers. Knowledge, power, pleasure... revenge. The Sith amulet had been her guide, her teacher. But it was marred, cracked, its power limited. That is why she sought more. The Sith Order offered her a means to grow. And the lure of the T'sis Kaar. Kali'ka had sought a means to rise among them. She was a mere acolyte, but she could be more...so much more.

It was to this purpose that Kali'ka felt the curious draw in the Darkness. It gestured towards Korriban, that ancient place of genesis for the Sith. The Dark Side whispered in her ear seductively, that something awaited her there. Something just for her. Certainly, in that world of Dark antiquity, of long lost things, she would find something to offer the T'sis Kaar.

Just as she had pursued Darth Provocatus to Malachor in hopes of learning, Kali'ka had come to Korriban with hopes of advancement. The disturbance, or more, the tugging draw, guided the acolyte to a particular tomb, its towering stone gateway looming over a figure. A figure who was waiting... for her.

Kali'ka drew closer, a light breeze, it smelled of decay, tugged at her cloak and dark hair, rustling her skirt. The Kiffar acolyte was clad in a simple black leather bodice, her dark skirt slit at both sides, revealing tattooed flesh. The same intricate patterns laced up both arms to the shoulders. Boots that rose above her knees scraped lightly on the dusty ground. Around her neck, from a black cord, hung a cracked Sith talisman.

The rather simply garbed acolyte was a stark contrast to the figure before the tomb. While a hood veiled any features, the figure was well defined as ornate armor hugged the feminine torso. Detailed in designs, the woman's armor and garments seemed to play with fleeting light and darkness enticingly. Kali'ka could viscerally feel the Darkness permeating the woman. She paused before the figure. Her mind divided, one part coiled to pluck the phrik alloy light pike haft from her back, the other to gather the Dark Side to employ in defense. But that same Darkness whispered again. Kali'ka had been wrong about wait awaited her on Korriban.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Serina did not move. She did not need to. She had felt the Acolyte's approach long before Kali'ka had even set foot on Korriban. The currents of the Dark Side, the unseen tides of will and power, had carried whispers of her coming—a fractured soul, desperate, yearning, yet unshaped. The promise of something unfinished, something raw. Serina had laid claim to her before she had even arrived.

Now, as the Kiffar stood before her, Serina could taste the battle waging within her. Suspicion and readiness, the instinct to fight, warred against the pull of something deeper. Something darker. The way she hesitated, the way her body tensed yet did not strike—it was intoxicating. Like an animal that knew it should flee, but was ensnared by curiosity, by the scent of something greater than fear.

The silence between them stretched, delicate, potent. A fragile thing—one Serina would break on her terms.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"You are trembling."

Her voice was soft, smooth as silken threads slipping across bare skin. A whisper of warmth in the cold, the first touch of heat before the burn. It was not mockery—no, there was no need to mock what was already in her grasp. It was observation, nothing more. A truth that slithered into the space between them, settling in the marrow of Kali'ka's bones.

Serina took a single step forward, the dust beneath her feet parting like obedient servants. Her posture was neither threatening nor passive—it was something else entirely. Commanding. Effortless. The way a queen might appraise a new consort, weighing their worth, measuring what could be.

"You feel it, don't you?"

Her gloved fingers extended, slow and deliberate, stopping just short of the Sith talisman that hung from Kali'ka's throat. She did not touch it. Not yet. Instead, her fingertips hovered close enough that the acolyte would feel the warmth radiating from them, like a fire too near to fragile parchment.

"You have clung to this relic like a dying thing gasps for air, believing it saved you. That it made you." A pause, then the slightest, almost imperceptible tilt of her head. "And yet you know it is broken. Flawed. Just as they left you."

She took another step, the proximity between them narrowing just enough to ensure that her presence filled Kali'ka's senses. The scent of incense and something richer—darker—like velvet soaked in wine and whispered promises.

"You do not seek Korriban for its past," Serina murmured, her tone dipping lower, more intimate, as if this was a secret meant for them alone. "You seek it for what it might give you. What it might make of you. And I..."

A gloved hand lifted, and ever so lightly, finally, she touched. Not the amulet. That would have been predictable. No—her fingertips brushed just beneath Kali'ka's jaw, feather-light but impossible to ignore. A touch so slight it was maddening.

"I will make you."

Serina did not smile. She did not need to. The pleasure, the exquisite delight, was not in expression—it was in power. In the thrill of knowing that this moment, this first touch, was only the beginning.

There would be more. So much more.

But for now, she withdrew her hand, taking a step back, severing that brief, fleeting contact like a blade cutting through silk. Letting the absence of touch be felt.

"Come," she said, turning towards the darkness of the tomb's entrance. Her voice was no longer a whisper—it was an invitation. A promise. A summons.

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

The figure did not move. It stood with an air of confidence, unfazed, motionless. Kali'ka's eyes, framed in a black, narrowed, the whites seeming all the more brighter against the solid bar of black ink that stretched across the acolyte's face. Hands slowly lowered. Kali'ka didn't feel threatened. Not in the way she would have thought. But there was something. Dark peril in an alluring guise. It licked at Kali'ka, even as she remained wary.

The acolyte made no move, watching, sensing. Then the figure spoke. Feminine, unexpectedly youthful and smooth like bin-tree oil. She suggested something unexpected.

Was she trembling?

If Kali'ka was, it was not in fear. It was in expectation.

The woman moved. In her posture was the air of self-styled authority, but not the stiff movements of a brute. It was the graceful control of something regal. Something fluttered in Kali'ka's core. Expectation, apprehension and...appetite. The face was still veiled, but the subtle movements suggested the acolyte was being studied. She could almost feel eyes sliding along her frame. Kali'ka's dark gaze remained fixed upon the shadowed face. She could have seen under that hood, switched the mode of her cybernetic optic to see what lay beneath. But something kept the Kiffar from doing so. It would ruin the anticipation she found herself sipping on like a strong liquor. It was a delicious torment. This mystery figure, her presence so palpable, seemed for all the galaxy to have been waiting for her to arrive.

The gloved hand stretched forth, slight but fluidly intentional. Unmoving, Kali'ka watched the digit extend, its tip aiming for, but not reaching, the talsiman around the acolyte's throat. Her muscles tensed. Again, that voice kissed her ears, laden with suggestion. Kali remained silent. Did she feel it? She felt a lot of things in that moment.

The figure drew closer. Kali'ka's faculties were filled with the woman's presence, her alluring scents, the invasive, seductive voice continuing to caress her hearing, the glimpse of blonde locks and a supple chin beneath the hood. The acolyte's lips parted and Kali inhaled almost involuntarily to fill her senses. The figure spoke as if she knew Kali'ka, not only her history, but her soul. The words were powerful, almost sensual, smoothing across the acolyte like a hand stroking a pet. Kali'ka was young, but not naive. This woman wanted her for something, something that would benefit her.

Still, Kali'ka could not supress the thrill of the enticement, even as she strove to keep her senses.

Closer still, the voice continued, more conspiratal, cryptic. Exhilaration coursed through Kali'ka's veins. Yes, she sought what would make her powerful. But they all did. Certainly, this mysterious, seductive and decidedly dangerous woman did as well.

"I will make you."

Hmmm. Those dark eyes did not waver from the half hidden face. Curiosity piqued. Desire piqued. She had been seeking power. She had learned much from Darth Provocatus. Perhaps, she would learn from this enigmatic figure as well. But there was more than just learning that awaited, she sensed. And the lure of it was visceral.

There were many questions, none of which passed her lips. Kali'ka could sense none would be answered yet. Silently, the tattooed acolyte strode boldly after the figure through the entrance into the shadows.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

The tomb swallowed them in darkness, a void that pulsed with the echoes of the long-dead. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of stone and something deeper—aged musk, lingering power, decay, desire. The walls hummed with unseen energy, the ancient whispers of those who had once ruled, commanded, conquered.

Serina let the silence stretch between them, let the tension breathe, settle, coil. Every step she took was measured, every movement imbued with purpose—not just for herself, but for Kali'ka. It was not enough for her to follow. Serina would ensure she felt every moment of the experience.

Finally, she turned, stopping just before the chamber's entrance. The dim torchlight flickered against the ridges of her armor, the silver trim catching the flames, her silhouette a wraith of shadow and gleaming allure.

"This is the first test," she murmured, her voice a decadent thing, slow and deliberate, winding around Kali'ka like a silken ribbon drawing tighter with each word. "A battle. But not of strength alone."

She lifted a hand, trailing gloved fingers along the crumbling edge of a stone column, the touch delicate—almost… reverent.

"The Sith who built this place were cruel in their pleasures, decadent in their punishments. They did not simply demand victory; they savored the breaking, the unraveling, the submission of the weak before them." Her eyes gleamed from beneath the shadow of her hood. "This chamber is their monument to it."

With a flick of her wrist, the torches lining the walls ignited, revealing the first challenge.

The chamber beyond them was a coliseum of suffering. The walls were adorned with restraints—some carved into the stone itself, others dangling from rusted chains. Skeletal remains lay scattered across the ground, twisted in grotesque poses of agony, as if they had lingered in their final moments, bound and unable to fight the inevitable. In the center of the arena, waiting in the dim light, was the challenge itself.

A beast.

Not a mindless creature, but a thing bred for torment—a mass of sinew and glistening muscle, its frame humanoid but stretched, elongated, too-wrong in its proportions. Its skin was wet, dark as obsidian, its eyes two burning pits of hunger. The remnants of armor clung to its grotesque form, scraps of a warrior who had once been whole but had been reshaped by the Dark Side's cruelty.

It breathed in a way that was wrong—slow, calculated, as if tasting the air.

Serina sighed, a pleased sound, as if admiring a fine piece of art.

"This was once a challenger, long ago. A Sith who sought power and was found… lacking." She stepped closer to Kali'ka, her presence warm, tempting, though she did not touch. "They did not kill him. That would have been too… merciful."

She let her words drag, watching, feeling the way the acolyte's breath hitched, the tension in her muscles. The anticipation. Serina was not simply preparing her for battle—she was making her savor it.

"His fate was to change. To be reshaped, remade… stretched, molded into something useful." She exhaled, a soft laugh, pleased, indulgent. "A testament to the Sith Lords' tastes. Even now, after all these centuries, he waits. Hungry. Desperate to prove himself once more. Desperate for something more."

Her hand lifted again, this time brushing the faintest touch against Kali'ka's shoulder—just there, just enough to be felt.

"You must best him, of course," she murmured, voice low, enticing. "But strength alone will not be enough. His flesh does not break like yours, his mind does not surrender so easily. You will need to be precise, ruthless—to make him want to be undone."

She turned then, stepping back into the shadows of the archway, her silhouette a temptation just out of reach.

"Show me," Serina purred, her pleasure unmistakable. "Show me how ravenous you truly are, my acolyte."

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

The blackness of the tomb swallowed them like an inky shroud. It was cold, dank. A moment later. a pin prick of orange appeared in the distance beyond the figure, a single flickering flame, struggling against the dark. It managed to cast a faint, eerie outline around the stranger. The silence seemed to sharpen Kali'ka's senses. She had been to many Sith sites in her research, but this one was exceptional in the power of Darkness it held. The place was deeply wicked and twisted, in a way that one found themselves both horrified by it and craving to have it.

No less dreadful and alluring was the enigmatic Sith woman herself. The figure moved with such presumptuous command, knowing the learner would follow without hesitation. She had not even offered a name. If another had behaved so, Kali would have scoffed. But not so with her. The woman's power was palpable, a fount overflowing. Kali's appetite was whetted, if only to put the tip of her finger into that fount and place a drop of it upon her tongue. And with every unhurried step, with every breath, that seductive tension of anticipation tightened like a cord.

The torch framed a dark archway, where the hooded figure stopped. Dark eyes again slid over the woman, taking in anything she could of her in the flickering light. Finally, the death silence was broken, and again that captivating tone slithered into her hearing. A test. Of course, one must prove themselves worthy. With attentive senses, Kali'ka became ensnared with the intrigue the stranger unfolded before her. A myriad of torches burst into flames along the perimeter of the large chamber beyond. As the woman spoke, Kali studied the remarkable contents of the room, her gaze landing on the...thing in the center. A champion created out of profound suffering in an arena bathed in a sea of agony and suffering.

She took a step in and to one side. her hand pressed to the wall, the other, caressing a length of heavy, tarnished chain fastened to the stone and ending in a manacle. Closing her eyes, Kali called upon her inherited gift, and summoned visions from the past. in the vision, the acolyte saw beings bound, tormented, tortured in ways most creative, designed for exquisite suffering. The cries of pain were wantonly desperate, skrieking for quick death. And those who administered those delicious torments were gleeful in their deeds, deriving wicked pleasures. It was a scene both horribly macabre and tantalizingly sensual. Kali lifted her hands away,

Her gaze turned to the creature. It was formidable, and surely highly motivated after so long. Kali turned and approached the hooded figure, again, only teasing glimpses of youthful skin in those dark shadows of the cowl. A mischievous smirk touched Kali'ka's lips. She slipped off her cloak and the meter -long phrik alloy haft harnessed at her back. The cloak was cast aside, baring bronzed arms, heavily tattooed and corded with lean muscle. The acolyte ook another step closer to the figure, boldly.

"Yes, my Mstress." Kali'ka spoke before bowing her head and turning to move into the arena,

Remembering the things the woman had told her, Kali wondered exactly how she would defeat the hulking beast as she drew nearer. With a flick of her thumb, the haft expanded into a shaft, but the blade of the lightsaber pike was not ignited. With a murmuring, Kali'ka cast a spell of concealment around herself and circled around one side of the beast.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Ah… Mistress.

Serina nearly purred. She did not laugh, did not move to acknowledge it outwardly, but she felt it. Savored it. The word had not been forced, nor was it born of obligation. No, the Acolyte had spoken it freely, willingly, with that delicious undertone of playfulness and submission tangled together like silk and steel.

Serina let it settle in the air, let it simmer between them, heavy and unspoken, lingering even as Kali'ka turned toward the arena.

She did not follow—not yet.

Instead, she remained at the edge of the archway, watching with rapt interest as the acolyte shed her cloak, revealing the canvas of her body. The tattoos, the lean muscle, the quiet strength wound beneath skin like tension in a bowstring. How bold she had become already. How freely she moved under Serina's gaze, knowingly or not. The acolyte had not even considered hiding from her. How exquisite.

Serina exhaled, slow and measured, feeling the Dark Side coil within her, responding to her pleasure.

She would ruin her.

Not now. Not yet. But in time.

Kali'ka stepped into the arena, and the air shifted, thickening, pressing down as if the tomb itself had stirred from slumber. The beast sensed her. It did not move—not yet—but its elongated head tilted, its burning eyes narrowing as though tasting the disturbance in the Force.

The Acolyte was wise to begin with concealment. Cunning. But would she be cruel?

Serina finally moved, stepping forward but not entering the arena itself. She positioned herself just at the threshold, where flickering torchlight met consuming darkness, her figure half-shrouded, half-illuminated. She did not interfere. She did not instruct. She only spoke.

"How eager you are," she mused, her tone dripping with indulgence, luxuriating in the scene unfolding before her. "I can feel it, Acolyte. That pulse in your veins, the quiet tremor beneath your skin. The exhilaration of standing on the knife's edge between victory and oblivion."

Her voice curled around the words, a sensuous thing, deliberate, calculated.

"Do you wonder, Kali'ka… which fate will claim you?"

She sighed, her pleasure in this moment undeniable.

"Will you conquer? Will you dance in the crimson rain of your victory, breathless and trembling from the thrill of it?"

A pause.

"Or will you fall? Will this creature break you, force you down into the dirt, taste the sweat and blood on your skin as it takes your triumph for itself?"

Another slow breath, as though sipping the possibilities, rolling them over her tongue like a fine vintage.

"You do desire suffering, don't you, Acolyte? But not your own."

Serina took another step forward, stopping just short of the first step leading into the arena.

"You ache to be the hand that gives it. To watch the way they writhe, to hear the sounds that are torn from their lips. To know that you made them scream."

The words were not a question. They were an affirmation, a whisper of truth breathed against the acolyte's very soul.

And then, softer, more intimate—just for her.

"Show me, my dear. Show me how beautifully you can make him suffer."

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

Intoxication.

It was the closest comparison Kali'ka could make. The stranger's words slithered around her like the coils of a reptile, but in a way that was warm, seductive, and sensually violating. They filled her mind with promise and prophecy, crafting an enticement so rich and alluring. Every syllable uttered on those unseen lips, so carefully crafted, resonated within the acolyte, like delicate fingers plucking the cords of her being, her deep, dark things. Every words was true. Kali felt bare, naked before the stranger. But she was did not feel modesty, or fear. No, she relished the idea of it.

Mmm...yes. How true were the realities the stranger painted with oiled lips and titillating words. A desire had been revealed in that place, the enticement of suffering, the mystery of who would endure it. The stranger had ignited a black fire within Kali'ka, awakening the most sinister things. And in them the craving to please this woman, one who the acolyte had instinctively named Mistress.

Dark eyes fixed on the creature. It sensed her, that was clear. The stranger's words echoed in her mind. This was not a battle of strength alone. It was an opportunity to explore those desires upon the misshaped beast before her. She crept along, the Dark Side veiling her with warped light waves. Kali worked her way around behind the creature.

Within striking distance, she suddenly ignited the lightsaber pike. The thick red blade was swung with precision, aimed to sear across the back of the monster's thighs. Not enough to cleave deep, but enough to inflict searing pain. The weapon blinked off and she dodged the inevitable reaction, slipping back and again hiding herself.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Serina's pleasure in this moment was palpable. She did not move from the threshold of the arena, nor did she give commands—there was no need. Kali'ka was already listening, already learning. And most importantly, she was feeling.

Oh, how beautifully she had taken to the words Serina had woven, the dark tapestry of pleasure and pain that now draped over her like a second skin. She could feel it in the way the acolyte moved, the way she prowled the arena, unseen yet hungry. No hesitation. No doubt. She wanted this. Not simply to win. Not simply to kill. She wanted to make him suffer.

Serina shivered, delight rippling down her spine.

Then, the flash of crimson.

The pike ignited, its thick, humming blade cutting through the darkness like a hungry serpent, slashing across the back of the beast's thighs. It was not a deathblow—no, Kali'ka had understood her lesson well. It was a gift, a taste of torment, a whispered promise that more was to come.

And the creature felt it.

A sound erupted from its maw—not a roar, not a growl, but a sound unnatural, somewhere between a shriek and a wet, guttural groan. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the wound bubbled and sizzled, seared into its monstrous frame. The beast staggered, its massive body lurching forward from the force of the strike—but it did not fall.

Serina smiled. Oh, how marvelous.

Kali'ka had wounded it. Provoked it. Now, it would show her the price of such arrogance.

The creature whirled with terrifying speed, far too fast for something of its size. Its elongated arms lashed out, swiping through the air where Kali'ka had stood mere moments before. But she was gone—retreating back into shadow, cloaking herself once more in the darkness.

Serina did not need to see her to know where she was.

She could feel her—pulse quickened, heart hammering against ribs, breath controlled but exhilarated. Kali'ka was savoring this. She was thriving in it.

But the beast was not blind.

Its head snapped left, then right, its ragged breath filling the chamber as its nostrils flared. It could smell her. And then, in a sudden, horrifying movement, it raked its claws across its own wounded thigh, fingers digging into the charred flesh. A thick, bubbling liquid oozed from the wound, dark and steaming.

Serina's brow arched slightly. Fascinating.

The creature smeared its own blood across its chest, then dragged its clawed hands against the floor, leaving streaks of dark, clotted ichor. And in the next breath—

The room shifted.

The very air became heavy, a pressure drop like a storm about to break.

Serina's smile widened. Ah… so it still remembers its old tricks…

This was no mindless beast. This was something that had once been a Sith. And something of that mind still remained—warped, twisted, but not gone.

Its blood reeked of the Dark Side. It was tainted, corrupted, a reservoir of power left behind from whatever wretched ritual had transformed it. And now, the arena itself responded to it.

The torches flickered violently. Shadows elongated, twisting unnaturally, writhing like living things. The temperature in the chamber dropped, and a low vibration hummed through the walls, rattling the manacles still bolted into the stone.

Serina let out a slow, delighted sigh.

"Do you feel it, Acolyte?" Her voice coiled through the chamber, warm and indulgent, stroking against the thick tension in the air. "You have awakened him."

The beast moved—not randomly, but with intent. It drove its claws into the floor and ripped up a slab of stone, hurling it into the darkness. A feint—forcing Kali'ka to react. In the same motion, it charged, a mass of unnatural muscle and violent purpose, its full focus now locked onto her presence.

Serina could see it all—the moment between predator and prey, the shifting tides of power, the delicate balance of fear, anticipation, and lust for the kill.

"Oh, my dear," she purred, barely above a whisper. "Make him love you for what you do to him."

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

There was a twisted delight at the creature's gurgled, unearthly scream of pain and its mighty frame staggering. Music that caressed a dark perversion. But the pleasure was quickly tempered by the unexpectedly whiplash reaction that nearly struck her. Adrenaline coursed through the acolyte's body, her heart thrumming against her chest, breath shallow, senses alive, nerves on end. There was the delicious tinge of fear licking at her, fear that the ruse of her concealment would soon be foiled, that the abomination's other senses would come to betray her.

Dark eyes darted to the stranger, her dark figure lingering in the archway. Unmoving, unreadable. Kali'ka craved her favor. Eyes snapped back to the beast, who had clawed at its own wound viscously. Dark blood, seething, corrupt, oozed out, running down its leg and covering it's hand. Kali'ka's brow furrowed as the behemoth smeared that inky substance across its broad torso, and then the ground. What was he do...

Then, her perceptions were shaken. Was the room changing? Colder, shadows writhing, a hum resonating in the stone. The air seemed to close on her, pres against her. It was unsettling, unbalancing. Then, that smooth coil of a voice crept into her awareness. Kali'ka clung to it, begged for it to wrap around her possessively. The voice brought her clarity.

You have awakened him.

Feth. Kali'ka was a fool to think the thing was simply a big dumb beast. She should have listened. He wasn't a mindless creature, he had been something, he had been Sith. And now it was coming for her.

The acolyte darted, losing concentration, the Force concealment fadeingg. She turned, the lightsaber pike igniting and cleaving the chunk of stone as the two halves passed by her, nearly grazing her. Kali'ka was afraid, but the desire to hurt the twisted monster was deeper. She charged at the oncoming leviathan. While just a learner in the practice, Kali gathered a measure of Darkness and launched it as a blast against the beast. She didn't expect to do much than disrupt its charge, just enough for her to...

Kalika, her momentum built up, shot out her legs and laid down, sliding across the dust on the stone floor, in the moments after the blast hit the thing, she slid between its legs, the pike again igniting and searing across his inner thigh. Vaulting to her feet behind him she spun, allowing the plasma blade to sear across his lower back, before leaping backwards, hopefully out of range of its long, ropey arms. Her strikes were taunting, causing delicious pain, but she desired to make him suffer more, to agonize.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Ah… there it was.

Serina drank in every moment, every pulse of fear, every whisper of raw, unfiltered desire that bled from Kali'ka's body like an intoxicating perfume. She was exquisite to watch, a creature caught between survival and delight, threading the needle of pain and pleasure with the elegance of a dancer, the recklessness of a beast.

She was learning.

Serina could see it in the way she moved now, the way she no longer struck out of simple aggression, but with intent. Each blow was a stroke against the monster's flesh, a brush against its nerve endings, a carving of something more beautiful than death. She was not simply trying to win. She was enjoying this. Savoring it.

Serina exhaled, a slow, measured sigh of pleasure, letting her own anticipation stretch like taut silk.

"Oh, my dear…" Her voice was barely a whisper, but she knew Kali'ka heard her, felt the words curl around her like warm breath against bare skin. "Do you feel it? That thrill in your chest, the rush through your veins, the way your body cries for more?"

The beast bellowed, staggering from the searing kiss of Kali'ka's blade, its own corrupted blood now slick against the floor. But it did not fall.

No…

It was enraged.

A guttural, rattling growl reverberated through its body, deep, monstrous, a sound born not from mere pain, but fury. It whipped around, its elongated arms striking out with terrifying speed, slicing through the air where Kali'ka had been just moments before. Nearly.

The beast was learning her rhythm, too.

Serina let out a soft hum, one finger tapping against the intricate designs of her armored vambrace as she watched, utterly entranced. She would need to be faster. More ruthless. More cruel.

"Taunting him is not enough," Serina murmured, her voice smooth, slow, yet coiled with suggestion. "You must make him despair. Break him, utterly. Let him know, in the marrow of his wretched bones, that his suffering is not a momentary thing."

A pause. The ghost of a smile beneath her hood.

"But something endless."

The beast snarled again, swiping one massive clawed hand down against the stone floor in a deafening crack, sending shards of rock and dust into the air, a cloud meant to blind and disorient. It lunged forward, its grotesque limbs twisting unnaturally, one arm dragging along the floor as it charged—an attack meant to catch her in its path.

It was desperate now. Wild.

Good.

Serina inhaled deeply, savoring it. The escalation, the struggle, the push and pull of predator and prey.

"Yes… yes, Acolyte. Give me more."

Her voice dropped into something lower, more intimate, barely more than a sigh of silk against flesh.

"Make him love his suffering. Make him scream for you."

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

She had struck and survived a second time. The danger, the smell of seeping, corrupt blood, the shadowed gaze watching her, it made Kali'ka feel alive and enervated, every sensation enhanced. The abomination bellowed again in its freakish, booming chuff, and his massive hand struck out again, missing her by an even smaller margin as the acolyte leaped back.

Too close.

Kali was only taunting it, provoking it. It had been an appetizer, but wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to slow it, wasn't enough to slake her desire to make it suffer, and she feared it wasn't enough for the eyes who measured her every move from the shadows. It was a delicate game the stranger had laid before her. To kill the thing outright would have been as big a loss of the game as if it killed her.

Kali'ka welcomed that alluring, coiling voice again. The dark mistress was right, there was a sinister thrill in the infliction of pain. it was time to inflict true pain. To continue to simply graze the beast would put her in more danger, and just as significantly, deprive them both of the abject pleasure of inflicting true agony.

The acolyte now move more swiftly, allowing the Force to enhance her reflexes and speed. She sprinted at an oblique angle to the enraged beast, then suddenly juked at a sharp turn and shot forward. She skidded to her knees directly at its side. Bringing the pike up and sinking the blade to the hilt in the creature's thigh. She withdrew it, quickly rolled and skittered back, but the acolyte knew she had taken a huge risk, as wasn't sure she would escape unscathed a third time. Her own voice curled around the abomination.

"That's what you wanted? To feel it so deeply? It lets you know you are alive, after so long, doesn't it?" She cooed.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Serina let out a low, satisfied breath, the sound soft but weighty, carrying the depth of her pleasure in the moment.

Ah, the beauty of it. The escalation. The rise. The hunger.

Kali'ka was learning. Not just to fight. Not just to win.

But to play.

The pike had sunk deep this time—not a glancing strike, not a teasing caress of searing plasma, but a wound. A true, visceral violation of the beast's flesh, the kind that could not be ignored. The kind that did not merely hurt but crippled, searing through nerves, splitting muscle apart like the peel of a fruit.

The beast howled, staggering as it reeled back, its body convulsing with the raw shock of the injury. Its leg buckled, forced to bear the reality of its ruin. It was not just in pain now.

It was dying.

And Kali'ka had felt it.

Serina could see it in her posture, in the way she lingered for just that fraction of a second longer than before. The way she spoke to the creature, her voice dripping mockery, indulgence, exaltation.

"Yes…" Serina's voice purred through the chamber, rich, syrupy, thick with pride and pleasure in equal measure. "Now you understand."

She stepped forward at last, her presence shifting from that of a distant specter to something more real, more present, as if the air itself had thickened around her. Every movement was measured, slow yet undeniable, as though her very existence commanded the space around her.

"Pain is not a weapon, Kali'ka." The words slid from her lips, deliberate, luxurious, like a slow stroke along silk. "Pain is a gift. And you…"

She lifted a gloved hand, fingers flexing, as if to cup something invisible.

"…are learning to give it properly."

The beast twitched, its body fighting against the wound, the damage, the truth that had been burned into its very being. Its suffering was no longer just a thing that happened to it.

It was a lesson being taught to it.

Serina stepped closer, standing at the very edge of the battlefield, where the torchlight barely kissed the engravings of her armor. Her hooded gaze burned into Kali'ka, unseen yet felt, a weight against her skin.

"You see now, don't you?" Her voice dipped lower, smoother, teasing at the edges of something more, something deeper.

"Pain is not just a sensation. It is a truth."

Her gloved fingers curled into a fist.

"Pain tells you that you are real."

Her other hand lifted now, as if framing the scene before her, basking in the sheer artistry of the moment.

"And most importantly, my dear…"

A pause. A heartbeat stretched in exquisite silence.

"Pain makes you remember."

Her breath was slow, measured, heavy with pleasure as she exhaled.

"This thing before you?" Her voice lowered further, intimate, laced with something thick, velvety, possessive. "He was forgotten. Left to rot. He existed in nothingness, in a fate worse than death itself."

A soft, indulgent hum slipped from her lips.

"But now?"

Serina tilted her head, her unseen smile practically dripping from her voice.

"Now he remembers you. He will never forget you. You are his agony. His terror. His goddess."

A breath.

"And that, my dear, is power."

Then, the final truth, spoken softly, like a secret meant only for Kali'ka.

"Pain is not to be inflicted. Pain is to be given."

Serina's voice coiled around her like a whispered touch, soft, yet impossibly present, teasing at the edges of something more intimate, more corruptive.

"And look at you…" she sighed, utterly pleased, utterly indulgent. "You are such a generous girl."

She exhaled again, stepping back slightly, allowing the moment to breathe.

"Now then." Her tone was wicked, sultry, an invitation, a demand wrapped in velvet.

"Finish it."

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

Ah... the cry was higher, more agonized. Kali'ka had inflicted a harsh wound upon her victim, and she hummed deeply with the pleasure at the sight of the creature stagger, its torn leg giving out. I make you feel alive.

Then that alluring voice snaked around her again. A thrill raced along the acolyte's spine at the approval in the mistress' tone. Kali found a desire to please the mysterious woman. Then, the fallen jedi felt a disturbance in the Force, and she turned to see the woman step further into the arena. Everything the stranger did was intentional, yet graceful. The expansion of the mistress' presence wound around her like the warm embrace of a constricting reptile, stealing her focus from the wounded abomination before her.

Silken words revealed truth, even as Kali'ka felt the woman's gaze upon her. It made her feel vulnerable in the most seductive way. The acolyte's body was scintillating with the cruel lesson, savoring the pain she caused, alarmed by, yet wanting the snare she felt closing in on her. Every word, growing more intimate, more seductive, every praise, every revelation licking at deep desires the acolyte hadn't known existed.

Oh how the praise melted her inside. She wanted more of it, to earn it. Kali'ka's breath had grown rapid and shallow, her lips parting in an involuntary gasp as the whispered words caressed her, exposing her darkness.

Then, the Mistress sank back into the shadows.. giving her command. One that the acolyte craved to obey.

Kali'ka began to pace around the wounded beast, careful to stay out of range of its apish arms. The lightsaber pike hummed, as if hungry to taste more seared flesh. A sudden burst of motion and the blade penetrated a shoulder from behind, clean through. Leaping back, the acolyte paced some more, relishing the fruit of her work. The other shoulder... the other thigh. Strike after strike, weakening, but not killing. Unable to move, unable to strike out, Kali'ka crept close to the crumpled abomination.

"I am Kali'ka." she toned cruelly, allowing his suffering to continue. She reached to caress its black skin, careful to avoid the tainted blood. "You are welcome." She added, stepping back. In a final gift of agony, she plunged the pike blade into the beasts belly, slowly dragging it upward, burning through bones, through organs, inch by inch, until she withdrew it at the thing's collarbone. She stood back and watched as it lay dying.

She hoped it was pleasing to the Mistress.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Ah… perfection.

Serina watched, motionless, as Kali'ka gave her final gift, as she brought suffering to its peak, stretching it into something more than mere pain—more than simple defeat.

No, this was art.

She had tasted the lesson, savored it, indulged in it, and now she had mastered it.

The pike's final stroke was slow, intentional, loving in its cruelty. She did not merely end the creature; she unmade it, reintroduced it to itself in its final moments. And oh, how utterly divine it was.

Serina exhaled, long and slow, as though savoring the final note of an exquisite symphony.

"Mmm…"

A breath of pleasure. A sigh of delight.

And then, at last, she moved.

Her steps were leisurely, unhurried, yet undeniable as she entered the arena fully, the flickering torchlight kissing the intricate silver engravings on her armor, catching glimpses of blonde beneath the hood.

She approached Kali'ka from behind, her presence a warm, indulgent thing, wrapping around her like the slow tightening of a serpent.

"You have pleased me, Acolyte."

She let the words hang between them, thick with satisfaction, with undeniable approval, with something deeper curling beneath the surface.

Serina moved closer, now standing just behind Kali'ka, just near enough for the acolyte to feel her there, to sense her presence like a phantom breath against her neck.

"You feel it now, don't you?"

She did not ask. She stated.

"What it is to give. To make something suffer in a way that is beautiful, in a way that is memorable."

A slow inhale. Serina let it linger.

"To know that it will never forget you."

Then, she moved again, circling Kali'ka now, stepping over the dying thing's ruined form as if it were nothing more than a discarded offering at her feet.

Her unseen gaze burned into the acolyte, drinking in every detail—the way her breath still came shallow, the way her muscles were taut with the lingering high of her work.

Serina smiled.

"You call yourself Kali'ka." She let the name slip from her lips, rolling it over her tongue as though tasting it for the first time.

A pause.

"But all names are a separation from the darkness, are they not?"

She reached out then, slow, deliberate, gloved fingers barely grazing along the edge of the pike's hilt before drawing away, as if teasing the very air between them.

"You are no mere warrior. No mindless beast, lashing out in rage. You have learned…" Another slow step, another warm breath between words. "You have felt…"

Her voice dipped, smoother, deeper, intimate.

"And you have given."

Then, finally, finally, she touched her—just the lightest brush of gloved fingers against the inside of Kali'ka's wrist, where her pulse still raced, where her blood still surged with the lingering remnants of ecstasy and violence.

"You have taken your first step."

Another pause, another heartbeat of silence.

"And I have such plans for you."

The torches flickered, the chamber still heavy with the scent of charred flesh and sweat, with the echoes of a lesson learned—a foundation laid.

Serina did not let the moment slip away.

As the beast let out its final, rasping breath—its ruined body twitching, spasming, trying to cling to a life that had already abandoned it—Serina moved.

With calm precision, she knelt beside the corpse, her armored fingers trailing just above the pooling ichor that steamed against the cold stone floor. The liquid was thick, blackened by corruption, its surface shimmering faintly with a malevolent energy that pulsed beneath the dim torchlight.

"Mmm… this is too precious to waste."

Her voice was rich, luxuriant, dripping with indulgence as she lowered her gloved hand, letting the corrupt blood slowly spill over her fingers. The warmth of it—tainted, vile, intoxicating—sent a delicious shiver through her as she lifted her hand before Kali'ka's gaze.

"Do you see, my dear?" Her tone was hushed, reverent, as though speaking of something sacred. "The beauty in destruction. In suffering. Even now, even in death, he gives to us."

A pause. The gloved fingers hovered near her lips, dripping with dark ichor.

"His pain lingers, even now."

Then, with excruciating slowness, Serina extended her tongue, dragging it across the length of her fingers, lapping at the corrupt blood with a languid, sensuous movement.

Her lashes fluttered, her breath hitched just slightly, a low, pleased hum vibrating in her throat.

"Mmm… tainted… but potent."

She let the blood sit on her tongue for a moment, savoring its bitter, twisted power before swallowing it down with a sigh of satisfaction.

Then, she turned her attention back to Kali'ka, her gaze shadowed beneath her hood, but piercing nonetheless.

"A simple creature would burn from such a touch." Her tone was slow, teasing, as though tempting the acolyte with forbidden fruit. "But we are not simple, are we?"

She dipped her fingers again, collecting more of the thick, vile essence, then flicked her wrist in a practiced motion, letting the black droplets scatter across a small vial produced from her belt. The blood pooled inside the glass, still warm, still alive with dark energy.

"You wonder what use such filth could have?"

She smiled—a thing unseen but felt.

"A single drop of this, infused into the body of an enemy, and it will rot them from the inside, their veins blackening like withered vines, their organs devoured by the darkness still woven into it."

Another slow, indulgent swirl of her wrist, watching the viscous fluid move within the glass.

"Or… if one is bold enough to imbibe it… to take it into oneself, to welcome the darkness into one's very being… well…"

She stepped closer to Kali'ka, letting the moment stretch, letting the implication settle between them like a fine mist.

"Perhaps you will learn the delights of that another time."

A final smirk, and she secured the vial against her belt, turning toward the next chamber.

The doorway leading deeper into the tomb loomed before them, its ancient stone engraved with intricate, twisting Sith script—words that curled and coiled like the whispers of a thousand dead voices, waiting to be spoken again.

Serina ran a leisurely hand across the surface as she passed, her touch almost loving, before stepping through.

"Come, my dear."

The air shifted the moment they entered. The temperature did not drop, as before, but instead warmed, as if stepping into something more intimate, something that breathed with them.

The torches within this chamber were lower, burning with an eerie, reddish-gold glow, casting everything in an amber haze. The walls were lined with broken statues—some twisted beyond recognition, others eerily familiar, their faces preserved in stunning, agonizing detail.

And at the center of it all, looming high, was the Mirror of Lies.

It was massive, its darkened glass framed by spires of obsidian, jagged and curling like the claws of some forgotten deity. The surface was pristine, untouched by time—but there was something wrong with it.

It did not reflect the room.

Not as it should.

There was movement within the glass, distorted, shifting shapes that did not match the reality before them.

Serina stopped, allowing Kali'ka to drink in the sight, allowing the energy of the room to wrap around her.

"Ahh…" she sighed, as though stepping into something familiar, something delightful. "I do so love this one."

She turned, once more, to her acolyte.

"The first test was simple. Flesh. Pain. A lesson in giving." Her voice was lower now, smoother, slinking around Kali'ka like a whispered caress.

"But this one, my dear… this one is about truth."

She gestured toward the massive mirror, the glass rippled, just slightly, like a pool disturbed by an unseen force.

"This is the Mirror of Lies."

Another pause, letting the words hang, letting the weight of them sink in.

"Do you know what it does?"

She stepped toward Kali'ka, her presence once more pressing, warm, insidious.

"It shows you what you are not."

A single finger lifted, traced just along the edge of Kali'ka's jaw—barely a touch, but undeniable.

"It will lie to you."

Serina took another step, her lips just near Kali'ka's ear, her words barely more than a breath.

"And you will want to believe it."

A beat. A heartbeat.

Then she stepped away, letting the absence of touch ache.

"Your challenge, my dear… is to look."

She gestured toward the mirror.

"Look into the glass, and tell me…"

Serina's voice dipped, rich and silken, coiling around the final words with cruel indulgence.

"Who are you?"

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

Kali'ka stood, staring at the dying abomination. A twisted web of feelings and thoughts writhed within her. There was a finality in it's labored breath, the once vibrant, violent thing, struggling to take one more breath. But there was also a pang of regret that the true beauty, that of it's visceral suffering, had ended. But those sentiments fell away as a presence caused her skin to prickle and a tight heat to grip her core. She sensed, more than heard, the Mistress approach.

The acolyte didn't turn. There was an urge to, to lay eyes upon the mysterious seduction of the armored, hooded feminine figure. But it was more delicious, in a tormenting way, not to look, but to feel her. Anticipation whetted Kali'ka with an appetite spawned from the figure's powerful, dark and alluring presence that coiled around her possessively. It licked at her like tongues of fire.

Then the voice, like a knife so sharp you barely felt it's cut, bathed in warm oil, curled around Kali'ka. Those words she longed to hear, words that seared at her loins. The Mistress was pleased with her.

That presence drew closer still, the sensations withing within the acolyte intensifying. The thrum of her heart turned to a hammering against her chest. Yes, every word rang true, their truth drilling to her deepest places, revealing the darkness the Mistress had so skillfully exposed. Kali'ka could only offer a small nod of affirmation.

The sound of the stranger's soft inhale was no less pleasurable to hear. Then, the figure moved, circled into Kali'ka's sight. Tighter still that ball of heat at her core became. The sound of her own name on those unseen lips was a razor sharp caress that made the acolyte nearly sigh. The Mistress' words, her truth, continued to reveal, to teach. A subtle hitch in Kali's breath escaped when a gloved hand touched her weapon. The acolyte felt as if she teetered upon every word, every movement, every audible breath the woman breathed.

She drank in the figure's praises like strong wine, until gloved fingers brushed over the tender skin inside her wrist. A gasp escaped, this one more audible, and a jolt of excitement sent electricity through her spine. The Mistress had plans for her, and Kali'ka ached to know them.

The thing finally exhaled it's final breath. With a curiosity, Kali'ka watched as the woman knelt and almost reverently allowed the creature's inky hot blood to ooze over her gloved fingers. Certainly it was corrupt, dangerous, toxic. But the Mistress lifted her glazed fingers and in a way most sensual, licked the ichor from her digits. The macabre display was both horrific and strangely alluring as the acolyte watched the figure savor the tainted blood, as if the final reward the abomination offered in gratitude for the exquisite suffering it had been given.

Yes, the acolyte felt it, felt it all, the beauty of inflicting the suffering, the intoxication of leaving herself burnt into a things memory for it. The Mistress gathered more of the corrupt ichor into a vial. A tinge of fear slid along Kali'ka's spine, would she be made to taste it as well? The suggestion lingered, but if it were to be so, it was not the time for it. With a small relief, The Kiffar watched the vial being stashed away again.

Instead, the acolyte was summoned to follow to another chamber, and Kali'ka eargerly trailed her summoner. Would it be another test, more teachings, or would the mysterious woman peel yet another layer off of Kali and reveal more sweet darkness beneath?

The next chamber was more...intimate. Darker, lined with statues in poses of agony, intriguing and curous. But Kali'ka soon lost interest in them as she saw what stood in the midst of the room, a great mirror. Or what should have been a mirror, yet it offered no reflection. Instead, hints of movement, obscure shapes.

The Mirror of Lies.

A second test was offered by the Mistress. Its nature was unveiled, even as a single finger traced the sharp line of the acolyte's jaw, causing her plush lips to part and a hitched breath to pass between them. Eyes temporarily shut as the touch was savored, then snapped open, craving just a glimpse beneath the shadowed cowl at the eyes she felt upon her. Subtle movement, then the warm caress of a breath upon the shell of her ear as the stranger spoke softly what the mirror would do.

And yes, the small distance between them that followed left a pang of need in the acolyte's being. Already craving to be ensnared, for that presence to coil around her again. But Kali'ka's focus was forced upon the mirror and the instruction of her mysterious mistress. Her dark gaze shifted between the mirror and the shadowed face. There was a trepadation about looking into the mirror. Would it reveal something that would make her unworthy? Steeling herself, the acolyte strode slowly to stand before the mirror.

Kali'ka stared into the glass. It rippled again, as it did when the stranger drew near to it. What would it show that was a lie? Would it show her as a Jedi, as she once was? It was clear that would be a lie, and she certainly couldn't be convinced that was what she was. No, the mirror was much more wicked in its deception, as it began to unfold.

The ripples, like disturbed mercury, faded to reveal images. A great Sith sorceress stood in a grand dark temple. She weilded the Dark Side with ease, her incantations withering foes before her. Enemies cowed before her. Across her face, a black bar tattoo framed her eyes. Yes... it was her. It was how she wanted to see herself, how she wanted the Jedi to see her, how she wanted the Mistress to see her. A swell of pride momentarily filled her heart, until she remembered those slithering words that snaked through her mind. These were lies, the Mistress had said. The mirror was a liar. This was not what she was.

Angst caused Kali'ka's brow to furrow, and she huffed a growl at the mirror. Her fists squeezed ito balls and she took a step back. Did the stranger see the images? What would the Mistress think of her now?

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Serina remained where she stood, shrouded in the dim glow of the torches, a figure of shadow and silver, watching. Measuring. Every motion Kali'ka made, every breath, every flicker of expression, every twitch of the fingers—she felt them. She read them.

And oh, how beautifully the acolyte was unraveling.

Not in failure. Not in defeat.

But in revelation.

Serina took her time, letting the silence stretch taut between them, letting the weight of the moment press down upon the girl's heaving chest, her clenched fists, the tension in her muscles that begged for release.

"Mmm."

A sound of approval, low, indulgent, sliding into the space between them like warm silk.

"How eager you were to see yourself, Acolyte."

Serina approached, slow, deliberate, each step measured, predatory, inevitable. The torchlight caught the intricate silver engravings of her armor, the flowing fabric beneath the plates, the faintest glint of blonde beneath her hood. She did not rush. She did not need to.

"You believed, for a moment, didn't you?" Her voice curled around the air, decadent, thick with pleasure. "You wanted it to be true."

She took another step, now standing just behind Kali'ka.

Close. Too close.

"And why shouldn't you?"

Serina's breath touched the exposed skin of Kali'ka's neck, warm against the cold tomb air.

"Look at you."

She lifted a single gloved hand, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the acolyte's bicep, barely touching, just skimming along the tattooed flesh. The way she did everything—measured, slow, indulging in the act itself.

"Strong. Beautiful. So… hungry."

The fingers trailed higher, along her shoulder, to her neck—stopping just short of pressing against the rapid flutter of her pulse.

"But tell me, my dear…"

She leaned forward, voice lower, nearly intimate, tempting.

"If the mirror is a liar…"

Her gloved fingers brushed just beneath the edge of Kali'ka's jaw, barely a touch—just enough to tease the sensation of her being held.

"Then what are you?"

She let the question linger, hovering in the thick air, curling into the very breath between them.

Serina did not pull away.

Not yet.

Her presence pressed into the space around Kali'ka, her heat, her scent, the weight of her gaze unseen beneath the hood but felt nonetheless.

"Did you feel that, Acolyte?"

A whisper against her skin.

"That doubt?"

A pause, stretching deliciously.

"That fear?"

Serina exhaled, the barest laugh slipping past her lips. Delighted. Pleased.

"Ah… but you don't want to feel that, do you?"

And then, finally, finally, she stepped away.

The absence of touch was staggering, deliberate, aching.

Serina moved to the side of the mirror now, her fingers tracing the obsidian frame with reverence, as if caressing the cheek of a lover.

"You expected weakness, didn't you?" she mused, still watching Kali'ka, still drinking in the tension of her body, the way she struggled to define herself.

"You thought it would show you the Jedi you left behind. That pitiful, broken thing."

She turned, just enough that the torchlight kissed the delicate curve of her lips beneath the hood.

"But it didn't, just like when I first peered into it, it wouldn’t give me the ugly."

Serina stepped closer again, circling the acolyte now, unrelenting in her presence.

"Instead, it gave us something beautiful."

A pause, savoring the moment.

"Something worthy."

A slow, indulgent sigh, letting the moment stretch taut before her next words, her voice dipping into something thickwith indulgence.

"And that is why this mirror is so much more… dangerous."

She lifted a hand, her gloved fingers pressing flat against the dark surface of the glass.

"It does not show you falsehoods to make you scoff, to dismiss them outright."

Her head tilted, unseen eyes locked onto Kali'ka.

"No, my dear."

A wicked smile, felt more than seen.

"It shows you lies that you desperately want to believe."

She let the words drip between them, measured, deliberate, letting them sink into the doubt still coiling in the acolyte's stomach.

Serina's hand lowered, and she turned fully to Kali'ka now, taking one slow, final step forward.

"You say you are Kali'ka."

Another pause.

"But do you know what that means?"

She lifted a single gloved finger, just enough to tilt the girl's chin up.

"Are you this?" A nod toward the mirror. "The grand sorceress? The conqueror? The ruler of her own fate?"

Her voice dipped into something sultry, silken, meant to wrap around her like a warm embrace.

"Or is that just something you wish to be?"

She let her finger drop, stepping back with the grace of inevitability, as if allowing Kali'ka to breathe in the weight of the question.

"And more importantly, my dear…"

The next words were soft, low, dangerous in their quiet pleasure.

"Can you bear to know the answer? For the Mirror is a Liar after all…"

Serina said nothing more.

She simply waited, watching, drinking in the struggle, letting the trial take hold where no blade ever could.

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

The images in the wretched mirror had faded, but Kali'ka still saw them, now mocking her. The offense simmered in her prideful heart, almost embarrassed in what the thing had revealed to her...to the Mistress, once she recalled that it was indeed all lies. Silence hung in the dead air, her lungs filling with the must of ancient stone and long the feminine voice, like a warm tendrils laced around her. The acolyte felt the presence grow closer, and again, Kali'ka didn't turn, but remained staring into the clouded glass.

Closer...closer. Kali felt her, and every step closer intensified the scintillation that played along her nerves with the stranger was close. So close. Soft breath, warm, welcomed, kissed her neck and made stray black hair dance. The acolyte hummed softly, briefly. "Mmmm". It was a reluctant affirmation of the figure's assessment, mixed with the raw pleasure of feeling that living breath in a place so thick with death.

But the Mistress was not displeased. Her words again encouranged and inspired. No less than the feel of the gloved fingers on the inked skin of her arm, gliding over the contour of lean, corded muscle. The touch again forced lips to part and a soft breath to hitch. Heat in the core again, fingers of electricity darting along her senses.

The gloved fingers explored, traveling up the arm to shoulders, neck. Murmured words and warm breath. Kali'ka strove to remain calm, while inside she was alight with excitment and arousal. A brush along the line of her jaw again. The acolyte's heart raced, her breath shallow and rapid through those parted lips. Her mind swooned with the stimulus of the mysterious woman's presence, while savoring each word spoken as if a goddess had breathed them upon her. Then it was gone.

She was wrong about the mirror, though it laid bare the truth of Kali's thoughts. With gratitude Kali'ka welcomed back the presence as it circled her, like a predator, revealing truths.

Cold, empty, wanting. The figure had filled the acolyte's senses, then left them bereft. Eager eyes followed the woman as she moved to the mirror.

Then silence. Only the warmth of her body, the hum of her presence, the scent of her armor, her skin, It overwhelmed Kali'ka as her own identity teetered on the edge of a precipice.

"If the mirror is a liar...than what are you?"

Kali'ka didn't know anymore. In that moment, she felt as if she were nothing without the presence that ensnared her. Doubt. Fear. Yes, she felt them all when she looked into the mirror. No, she didn't want to feel it again. She wasn't what she thought she was, and fear of failing. fear of failing the Mistress, had whispered in her ear like a sinister foe.

The dark being continued to unravel Kali'ka, revealing the depth of the feelings the acolyte felt as she looked into the mirror. Kali felt exposed, naked before the woman, as if nothing could be hidden from the hooded figure. Yes, Kali though she would see the hypocritical jedi she was.

The orangey light glinted of a glimpse of a lip as it formed those words. It only made Kali hungry, craving to see what lie in the shadows of the hood. The stranger stopped before her, stepped closer. Again the acolyte's breath hitched as a finger reached to lay under her chin, gently forcing it to lift, eyes peering into the shadow of the hood, where eyes accustomed to the darker room could make out the faintest outline of a young woman's face.

a weighty question was posed, but Kal'ka sensed the woman already knew the answer. The acolyte's head remained tilted up in a sense of self strength as the Mistress withdrew. Clarity forced its way through the miasma of hieghtened appetites and emotions. After a moment, she finally spoke.

"I am not what the mirror showed me. It was what I wanted to be." She paused, confidence bleeding into her posture and her voice. "But now, I want you to shape me into what I will become." The acolyte couldn't explain how, but this unnamed, enigmatic stranger had lured her, ensnsared her, captivated her. Kali'ka wanted nothing more than...more of the woman and her teachings.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Tomb, Korriban
Tag: Kali'ka ​

Serina let the silence linger, stretching the moment taut, savoring it like the final note of a symphony that trembled in the air before fading into oblivion.

Ah… there it is.

Kali'ka had spoken the words Serina had known she would. The words she had guided her to. And yet, hearing them from the acolyte's own lips sent a ripple of pleasure through Serina's being, settling deep within the marrow of her bones.

"Mmm…"

A low, satisfied hum. Indulgent. Pleased.

She did not move at first. She let the weight of Kali'ka's submission settle in the air between them. Let the acolyte feel the truth of what she had just confessed—not just in words, but in the absolute surrender now woven into her very essence.

"You are learning quickly, my dear."

Serina's voice was rich, syrupy, curling around the space between them, filling it, claiming it.

"You do not need to know what you are. You do not need to define it."

She took one step forward, the distance between them evaporating, her presence once more pressing into the air around Kali'ka, wrapping her in something warm, suffocating, undeniable.

"That is the weakness of the foolish. Of the blind."

Another step, slower this time. She did not reach out yet, but let her breath just barely brush against the acolyte's skin.

"Jedi, Sith, rulers, beggars… all of them so desperate to name themselves, to cling to their identities like frightened children grasping at scraps of meaning."

The ghost of a touch, a brush of fabric, the barest shift of air as she moved closer still.

"But you?"

A pause.

"You are free, Kali'ka."

Serina let the words settle, let the weight of them press against the acolyte's skin, let the truth of them slide down into the deepest parts of her being.

"And I will shape you into something worthy of that freedom."

A breath. A promise.

Serina reached out then, slow, measured, her gloved fingers coming to rest beneath Kali'ka's chin once more. A mirrorof before, a reminder—a claim.

Only this time, she tilted Kali'ka's head just slightly to the side, exposing the length of her throat to the dim torchlight.

"You are a creature of hunger, Acolyte. I can feel it in you. The need to be more. The ache to be seen, to be shaped."

Her fingers trailed, just barely brushing along the curve of the acolyte's jawline, tracing the path down to where her pulse fluttered, delicate and alive beneath her skin.

"And you have chosen well."

Her touch lingered for a moment longer, just enough for Kali'ka to feel the heat, the promise of it.

Then, just as before—she withdrew.

And the absence was devastating.

Serina stepped back into the shadows, her figure still visible, still there, but the lack of that touch, that closeness, was as deliberate as the caress itself.

"You have given yourself to my hands. And so, I will shape you, as a sculptor shapes raw stone."

She lifted a gloved hand, gesturing toward the vast, empty chamber beyond them.

"But stone must first be chiseled. Cut away. Broken apart, until what lies beneath is worthy of being seen."

A slow smile, felt more than seen.

"And you, my dear, are still so very rough."

A pause, letting the words settle.

Then, with slow, purposeful grace, Serina lifted a single finger and traced a pattern in the air before her.

A whisper of Force energy rippled out, awakening something unseen.

The chamber shifted.

The torches lining the walls flared, their glow turning from soft amber to something harsher, colder, casting the room in a sharp, silvered light.

And then—

The doors behind them slammed shut.

Not by a mechanism. Not by Serina's will.

But by something else.

Something that had been waiting.

Serina's head tilted, watching Kali'ka closely as the air shifted around them, becoming heavy, thick, like the moment before a storm breaks.

"Tell me, Acolyte."

Her voice was softer now, more dangerous, silken, wrapping around Kali'ka like smoke.

"What is it that still lingers in you? What parts of yourself are you still so desperate to hold onto?"

She let the question breathe, let it curl inside the acolyte's chest like a slumbering thing just waiting to be stirred.

And then, from the darkness of the chamber, something moved.

A figure.

Not monstrous, like the beast from before. Not grotesque or warped by the Dark Side's cruelty.

No.

This figure was familiar.

Painfully, terribly familiar.

A man. A Jedi.

His robes were torn, his body wounded, but his eyes—his eyes were what mattered.

They were the same as they had always been.

Eyes that had once looked upon Kali'ka with trust. With belief.

"Kali'ka…"

The name slipped from his lips, raw, pleading, real.

Serina did not move.

She did not interfere.

She simply… waited.

"What will you do now, Acolyte?"

Her voice was low, intimate, a whisper meant for Kali'ka alone.

"This is what still binds you. This is what still weakens you. Today’s final test."

A pause, long and deliberate.

"And I would be ecstatic…"

A breath. A smile.

"When you break it."

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis
​

She knew the woman was pleased, and this gave Kali'ka great satisfaction. The figure drew near again, as if heeding the acolyte's hunger for her presence. That presence was enveloping her, sending her body again into a heightened sensation. The intentional revelations were crooned in a tone both seductive and haughty in the knowledge of the command they had over the Kiffar girl. She could be free from being named as this or that. The concept was freeing indeed, lifting a burden even as the palpable tension corded by the Mistress held every nerve, every breath captive to the woman's movements.

The warmth of breath that carried her liberating words, the scantest touches teased mercilessly. Again, a single digit was extended to offer a touch, a firm one, again directing the movement of Kal'ka's head. Obediently she turned her head, exposing her throat. The exposure was exhilarating, the vulnerability she accepted a heady intoxicant. As the woman spoke, that finger traced her flesh, brushed over her jugular under which her pulsed pounded. Oh, this woman knew her so well, a stranger tearing her open to reveal her dark wants and desires. Lips parted again, a soft involuntary gasp escaped as once again the Mistress expressed her pleasure with her candidate.

But then she retreated. A sigh of despair was breathed in the void. Oh, she would have preferred that hand clutch her throat and squeeze if it meant the presence would keep its tentacles wrapped around her. But the ache of emptiness panged again as the figure withdrew. There was more, Kali'ka sensed.

She was given the promise to be made something more. But at a price. Chiseled, Cut. Broken. If that was what was required, the acolyte vowed to herself to endure, if it meant being something she could never become in her own strength.

Then the woman set another stage. Kali'ka's brows furrowed at the strange sigil drawn in the air. She felt the strong disturbance in the Force. The torches grew bright, whiter. Her head spun at the sound of the door slamming shut. The acolyte was on edge, ready to act, eager for the last test, and the first cutting of the sculptor upon the rough stone of her acolyte.

Again the Mistress spoke, questions, probing, penetrating, violating. Th woman knew what lay within Kali before the acolyte could see it. Klai sawa movement beyond them. A figure. burly, unsteady. The leonine features unmistakable. A Cathar male.

Taam Moghul. A chill ran up her spine, even as anger flared like cutting-torch within her.

Serpentine whispers revealed the truth. The Jedi, their betrayal, his abandonment of her. It all still kept her bound, an obstacle to the promises given to her by her new benefactor. The muscles in Kali's jaw rippled as her teeth clenched, the grip on the haft of her pike tightening until the knuckles were white. Oh, there was fear, but it was drowned mercilessly in hatred.

She slipped past the dark stranger, strode towards the Jedi. He was a wretch, as if he had just staggered off of the battlefield. But his gaze, it was hauntingly familiar. Kind, nurturing, encouraging. He looked at her without judgement, as if nothing about her had changed. "It is good to see you, Kalisha." He crooned, limping as he took a step closer. "I've missed you." Kali stared at the man, her being battered with the confounding encounter. Whispers of memories threatened her rage, images of what she once would have called the good times. Her harsh gaze softened a bit, her bottom lip quivered. "Come with me." He offered.

No.

Kali'ka had severed herself from that life. She remembered the pain of her attackers, piling upon her until she lost sight of her Master. Their weapons, claws, fists rend at her relentlessly. They left her for dead. He left her for dead. The agony of dying, over days. Dragging her torn and broken body across the hard earth, knowing her life ebbed away in the dark stain of sanguine that she left in her wake. Then her hand fell on the amulet. That was what saved her.

The acolyte's gaze narrowed, teeth parted to bare gritted teeth. In the span of a hot breath, the pike ignited and Kali'ka lunged forward, thrusting the thick plasma blade into the jedi knight's chest.