Pitch Darkness, Three Steps Back.

[Darth Caedes]

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Darkness | Act One | Chapter One​

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"You have to first cast aside your fears in order to master them. Your power, your power comes from darkness. There is but one way to satisfy that kind of thing. That can only be done through total immersion. You'll have to bathe yourself in the darkest places possible."​

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Core Worlds;
Coruscant;
The 'Streets.'

12 hours earlier...

"Terror in the streets of Coruscant, or so it seems as millions of disturbed citizens react to a horrible tragedy. Holo-vids have gone viral, showing an unnamed man slaughtering masses."

She was a mirialan, though without any facial tattoos, and she looked horrified by the words on her teleprompter. Or perhaps the images she saw on the screens before her. Poor quality images and motion captures of a darkly dressed figure tearing down what looked to be average men and women of the numerous species. A red blade, a lightsaber, his weapon. And so much fire.

"[member="Matsu Xiangu"] was also seen, as showed... here, though no word has yet been given on his capture. It is suggested that anyone in in or around Galactic City remain in doors."

Outer Rim;
Ansion;
Cuipernam.

6 hours earlier...

He was human, sweaty, and stinky. A layer of filth covered his skin, already browned from sun exposure and now muddied to near-black. His surroundings were harsh, littered, somewhat expected to be honest. Packaged food wrappers, empty and obviously overdue dishes. For hours already, today's perspiration had seeped into and out of his pours, only adding to the stale aroma. He was bending over, fat fingers squeezing for another hit of his favorite spice as a screen played muted to his left. He would never see the scared peoples of Coruscant running and screaming over metal platforms-- so unlike anything on this primitive planet. Blasters fired between moving bodies, and at times there were gaps wide enough to see the mutilated piles there behind. Subtitles ran along the screen's bottom, almost half of which were cut off by improper video formatting and made to sink below visibility.

"You heard it here first, Coruscant's unnamed villain has been located. Here he is, caught on security feeds slaying public authority- apparently all part of a vehicle heist, as he made away with away with a security VAAT."

He would never see his son, someone he had met only once due to clear societal differences, cleaved in half by an obscured clawdite menace- even when it was being played right there! Instead, he got high.

"We don't yet have an accurate death count," a twi'lek male concluded before it cut to commercials.

Kashyyyk;
Battlefront;
Beachfront.

Present...

He was everything, and at the moment nothing. An inky black stain of hatred just as easily as a victim to the most awful plague. There was nothing here, no one. Each step was a step over a dead body, uncleaned fields of battle still sitting there. Still rotting away. Wookies with their insides hanging out, and beasts large enough to do it not feet from them. Yuuzhan Vong men, muscled, ugly brutes lay lifeless atop Jedi and troopers. Hooded members of a family where he had been the black sheep, the only one not invited into their secret club house.

Nejaa's face was different, held in its origin. Not a clawdite's mutated and irradiated maw, but the face of a human boy. Long lines of cut skin dragged over his left pectoral and shoulder, clothed only along his bottom half. Stark eyes cast themselves along so many bodies which could have been him. Wrinkles like jagged lines hung in masses just at the bridge of his nose, supporting a closed-mouth-snarl. Bearing fangs he kept behind skin and lips. Dried blood from the splatter of others still lingered, unwiped on his face.

He had come here because he felt life. In a morgue of sand, grass, and carcasses, he could feel something. Something feint, and something he couldn't focus on for too long. The longer he tried to feel it, the harder it became until he could feel nothing at all. The force worked in mysterious ways, quickly undoing him and turning him into a lost wanderer, hoping for something to just show up.

gggzzHsssstshhvvv

Before his body moved, his eyes turned to greet the green illuminated blade of a Jedi Consular. Hunched against a tank which had been blown from the inside out, one leg held up on a wookie's run-over body and the blade held sloppily head of him. Nejaa knew this man, even before he saw him he could feel him. It would have to be him. A ripped up, broken down looking human in what used to be a full set of armor, Kordo Hardeen of the Enclave's Council.

gggzzHssssstshhvvv

"Nejaa? Is that you...?"

The crimson blade did all the talking, raising more elegantly into an attack position, pointed at the Jedi Master he'd been forced to respect all these years. "What are you doing, d-don't let them see you." But his glare was unmoving, fixed on the weak man opposite him. For years he had waged subliminal war against Nejaa, made him to appear untrustworthy, the first to decline any request he made. Every request he made. This was the life he had felt, the one thing he could pull apart from the dried waterlogged body parts and stench!?

"... The force has guided me here... master."
"Ha-! I believe ya'boy, there's no other explanation, we... we must flee from here at once. Have you brought a--"
"-- We're not going anywhere at the moment."
"Nejaa... Nejaa, what're you doing, I'm not your enemy."
"We'll see..."

Awareness seemed to come slowly to this 'master.' He only now began to come to terms with Nejaa's never fading, slow approach. His guard was raised, but it was clear that he would be unable to put up much of a defense against a mostly-uninjured opponent.

"What happened here..."
"One Sith, they came out of no where, we were overwhelmed- but there're more of us... a few survivors... Nejaa put away you're blade..."
"You lost?"
"Nejaa, talk to me--! Put away your weapon, we are on the same side."
"Answer me!"
"Wha--? Y-Yes, we lost... how could we have won... we had no ide--"
"You lost. The Jedi lost."

Nejaa's blade came close enough and Kordo swatted it away, his furious confusion eating at him. Nejaa let him do so, bringing his blade right back to where it had been to sizzle against the other. Sparks and a pitched noise spat from the intersecting meeting point.

"Nejaa! You're precious to the Jedi, what's happened, why do you fight me?"
"I have never been precious to the Jedi."
"More so than you know, put away your weapon, let us talk."
"I do not need your words, Kordo."
"What then?"

It was as if in invitation that Nejaa lunged forward and swept his blade across the enemy's guard, a wide strike which knocked Hardeen backwards and against the metal tankard. A second strike, evaded, plunged red into metal, oozing molten on contact. Kordo sprung backwards, limping upon landing and sliding backwards, blade once again raising in defense.

"I always knew there was a darkness in you..."
"You're a fool, Hardeen. You fight for a dying order, the strength of the light is obviously meant to fade. Every candle eventually burns out, and you're drowning in the wax."
"Who has told you these things, Nejaa, you cannot leave the order--"
"I will do as I please..."
"Think about this..."
"... And that begins with you..."

The rest of it was quick. Nejaa's blade tore from the metal, splashing magma against grass and incinerating it. The Jedi against him tried, but was without proper ability to defend, his blade only being beaten aside with each of Nejaa's attacks. And whenever Kordo did try an offensive movement of his own, it received a deafening shut down before recoil. Finally, Nejaa's blade whipped in an odd circular motion, digging deep into the Jedi's knee and sending him to the ground- he tried to fight, tried one last, desperate strike. And lost. Soresu guided Nejaa's blade into a perfect counter, removing Kordo's hand. Another slash cut a gash deep into the Jedi's chest and sent him sprawling onto the ground before him. Kordo's pleas began instantly, a whimpering will which tried to appear calm. He knew what lay on the other side, what the Jedi must be experiencing.

"Nejaa!! You have to stop, the council needs you--!! The Jedi need you!!"
"You're a liar! You're all liars!"
"No my boy, you're, you're part of something bigger--"

Nejaa's eyes rolled, he couldn't have felt more sick. A thrall of lightning blasted from his finger tips, purple currents of the stuff burning every nerve in Kordo's body. It continued until Kordo had all but given up, smoke rising from a shivering victim.

"--... You're... you're the child of... of prophecy..."
"Hah! This... THIS is good- you'll say anything wouldn't you!?"
"Nejaa... listen to me... you can't do this... the jedi need you-- you're--"
"Face it Kordo, you hated me-- you, I wasn't ever... you never let me do anything!"
"That's how you liked it!! Is it not!? Safe and sound, right?! Cozy, right!?"
"ENOUGH!"

Nejaa's blade fell, all of the way through Kordo's chest it fell. The sound it made going through organic tissue was much different than anything else. Metal screeched, another blade sort of belched, this sort of... gurgled. Like water dropped against a red hot surface. Nejaa's face came close, his eyes looking deep into Kordo's while crimson stole the Jedi's life. Awful smelling smoke rose in plumes from the hole. Kordo also offered a gaze, meeting Nejaa, though far more pained and nearly vacant.

"Hhhh-- Nejaa... you... you're... hhhhyou're the bridge between light and... dark... you... you're... born of the force Nejaa... me-- meant to... to... understand bo--... both sides... you've... was I... wrong?"
"You're lying."
"... For what... purpose would I lie...? You've killed me... Nejaa... Niynx..."
"... Why!? Why did you give me Torin as a padawan!? Why break procedure? I specifically told you I intended not to take a padawan! I told YOU that!"
"To... to instill... balance..."
"You should've just treated me like everybody else! Look at me now, look what you've done!"

Kordo's eyes began to roll back, whispering something. Something silently, Nejaa had to put his ears close. Only inches away could he hear what the master was saying, an airy warning of sorts.

"... I never... meant... for this to... happen... you... you were meant to... to help us... defeat the sith... you were... are... you are the bridge, Nejaa... d-don't... don't let the sith... have you..."

Core Worlds;
Coruscant;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

Five hours later...

It may have first appeared as a small blip on his holo-screen. Perhaps a notification directly on his data-pad, or a toned beep from the comlink. Maybe someone had to make a call and let him know, or maybe his own network was responsible, but Cryax would get it. A simple message, made anonymous by encryption which wouldn't phase someone like Cryax. He had sent it surging through the same holo-feed by which Bane had listed his bounty, something Cryax would be watching.

Access Param Input:
> Access Encoding// ? [Enc_424]
> Active_Mission {int: scan}

Scanning...

//Nejaa Niynx

> I'm on Kashyyyk. If you want me, you'll come get me. I'll be waiting.

 

[Cryax Bane]

When his half-brother Sage had returned from the hunt, empty handed, with swatches of his guts missing, Cryax Bane had stopped watching the locator on his ARCs for the little blue dot of his obsessions. Frankly, if Sage couldn’t do the job, he doubted that a bounty hunter would fare much better. Despite the fact that Bane had undergone a special procedure that connected Nejaa’s kill chip to a separate chip embedded beneath his cobalt-blue nape, he was just about ready to throw in the towel. Sadly, the lost boy seemed to be a lost cause.

Until the Chiss got an unexpected message from Kashyyyk.

> I'm on Kashyyyk. If you want me, you'll come get me. I'll be waiting.

He read it several times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and then barked a voice command to his ARCs.

“Kill chip. Track.”

The geolocator spent a few seconds searching for the satellite, tiny packets of information hurtling through a vast spray of stars and planets, then it began to circle in on a beachfront on Kashyyyk, a world as wild and untamed as the Jedi himself. It seemed their fates were sutured together in more ways than one. The Universe was funny that way, wasn't it?

Cryax ordered his attendants to book a private Sith shuttle and to plot a course to the tropical planet of walking carpets. The ride was pleasant enough. He consumed a snifter of whiskey, and then took a long, indulgent shower, but a good night’s sleep wouldn’t come. Memories relentlessly plagued him: The young man’s flawless face in his hands, skin on skin, and then devasting pain as his rib caged cracked, and droids imploded in a parking garage amid a discordant wailing of sirens.

Once Bane and his crew docked at the Rwookrrorro Spaceport, his attendants informed him to travel with care due to small isolated skirmishes left-over from the Sith-Republic Battle of Kashyyyk, a war during which the Chiss slicer himself had lost one of his cybernetic legs to a Jedi lightsaber. Although Bane held a very creative insurance policy against his slippery target, he commandeered five TA 1 Hegemonic Automation Battle Droids to accompany him in a speeder truck with mounted repeater blasters headed for the ocean belt. As he travelled, his luminous red orbs impassively watched the gnarled Wroshyr trees blur as they sped over the terrain, dropping only to periodically trace the flashing blue dot on his wrist.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk;
Battlefront;
Beachfront.

"HOW-- Howcan youeven SAYthat!?"
"Sss'true... b-believe me... T-Tython... Nejaa... Tython..."

His grip on the Jedi's robes became so tight his fists shook, a trembling insecurity-- he would be alone again. Anger licked him, pushed him to do things he wouldn't have been proud of.

He lies, the Jedi lies Nejaa...
Your enemy, Hardeen is your enemy, show him what that means...
"I hate you, you and all the Jedi- even if-- ESPECIALLY if what you're saying is true!"
Crush him, drain his life Nejaa...
You don't need their lies any longer, Nejaa...
You don't need their lies any longer, Nejaa...
You don't need their lies any longer, Nejaa...

Nejaa grip took hold of the enemy's air passages, skin to skin, he wanted to feel it. His eyes were there, dumping their will down Hardeen's throat, into his gaze, against that putrid face. That human face- that handsome face. He could feel bubbles of struggle ripple through the master's throat. Feel the adam's apple begin to wobble and throb, caught on the tighter areas of Nejaa's choke. In pulses, Nejaa condensed his muscles, jerked the Jedi's neck to the ground, pushing against the very bone which kept it inline. Throttling him. Blood popped from his lips, dribbled down inflated cheeks. Eyes waved in random motion, the veins within them growing in size. Leaking, bursting, dying. Glazing over, giving up-- right when Nejaa let go. Let the sing of a red blade tear through the man's skull, incinerate a path from under his jaw through the top of the cranium. Spilling sizzling brain matter atop melting hair and a grizzled scalp.

"I... I don't need your lies... any longer..."

Kashyyyk;
Paremeter Defense Towers;
Nightfall.

For hours he had been forced to move like the shadows, crouched, head low. Counting on the predictability of night, lurking from dark patch to darker patch. This place had changed, it was no longer the spiritual world he had once served, irreverent to nature and its blessings. The dark side had grown rampant here, bewitching the wilds and making harmless into hostile.Thin lines of frustration pressed into Nejaa's brow, each breeze growing more cold than the last. Goose bumps ran up and down a naked torso, bristling pins and needles as they rushed over barely healed cuts or burns. Everything was silent here, unmoving and relentlessly still. Everywhere around him buzzed with movement, but to look would be to risk exposure. Being seen. Lights glew and illuminated trees. Bark with metal ingrains, splashed paints of reds black, art done by a crude hand no doubt. Though he didn't understand the symbol's meaning, it felt like a warning.

"Cckk--"

He had once known these pathways, understood their bend and flow, now they were foreign. Changed, heavily furnaced with weaponry, sunken with warfare. Turrets like drills had been punctured against the belly of each tree, massive tubes for blaster-barrels which certainly couldn't have their contents deflected by a single lightsaber. What happened next sort of just happened, beginning with an odd grunt from behind. Something not produced by Nejaa which caught his attention and startled an immediate reaction. Red buzzed, crimson blade released and swinging without a target. Hot breath from something bigger pushed white smoke into the air, and the blade stopped, blocked by something. Nejaa had never seen this before, his eyes knew not what to look for. Something large, something hulking. It struck back, whatever it was, not a moment later, a blow powerful enough to level him and remove the option of breath.

He had been seen.
How had he been seen?

A sharp pain in his ribs, followed by the stomach pitching realization that both of his hands were once again empty. The skidding-slip-noise of a lightsaber's blade writhing back into its metal hilt whispered close by before ceasing altogether. Light glinted against eyes, reflective eyes. Small, concentrated and violent. Whatever this was, it was huge. Coughing and trying to roll away, Nejaa's hand rose to spur a diversionary pu--

The force warped, flexed and pushed, but never reached this particular warrior. Another kick came, armored and so much more ferocious than expected. His fragile frame was forced to take it, serrated armors shredding through whatever skin had managed to remain untouched this long. Sputtering, he collapsed against his back, straightened fingers feeling the warmth of new blood. His head came down hard against the metal of Sage Bane's lightsaber hilt, a stolen-gift, jagged edges causing more pain than the flat ground. But he took that pain more easily than the rest, for it had come with good news, too. Even while he was weakened and without target, he took up the blade and swung from a knelt position. Again, his blade met resistance, but this time he could see what it was.

It was alive, gruesome, animated by hostility. Gnarled flesh, one ear removed, thick black hair which stuck together with grime. Armor, thick plates of something which didn't reflect light like metal, and a thin, black spear of a weapon. He was forced to withdraw once more, retreating long enough for the enemy to howl an alarm. Others howled back. From everywhere, from no where, from in the trees, behind the leaves. Behind walls, inside dug out holes. More eyes, more reflective surfaces, more armor and more weapons. Nejaa sucked in, inhaling, breathing for the first time in too many seconds, white skinned.

Wh-What were these!?
What-- who were the One Sith!?

He batted the first enemy away, swiveling round and penetrating the second at the base of its neck. His efforts in vain, forced backwards. Hissing companions of the Vong lashed out with razor sharp teeth, swatted back by red blur. A third, fourth, and fifth fell, but there were more. The gates opened behind him, sliding blast doors which opened into a court yard. Sixth, seventh, either-nine-ten, his arms weeped for a break, ducking, bobbing and weaving, leaping into the air and landing in rolls. Incandescent bursts of flame lit the ground a-flare. Seven more, no eight more, howling curses in a strange tongue which sounded unlike anything he'd heard before. A butchering of vowel sounds in odd, drawn out belches.

Cryax would find him here, follow him to that very same courtyard, surrounded by hulking beasts, more than enough to have disposed of him, and yet. Crouched, knees bent and folded. Hands in his lap, one clenched tightly, the other wrapped around it, and both red with blood which spilled from his stomach. His eyes tried to close, pressured tightly into a wrinkled relaxation, only to open again. Dart around, study every shadow- observe every movement. Hear every silent voice which spoke to him.

He's coming Nejaa...
Soon, the devil shall come, Nejaa...
Bathe yourself in darkness, for you are power...

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax’s speeder truck zipped to a stop in front of a large Wroshyr tree tower. Its surface was choked with Kthysh vines, its whorls sickened with decaying wood. To someone like Cryax who could not feel the ebb and flow of the Force, it was simply a place in a state of disrepair. Yet, he had his own mortal connections to this place, regardless of the metaphysical. The place held the significance of loss. Bane had lost something to this place, a vacancy that created a black hole, sucking down all rationality. An event horizon that consumed his waking thoughts, and unleashed his darker nightmares. Visions of the object of his obsession, the epitome of need, crawled around inside of him, on its hands and knees, and with ossified fingers, scraped out a hole. The hole became a wound and the wound became a chasm.

The chasm became a void.

With his droids in tow, Bane climbed out of the vessel, watching the screen hovering in front of his face for the flashing speck of blue. He followed a path to the blast doors that opened into the tower’s courtyard and approached the open doors with circumspection. Nejaa, his Nejaa, was in there somewhere. Bane removed his blaster from his holster, a weapon he really had no intention of shooting. On most nights, the courtyard was bathed in the light of Kashyyyk’s three moons, but tonight they were a trio of slivers hanging wanly in the sky. Their bone-white mirages of light were too faint to be trusted over the shadows that poured over the enclosure. The courtyard was almost pitch black.

Cryax lived in darkness, most at home in darkened rooms, lit only by the flicker of data on a screen.

But Chiss could see in the dark.

Bane’s droids marched in to make a semi-circle around him where he stood a few feet into the courtyard. His ARC's geolocation program pulsed out a notification in blue flashes. The lost had been found. The Chiss’ red eyes cut through the blackness like tiny fires in his skull. His luminous gaze followed the glistening ground, a trail that lead him to piles of twisted, gore-slicked bodies. Humanoid creatures whose origins were unfamiliar to him. Right in the nucleus of the mountain of dead, like their mad king, crouched the invisible boy, half naked, and wet with the same viscera. Bane could not tell if the bloodstains that painted Nejaa were the boy’s or the carrion scattered around him.

A jagged edge of light fell over the face he had travelled light years to glimpse. Nejaa’s eyes burned with a sinister fire, a world of things that the Chiss would never fully understand. What he understood was the carnal ache that lived in the reluctant muscles of one bathed in denial. Caught red-handed and ashamed. Engaged in a war with his own desires.

A howl of a nearby Tach rang out from the jungle, piercing though the silence. Cryax twitched at the sound. He held up a blue-skinned hand, an order for the droids to stand down. Blaster fire would only incur the boy’s wrath and ignite the red blade of his brother’s lightsaber. An inhale, an exhale, and then the Chiss' voice penetrated the silence, his smooth tenor anomalous with the horror that had taken place in the courtyard.

“If you’re going to kill me, Mr. Niynx, you might as well just get it over with.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk;
Paremeter Defense Towers;
Nightfall.

“If you’re going to kill me, Mr. Niynx, you might as well just get it-- kaahhguhhh!”

It'd stop before it started, words choked out of existence and banished to a place where they weren't allowed. Without even moving, without lifting a finger or raising an arm, the force protected him. Assaulted the blue creature for him, wrapping silently around his neck and clogging the air way. Tightening until it would hurt, then tightening some more. His eyes had finally closed, shutting in the final seconds of feet-created-noise as if he was only able to relax when he knew exactly where Cryax was- that he was approaching, and Nejaa knew from where. When the silence was not the only thing haunting him, because this he could tear apart if he wanted to. He could feel it, like he was the one wrapping skin around that devil's neck, like he could feel the air trapped in his lungs try, try again, and fail to resurface. Without the ability to command his own artillery, the moronic droids would be only able to look on in confusion- unprepared systems about to prompt an attack before they fell victim to that same, proactive grip. Something which bent weapons back in on themselves, crushed the joints in their legs, imploded heads made thick with complex technologies. Fall to the ground without first even raising their aim towards the rogue Jedi...

"You don't have to tell me..."

His eyes opened, ignited by fire which burned within, glowing with a self generated light- a clawdite's odd transformation abilities making iris and pupil alike dance amongst spinning reds, golds, and oranges. His hand finally assumed the position, loose fingers almost pointing in the chiss' direction, wheeling him in rigidity and wrenching him from the ground so that his feet hovered inches away. The metal possible-opponents his enemy had brought along with him seemed to all but pale in comparison to the hulking masses of Yuuzhan Vong gore around him, a testament to exactly what he was capable of without the restraint of subjugated fear. With a focus, a drive, and a means to accomplish.

"Tell me... do you enjoy this feeling, Bane...? Powerlessness?"

Rising slowly, in one motion he'd yank Cryax forward, toward him, repelling him through invisible strings of the force, bring his arm all of the way around his body and finally throw the sentient against a wall much further back- harder than even a warrior could take comfortably and enough to crush the bug that was this devil. Vacant of his gaze or real attention, Nejaa's other arm rose and made some curious flippant swing to signal an emergency blast door's closing. Metal sheets of duranium moved quickly, slamming closed atop one of the numerous droids, crushing it into a sparking mess, and cutting the rest off from the courtyard. Of course, there were other methods of entry, but not from a droid's lackluster-logical and by the book approach. He wanted just the alien, not his pesky accompaniment. Slithering noises sounded angrily from endangered amphistaves, coiling and ready to strike under the bodies of their previous master as Nejaa turned to face Cryax, the grip on his lungs finally released; just when he might have otherwise fallen to death's hand.

"... You're foolish to think a few droids grant you protection... you don't know me at all..."

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Was it out of loneliness that he came here? A death wish? Longing? It couldn’t possibly be lust that brought Bane to this forsaken courtyard. Lust wasn’t a powerful enough catalyst for the raging inferno that burned through his labyrinth of grey matter. The interminable fire that was stoking since the Clawdite had been delivered to the Morgue. His own intentions were like some strange magic which he’d never understand. Cryax wished he had never met Nejaa Niynx, but as illuminating as that thought was, it was too late for wishes that would never be granted. This was the deep end, and he was drowning in it.

Before the words finished their brave, or foolish, march from his blue lips, two things happened. First, the Chiss’ windpipe began to tighten, a terrifying feeling that Cryax, having pissed off more than a few Jedi in his time, had suffered before. His thin fingers began to claw at his own throat, trying in vain to remove the phantom hand that squeezed. The Chiss croaked and gasped, like a ghoul, desperately seeking precious air to fill his lungs. His red alien eyes began to bulge. The boy stayed crouched, unmoving, the gentle closing of his eyes his only sign of life. Where the frell was the blaster fire from his droids? Oh. That must be the second thing.

Sparks flew as metal crunched in on itself, and heads spun out of control until they burst. With a thick hum, the droids crumpled to the ground like broken toys. What once were killing machines were now deactivated piles of junk, falling like shadows across the courtyard. Nejaa’s eyes popped open, his irises a kaleidoscope of fiery hues. Soon, gravity itself betrayed him as Bane was swept off his feet and pulled towards the Jedi and upwards, so that his feet were dangling beneath him. Then the lost boy found his voice, and it was dripping with spite.

"Tell me... do you enjoy this feeling, Bane...? Powerlessness?"

Cryax choked and sputtered, his hands grasping desperately around his own blue throat. At that moment, Bane would have given up his entire fortune just to take one single breath. He managed to cough out a few words, but without the rest of the sentence, the context would be lost.

“The...aarrrgkkk... kill chip, is...caaaaaak...connected…”

Suddenly he saw Nejaa rise, and felt himself being thrown with the force of a derecho. There was a crack as his body smacked against the blast doors so violently, it almost knocked him unconscious. Cryax lay stunned where he landed, still gasping for air, his eyes squeezed shut as if they could shut out the pain. Despite his crumbling voice, he managed to finish his revelation.

“The kill chip…is….con-connected...to me. I’m….the dead man’s...trigger.”

His next deep breath made a sandpaper sound as it scraped across his windpipe.

“You kill me, and you die. Instantly.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk;
Paremeter Defense Towers;
Nightfall.

“The... arrrrrkkkk... kill chip, is... caaaaaaakk...connected…”
“The kill chip…is….con-connected...to me. I’m….the dead man’s...trigger.”

Nejaa liked the sound of Cryax choking and sputtering, broken over on himself. He didn't speak or try and interrupt. Instead he gave Cryax his full, ungodly attention, annaked arm still outstretched, shadowed and ready to tear the man limb for limb. But this, this was so much better. A cruel smile, invisible under shade of night, took refuge over his face. Beg, plead with whatever you have, scum, ask me to spare you, I dare you. He had never been here before, never been the one somberly walking through a courtyard of the dead. Never been the one with the weapon or the power, and here, here of all places-- it felt so... good. So natural and easy. The heads of white teeth began to reveal when he could no longer contain such an expression through closed lips. His were dry enough to crack and tear but he didn't care. Each slow and drawn out step brought him closer to the worthless alien, there was no fear on his face now, yards to feet to inches.

“You kill me, and you die. Instantly.”
"Hn, does that make you feel safe? ... Tell me..."

As he spoke Nejaa lowered his arm but raised his fingers, calling for the force through a discreet whisper and commanding it to squeeze the chiss, grab him from inside, to violate him, tight enough to break his bones and rupture organs- or at least centimeters from it. Once again, gravity would work against Cryax, betray him and lift him like a puppet with broken strings. "You must feel... soo clever, hm...? You've... why you've subdued a Jedi!" Nejaa's voice was that of psuedo excitement, that fire in his eyes ripening. It sounded like he should be clapping, or celebrating, like he was congratulating an old friend, but he wasn't. There was a sticky noise, wading through pools of blood, some larger than others.

"... You've got it alllll figured out, huh."

The horrid grip would push Cryax backwards, pressing his back against metal and raising him so that he scraped against it. More and more hands of the force stapled themselves into Cryax's skin, against his neck, into his lungs. Let me hear you gag and heave. And even still he drew closer, close enough to smell the alien's cinnamon body odors and the more distinct scent of savory uselessness. Even in the dark he could see it all. See the crumpled expressions and feel the pain he was inflicting without letting it hurt him. Everything in his body screamed, drawing in the power which flowed so easily towards him with each breath, letting it all roll over his tongue. He knew it was dark, he knew that, but... but how could he deny this... how could anyone deny this?!

"You'reWRONG!"

From inches away, Nejaa wheeled round, shot his hand into the sky, and let it fall back down like a hammer. The devil would follow, his fall cushioned only by the dead bodies of armored, huge, Vong. Sliding through chunks of gore and viscera the consistency of meatloaf after having been stepped on, albeit arguably more slimy and wet. Unsatisfied, Nejaa yanked Bane harshly to the left before dragging him closer, front side pressed into the ground with enough pressure to nearly break his fragile spinal cord.

"There's soooooo much more I can do with you alive...! But, then again, you're no stranger to that... are you."

Letting his fingers tug and pull through the will of the force, Nejaa peeled Cryax back and let him fall against his back. Dropping him to be sprawled and powerless. Instead of bind the alien with anything telekinetic, Nejaa lurched, decided, and pounced hands first so that when he fell, he fell atop Cryax's arms, and chest. Instantly, as soon as he could reach, he'd let loose his twisted desires and grip that neck himself. So that Bane's jugular bounced under two palms. So that a pulse throbbed and beat and Nejaa could feel it- really feel it. His neck craned inward, dangerously close to his victim. This was something more than personal, this was a revenge driven by cruelty and only be cruelty. His second hand left Cryax's throat and instead pushed against his forehead from an angle, shoving it into the ground so that Bane's right ear was forced to listen very clearly to whatever Nejaa said next; and his left was drown in the stinking gore of Vong.

"Tell me Cryax... do you feel like you're in charge here?"

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax would have given anything to see Nejaa’s sweet smile beaming back at him in his Coruscant penthouse, but now? That boyish grin had turned hideous, all wrinkled nose and bared canines. A display of monstrous hatred. Those tanned hands that the Chiss wanted to hold, were now strangling his insides, ripping into his lining like the stuffing in a doll and shredding it. That heart that he wanted to capture, it beat for blood, for his blood. At long last, Cryax had Nejaa again, but it was not the pliable, young man he envisioned during his sleepless nights. This Nejaa would have shocked him awake, trembling in a cold sweat. This Nejaa was his worst nightmare.

The boy was possessed, and the Chiss was a willing sacrifice for his demons.

It was Bane’s turn to be interrogated. To be raked over the coals. Questions were spat at him in succession, but any answer the Chiss could give would be irrelevant. The answer was simply pure, unadulterated agony. The answer was suffering. The angel was meting out his punishment, and it was soul-destroying pain.

“No...please…stop...I don’t want to hurt you, Nejaa…I only want to...” His words trailed off with a gurgle as a dark trickle of blood fell from the side of his lips. Something inside of Cryax was tearing apart, and every nerve ending felt it. Again, he was lifted off the ground and dropped back down with a crunch. Some of the more delicate bones in his body snapped, and one of his cybernetic legs began to spark where the blue synthflesh had been scraped off. Bane let out an unabashed howl of pain, and panted breathlessly. A wake of death, Vong bodies with limbs bent at unnatural angles, was his cushion.

Like a night hag, Nejaa leapt onto him and sat astride his chest as if he were poised to steal Bane’s breath. His neck was held firmly against the ground, fingers around his throat, a thumb pressing into his jugular vein. One side of the Chiss' head was pushed into a mound of innards, dirtying up his pretty face. The smell of death overwhelmed his senses, and it elicited a gag reflex as he tasted the guts of one of Nejaa’s victims on his tongue. Cryax felt a deep pang of humiliation, along with an ugly voice inside his head. A voice he had successfully muted for years.

He’s right about you. You’re the scum of the galaxy. A pathetic worm. You deserve this, Cryax. You deserve every shattered bone. Every bruise. Every cut. You deserve every filthy disgrace, because you yourself are filth.

The boy’s hot breath fell on his ear as the Jedi hissed one last question.

"Tell me Cryax... do you feel like you're in charge here?"

He tried to speak through lips pitifully caked with gore. The words emerged as a barely audible whisper.

“No...but you're killing me...and once my heart...stops...yours will, too…"

"Is that what you want?”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk;
Parameter Defense Towers;
Nightfall.

“No...but you're killing me...and once my heart...stops...yours will, too… is that what you want?”
"Oh relax," Nejaa spat, "you'll be fine."

Each pathetic tone drove him further, caused him to squeeze with his hands that much tighter and drive that blue skinned head even further into the metallic, filthy terrain. Then let go entirely, let the scum look back up at him, covered in the corpses he used to slay for his cause- drowning in, tasting the entrails of the brutish monsters he relied on to conquer innocent worlds like this. He drew closer with every hissing taunt, wanting the sharpness of well pronounced words bite that much deeper. Cryax heaved, his stomach writhing before he coughed up blood and let it spill down his already soiled face. "You feel it don't you," Nejaa spoke slowly, loving the sound of each word, enchanted by how it sounded when he spoke like this. "That... pain inside you... in here," his hands trailed until landing on the top of his exposed diaphragm, sinking inches further until they finished over his flattened belly.

"At least I wasn'trying to ssteal it--!!"

His thumb ran circles around a quickly bruising jugular, the skin changing from blues to purples even visibly in such dim light. Letting it rise and fall over the nub of his adam's apple, hungrily- it would be so nice if I could just break him here, now! "I barely even touched you," although he remained low, Nejaa's back straightened a bit in correction to his composure. It didn't matter what Cryax said, whatever he used or tried to use as leverage. Nejaa's words were as if pre-recorded, relentlessly slithering from once such pure and untouched lips while his hands did the same. Snaking round behind him, scavenging for something he'd meant to take before. Fingering over folds until interrupted by the belt, Nejaa let his pointer and middle finger lead in their search for Bane's last weapon. A knife, something... touched by the force, sheathed at his side. Barely, faintly. One finger unclipped the leather casing and the others surrounded the blade's hilt, tugging Cryax's last pitiful line of defense from him and casting it aside.

It didn't ping or scrape, it splashed...

"I'm here for my ship- you have power, you can get me anywhere I need to go here."

Here being this planet, any planet controlled by the One Sith. "Let's start with that." Shoving up and off of Cryax, Nejaa trusted the alien was not foolish enough to attempt taking advantage of the fallen knight. Moving quickly, and not keeping himself in one place for too long in advance to standing.

"Get up."

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Bane did not wear humiliation well. As a child living on a tiny planet in the Outer Rim, he had been bullied by other children in his sector, always the blue-skinned freak with his nose glued to Datapad. As he matured, the Chiss turned the shame inward, boiling it into a sweet stew of self-loathing. Then came his time as President of the Red Ravens, and Cryax ruled the Outer Rim underworld as if he were karma itself, out to repay every single moment of denigration he suffered in his life. Ruthless and heartless, Bane was quick to kill first, and ask questions later. So, of course, untouchability set in. He had gotten use to the cushiony armor of power, credits, and reputation. Shame had eventually grown into an abstract concept, something that happened to other people. On the off-chance that it reared its ugly head, he bludgeoned the feeling into oblivion with every galactic vice imaginable.

Cryax slowly peeled his head from the sticky pile of gore. Blood choked his throat and with a croupy cough, Bane turned his head to the side and ejected it. Nejaa climbed over him, chiding him. Running his hands up and down his body, as if he knew how mad it drove the Chiss. Relishing in his disgrace. Cryax weakly tried to lift himself up, but his hands slipped in slick viscera, sending him plummeting to the ground once more, no doubt to Nejaa’s amusement. The more the Jedi taunted him, the narrower his red alien eyes became. How dare he? Bane had enough credits to buy a planet, and this boy was just...what? A pretty-faced little queen with a fething glowstick?

His Nightbrother fighting knife was soon snatched up and thrown away, like useless debris. The boy began talking about getting his ship and barking orders at him. No karking way. The Chiss took orders from noone. He may have been covered in filth, but his dignity would not be buried alive. It would rise, like a dirt-caked hand from a grave.

His head hanging low, a curtain of blue black hair falling in his face, he slowly arose. His face twisted with pain, the Chiss raised his luminous red orbs to the Jedi, twin fires that were brimming with hatred and outrage. Despite the fact that his everything hurt, Bane was running on polluted fumes. With a bloodthirsty howl, Cryax flung himself at Nejaa, his fists flying, ready to claw the fallen angel from limb to limb with his bare hands.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk;
Parameter Defense Towers;
Nightfall.

It was so unexpected it actually worked. Nejaa's fowl gaze befell the tarnished blue alien as he rose, trembling with the powers of the dark side as they coursed through his veins- far more powerful than any mind altering narcotics. Cryax was broken to bits, beaten into shambles and sparking out of disjointed prosthesis, though he threw himself nevertheless. Something inside the chiss ticked, turning pain into adrenaline and fear into stupidity, the first punch whipping out of a barely mobile man and catching Nejaa right at the blade of his cheek bone. Any practical fighter might know where to aim in order to avoid busted knuckles and broken bones, but he wasn't dealing with one of those. Eyes wide Nejaa staggered, blocked a second hooking-jab, then took the full force of Bane's weight all at once. Knees gave way and they both fell, Nejaa backwards and Cryax atop him.

Before hitting ground, he hit wall and was able to correct his footing for another deflection, wrapping wrist through wrist until he was able to form a cuff of fingers around Bane's forearm. The difference in their size was negligible, their condition, arguable, their physical aptitude, however, evident, the once jedi quickly weaving through new blind spots in Cryax's onslaught and rearranging the both of them until his opened palm pressed deeply into Bane's spine and forced the chiss face first into xell and wroshyr planked fortification. The very same which had met with Nejaa's posterior not moments previous. His other hand still held the frantic creature's wrist, now tangled up and behind, bent at an angle which could only be painful. The boy was harsh, and though he didn't strike, his defenses came with a barely needed sharpness, pressing himself tightly against his foe and letting his whisper come as an acidic warning.

"Try it--"

His was a hissing, the clawdite's chest and closed legs driving more pressure against chiss counterparts, heart thrumming under the pulse of traumatic excitement. Only then could he feel the pain of Cryax's first attack, the rising swell of red hued skin on his own falsely tan look-a-like. Even while it seemed Nejaa couldn't push his quarry into immobility with much more force, he sent a sudden shove, restating his claim to dominance and once again reminding Cryax exactly where he was.

"You'renothing to me, Cryax--!"

Lips were nigh an inch from the man's right ear, the same which had avoided gore and blood earlier. The name sounded poisonous coming from Nejaa, akin to sith spell craft inlayed with woven fallacies. "Try it, c'mon!!" he urged once more, offering another prod from his body. "Nahhh, you probably like it like this- huh," he needn't specify to that which he referred - the ultimate proximity of their very much alive frames. Nor did he have to verbalize his apparent disgust; or maybe he did, being that there was the ghost of something else there present on his lingering tone. Something nearly nostalgic and oddly wanton. Which kept him there instead of letting go or releasing his compression, allowedly loosening the angle of Bane's trapped arm so as not to break that, too.

"Not quite as docile as you remember, hm? Not as easy to push around like a fracking thing! Do you miss it? Would you do it again knowing all this, hmm?... Was it worth it-- was I... worth it?"

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

The compromising position in which Bane found himself filled him with a stormy sea of emotions, but surrounded by rot and ruin, with his injured body failing him, Cryax mostly rued his sorry subjugation. Still, he'd felt his fist connect with the boy’s cheek at least once, and the thought of marking up the Jedi's flawless face lifted his spirits somewhat. He could feel Nejaa behind him, pressing against him, pushing him into the wall. He was shoved few extra times just for good measure. Insults flew at the Chiss like daggers while his arm was yanked back with a preternatural force, and twisted just short of breaking.

"You're nothing to me, Cryax--!"

He’s right. You’re nothing. A worthless molecule floating aimlessly through the universe. A drop of water in an endless ocean. If you died here in this courtyard, who would even mourn your death?

"Nahhh, you probably like it like this- huh."

The statement held a modicum of truth. Cryax would have been loathe to admit it but the harder Nejaa pushed him against the wall, the faster his heart raced. The Jedi’s hot breath on his ear incited a familiar flash of memory, the curve of the boy’s jaw as the Chiss moved in for a kiss, the sensation of discovering secretive skin, and its rebellious responses to Bane’s touch. Somehow a monstrous kind of lust had crossed the moat of his pride, and the hulking beast was unhinging its jaws to devour him whole. He wanted to hate Nejaa for sparking this irrational fire, but his desire was much stronger than hate. He wanted to continue where they left off before the angel turned demon.

"Not quite as docile as you remember, hm? Not as easy to push around like a fracking thing! Do you miss it? Would you do it again knowing all this, hmm?... Was it worth it-- was I... worth it?"

Bane let his eyes slowly close, his bruised and bloodied face a mixture of oppressive shame and obsessive devotion.

“If I’m nothing to you, then why are you holding me so close?” he asked testily. A dark smile tugged at one side of his mouth, but soon disappeared.

“Something tells me you’re enjoying this for reasons that you don’t want to admit.”

He opened his blood red eyes and turned his face towards his conquerer, his lips inches away from the younger man's.

“Aren’t you?”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk;
Parameter Defense Towers;
Nightfall.

“If I’m nothing to you, then why are you holding me so close?”
“Something tells me you’re enjoying this for reasons that you don’t want to admit.”
“Aren’t you?”

Nejaa couldn't listen to the caught slave writhe under its new control, didn't want to understand the words he spoke and didn't care enough to retain them. It sounded like Cryax's version of nervous self defense, his toxin, though Nejaa would not allow himself to become susceptible. Instead he pushed away as soon as he identified Bane's words as nonsensical slander. A right hand which had been wrapped so as to prevent Cryax's arm from moving left its place and slid into a fall, patting down Cryax's legs. The searched served two functions, disarming any hidden tricks the slime might yet have left, and finding the source of scattering sparks about Cryax's knee and ankle. Bent at the knees, he could feel the difference in the man's legs, hard like metal and cold. Curling at the lip, Nejaa grabbed Cryax by the shoulder and tossed him round, a second lunge slamming his bent forearm into the chiss' throat.

"I should've guessed you were part metal."

The blunt tip of Sage's lightsaber hilt pressed against it's wielder's brother, digging into Cryax's gut. "I got a nice visit from your pathetic brother- you'll have to try a little harder than that. All you did was give me my weapon back." He wasn't pressing hard enough to be of any real threat to Bane's jugular but it would be very uncomfortable, more of a warning than attack.

"My lightsaber's against your gut, if it goes off you'll suffer, but you won't die. I'll be safe and you'll be filling yourself with whatever small scraps I choose to feed you. The worst part, you'll just wither out, unable to reach anyone, lay claim to your life. I know who you are, Sith, I know what you've done, what you did- you're all over OS tech archives. Everyone else, they get a legacy, something, you'll be forgotten entirely."

For the first time, Nejaa's eyes ceased their chaotic rapid of fiery colors and fell back again to a pristine, icy blue. His gaze wavered, hummed over the chiss' face and returned to a glare. A hurt glare, because once he had wanted to thank Cryax. Once Nejaa had wished he could change the sick man so caught in his ways, convince Cryax to release him back to freedom, give him his life back. Instead Cryax had violated everything, snuffed out that small flame of light which had somehow remained aglow.

"Or, you can choose to obey me, get my ship, prove useful before I destroy you and everything you've touched. I honestly don't know which I'd rather more..."

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Two or three heartbeats passed, and then Cryax felt the weightlessness of Nejaa releasing him from his grip. Next, the slicer felt hands on his legs, frisking him for more weapons. The search would come up empty. Against a Jedi Knight with fire and the Force at his fingertips, a blaster might have been a broom for all it was worth. Nevertheless, Bane let his eyelids flutter closed, broken by Nejaa’s gentle touch. It didn’t last however, and soon, he was whipped back around, his throat constrained by a lithe, but muscular forearm. Cryax ceased his struggle against Nejaa’s hold, his body language folding into one of subdued resignation.

"I should've guessed you were part metal.”

It was said with such a scathing tone, that a twitch appeared at the corner of the Chiss’ mouth. He frowned at the painful memories his cybernetics invoked.

“I lost both legs at the hands of the Vong.” Cryax stated softly through a jaw as taut as wire. He averted his gaze as he continued. "I was captured, tortured, and left to die.”

The Chiss lifted his red orbs to face Nejaa head-on, a wounded expression on his blue-skinned face.

“Sorry they didn’t finish the job.”

Nejaa threatened him with Sage’s lightsaber and a desire to throw him in a cell where he would rot. More insults were flung, but Bane didn’t argue or protest. He held no illusions about who he was: Scum. Slime. Filth. He knew it. The galaxy knew it. The Cryax Bane who had once coveted infamy or legacy was gone. In his place, was a man hellbent on two things: Surviving and wringing the last drop of blood out of anyone who ever did him wrong.

Finally, Nejaa reiterated his earlier wishes, his beautiful face pained with a mixture of rage and hurt. Cryax wanted to reach out and brush his hand against the Jedi’s cheek. To soothe him. But he knew it was an unwanted gesture that he would have to steal. So he didn't.

"Or, you can choose to obey me, get my ship, prove useful before I destroy you and everything you've touched. I honestly don't know which I'd rather more..."

Cryax let a few moments pass then let out a tractable sigh. “Ok, then.”

“Let’s get your ship.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

OS Territory...
Kashyyyk Spacecraft Impound...
Deep Inside Danger...














Kashyyyk Starship Impoud;
Under Pressure;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

1.12 standard hours later...

Three human formed droids wavered in their uncomfortable pursuit, bugged photo-receptors opening and shutting various focus lenses. Sith droids were often the first to resort to weapon use in situations of even minor hostility. Especially when it was at all related to security. Nejaa made no mistake of underestimating their stupid programming. Even while no one spoke, it was far from silent, the metal patter of cheap alloys against durasteel flooring as the droids followed their... guests. Cryax Bane, a registered data entry on most OS systems, and a Jedi who had managed quite the act of terror back on Coruscant. His face had managed to easily find itself on many wanted lists within OS servos- the chance for a shot had never presented itself.

Nejaa's blade was already firmly planted into Cryax's side, a threat made clear since soon after the two of them had entered the impound lots. It seemed Cryax's level of authority was easily overwhelmed by whatever collection price was put on Nejaa's head, and the boy had found himself rapidly relying on self preservation tactics.

<<Please, unarm Cryax Bane.. Jedi...>>
<<Unarm Cryax Bane, prepare for detainment->>
<<Drop you weapons, we will be forced to fire.>>

Of course Nejaa kept hold of his lightsaber, barely afraid of the droids. "Cryax, tell them I need my ship--!!" But it was too late, one of the droids raised its gun, taking aim at Nejaa's back. In one motion, the fallen Jedi reverse wove himself and let his red blade fly out in one sweeping lash. The weapon and half the machine's head fell to the ground, the other two falling shortly after a secondary circular sweep of the legs and torso. Before many men could so much as react, the blade had been with drawn and he pushed the smoking hilt into the small of Bane's back.

"Frack-- GO, move!"

With the droids down, it wouldn't be long before the whole planet fell down upon him. Those monsters from before, and the hulks of metal abominations. While three were no problem, three hundred might more easily see to a quick end. Nejaa hurried Bane forward, left hand planted on shoulder top, stopping only when he found himself in a terminal section. Long hallways with numerous smaller rooms, administrative terminals deep within employee only zones. The force, in one swift motion, yanked at the hatch to close it, sizzling shut and pressure sealing.

"Don't move."

Nejaa's command was simple, backing away from Cryax cautiously, and making his way to the screen's whirring glow. "I'm gunna find my ship." But he looked lost, he had expected things to go over easier. He had expected them to listen to Cryax, to just give him the ship and let him get back out. One finger fell, and he pushed through some of the information. Already he had pulled up a sloppy codex channel, hesitation before struggling with some of what Cryax might consider the basics. A few characters were typed in, the beginning of a database specified search, but he hadn't the technical savvy to break through any of the security firewalls. Screens locked with password verification and he pulled back timidly, releasing a stressed breath and deciding to try something new--

Red, the screen flashed red. Then the lights of the room, blinking. A horrible alarm noise began a low tumble, growing in volume and pitch before stooping again. Warning signals blockaded him, covering the screen and freezing him out of the system. "Aaaggckk!!" A hammer-strike crushed the metal of the terminal, cracking one of the smaller screens and sending odd lines of green static through its otherwise clear image. Animated by some sort of humiliated snarl, he diverted his gaze to Cryax and gave him permission with his eyes. Permission to move, but not without the warrior descending on him like a bat from a cave's ceiling, grabbing him at the shoulder blade and pressing against him towards the terminal, lightsaber once against in place just to the right of Bane's spine.

"Find my ship... and don't try anything!"

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax didn’t know what Nejaa had expected. Not only had the belligerent Jedi just massacred half a Coruscant residential sector, but he had also taken a very important member of the One Sith hostage. Sith authorities weren’t going to hand him his ship, gift wrapped and tied with a shiny bow. It didn’t work that way. The fortress world ran like a well-oiled machine, and one kink in any of its gears was enough to set the whole system buzzing. However, if there was one thing that Cryax knew a great deal about, it was systems.

Amid the wailing klaxons and the trigger happy security droids, ones that ended up a pile of parts on the floor of the impounding bay, Cryax obeyed the Jedi’s every command. All the while, Sage’s metal lightsaber hilt dug into his flesh. Nejaa wouldn’t kill him, the dual chip made sure of that, but he didn’t put a grievous maiming past the boy. Or a blinding. Or a castrating...He stopped himself from travelling down that road, forcing down the flood of panic that began to snake through his veins. With irritation showing in his luminous red orbs, the Chiss endured every push, every shove, every barked command as he was ushered through the winding corridors of the facility. Finally, the two men found a control room that contained the impounding facility’s main computer.

Nejaa threw a massive tantrum when he found himself quickly locked out of the network. Only after he almost destroyed the terminal, did he turn to Cryax, pleading with his eyes, and pressing the lightsaber hilt to the Chiss’ back. Cryax gave the boy a wolfish smile.

“Oh, now you need me, huh?”

The lightsaber hilt dug deeper, nudging painfully into his back muscle.

Cryax let out a testy sigh and turned towards the cracked screen, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Um, it works better if you don't nuke the thing, Nejaa,” he chided with a smirk.

Glowing red eyes scanned the deck, and blue-skinned fingers began to move with precision. The Chiss sliced with lightning speed, making the hack look seemingly effortless. When faced with a brick wall, he simply reverse engineered the system’s own code so that it bended to his will. His code flowed like poetry through the system, and in a short while, he had access to the entire manifest of the impounding bay. There among the confiscated star ships was a Sith Infiltrator, marked as "stolen by Nejaa Niynx." Docking bay number 23 was its resting place. Cryax’s fingers tapped out a few more commands, then he turned back to his captor.

“Docking bay number 23. I fecked up their security system so that the bay is wide open, but it won’t stay that way for long. We’ll have to fight our way to it. Fast.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk Starship Impound;
Docking Bay #23;
The Scimitar;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

<<Target acquired-->>
<<Fire, fire, fire!>>
<<Yes zzir.>>

His blade still bore its crimson red color, a hilt which felt like home in the hands of Nejaa. Bouncing back blaster fire and the ferocious quarrel of ranged sith droids. Mechanics of war, built for war, programmed for war. Walls and hallways had flown past, well honed targeting systems aiming systems selecting both figures for targeting. Whipping blurs and strikes lashed out from Nejaa's blade, jerked transitions between Djem So and Soresu forms, forced to deflect blaster fire sent at the useless chiss as well. The architecture had changed, no longer a cluttered series of systems and computers; cans and canisters, holo-display generators and the repetitive slamming of droid engines. Docking bay number 19, 20, 21. Defense was, like all forms of lightsaber combat, his speciality, graced with an acrobatic ability. One moment he was pushing a hand forward to command the chiss further along, the next he wheeled round and sent a scattered buckshot of dangerous bolts back into smoking holes and sizzling circuitry. 22... 23.

"You didn't lower the fething blast doors!?"

He had no time to react physically, another volley of red dash marks nearly covering the blue alien in blue holes. The wrinkled skin of a near-grimace would never have the time to form, an odd twitch of the weightless blade knocking aside most, and a second, newly lit emerald green blade deflecting what would have slipped through around Bane's legs. In a short wave and one after another, seven of the droids fell from their own attack, busted photoreceptors dumping low hanging smoke as if this were its substitute for gore and blood. A near perfect reverse counter, honed only through practiced and gifted form V. Another five from a whipping tendril of kinetic energy, while the remaining two bent and curled under a crackling pressure until they popped and fell to the ground in worse condition than most others. More still came, filling in from the exposed doorway. Nejaa didn't waste a moment, turning and tearing the door down even from his distance, absent minded of its apparently useless sturdy make up.

"Open the ship- hatch code-"

Aurebesh letters spelling 'hidden.'

 

[Cryax Bane]

As the two fugitives sprinted through the halls of the impound facility, they faced a barrage of blaster fire from the station’s many security droids. Valiantly, Nejaa swung his saber to meet every blaster beam fired by their metal enemies. The young Jedi was beauty in motion, acrobatic and tenacious. Cryax’s face held a tinge of awe as he watched how Nejaa defended them with an effortless grace, and next to the young Jedi, the Chiss felt like dead weight. He didn’t even have a fecking blaster to return fire. To make matters worse, Nejaa didn’t hesitate to treat Bane like a pariah. He was roughly shoved by Nejaa’s nimble hands, and screamed at when the blast doors to docking bay 23 were still closed.

"You didn't lower the fething blast doors!?" shouted Nejaa, his nose wrinkled in a hateful snarl.

“I did the best that I could in the time that I had!” Bane growled defensively.

The Chiss slicer had just begun to calculate how much time the hack would take, when there was a deafening crunch of metal, and shortly thereafter, a giant hole where the blast doors used to be.

“Looks like you didn’t need my help after all,” smirked Cryax, as he ducked another ping of blaster fire from across the hallway and followed the Jedi through the jagged chasm.

Inside the docking bay, there sat Nejaa’s powered-down Sith Infiltrator, ready to be reclaimed by its owner, but not without Cryax’s help. Not only would the hatch’s security terminal need to be sliced into but the ship itself would have to be purged of its impoundment transmitter so the ship couldn’t be tracked once they departed. Cryax finally felt a modicum of usefulness. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a device, a hatch cracker. He plugged the device into the terminal, and in a few minutes the security code flashed across the screen. The door finally opened with a hiss, just as a new group of security droids began to spill into the docking bay. Cryax was pushed up the landing ramp and into the Scimitar’s darkened interior. They weren’t out of the water yet, but it looked like they just might make a clean getaway. Cryax badly hoped that Nejaa’s ship had a refresher somewhere on board or better yet, a shower. The Vong innards that coated his face and neck had begun to give off a stench that was almost unbearable.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Kashyyyk Starship Impound;
Docking Bay #23;
The Scimitar;
[member="Cryax Bane"].

“I did the best that I could in the time that I had...!”
"Useless..."
“... Looks like you didn’t need my help after all.”






Tsssssssssssssssss...



The Stolen Pride's landing ramp began to fall open, a jaw to its gaping maw. Inside, red lights flickered to life, their gleam showing only the cold metal innards of a ship said to be constructed on the dark side itself. Somewhere which inspired anger, crimson and dark colors, cultivated hatred. Gathered and filtered the force through stygium crystals powering it's specialized defenses; the impenetrable cloaking field. Though, a second glance reminded him that the battle was far from over. The ship was still heavily damaged from what seemed like years ago- back from a time when he was still tethered and bound to [member="Torin Varik"], his backrocket padawan, Torin. Large, blackened holes and entire strips of the armored shell removed in blaster fire. Some systems were no doubt damaged in the powerful ion blast it had received just before escape from an attack they had taken as that god forsaken duo. Master and student, victim and curse. His next deflection fell hard from a different, Ataru, style. A hateful sweeping-bash in response to three inline blaster bolts, batting them back into the crowd to break apart limbs and fry the armored coating of one's torso. The other hand raised, blade still aglow, and clenched back at the broken apart blast door, forcing each strip of shredded metal back into place like a roughly placed patch. Fingers curled in on each other as if to consume one another until the mechanical enemies couldn't even be seen, and their blaster fire but small duds against the resistant material.

He didn't waste any time, turning and dashing back into the red gut of that threatening den. Both lightsabers deactivated, pulled back and hooked back along one of the many belts and strips of fabric wrapping around his low waist. Acting as a belt which held on to the otherwise baggy pants. Even now, his feet were bare and made a smack-padding noise over the cold durasteel. Cryax was ahead of him, he didn't want that, he didn't want that devil anywhere near his electronics. Even with his oh so foolish doubts if Cryax could crack his own encryption coding; who was he kidding-- himself, apparently. Undoubtedly, that chiss could break through whatever coded defense he had placed into measure in a matter of minutes; Nejaa was simply plagued with remaining shreds of ego, clouds which hung over his vision. Reaching and grabbing Cryax's shirt and yanking him closer, Nejaa let loose a threatening tone.

"Don't even think about touching anything in here, brainbolt. I've got this whole thing rigged in layers, there's no way you're pulling anything off, and don't even try to send out a message. I won't remind you again that I can and will, and look forward to showing you different abilities you haven't yet seen or experienced."

From there, Nejaa'd push him forward. Through the low hanging storage room and central, lower floor. Moving quickly from the many holding cells and up the latter which led finally to the cockpit. Tugging at Cryax's shirt meant stop, and he leapt forward to activate the ship's engines. Crunching and failing at first, strained engines started on the second attempt, a whole panel of circuit-savvy computers and processing power. Holo-projected, three dimensional interfaces lit in blood red laser technology. Obviously expensive upgrades to the Scimitar's stock components. In like manner, the cockpit's interior had been modified, the rear seating turned instead into a thick pad not at all unlike a couch. One long, bending bed surface, designed to more easily house Nejaa, instead of the original six cushioned seats. Nearly tossing himself into the fully rotating pilot's seat and grabbing hold of the activation controls.

"Get over here, the guns are controlled from... here."

Tapping a touch screened data pad in order to project a new hologram, then grabbing it with straight fingers and tossing it across the dashboard toward an empty terminal. He was assigning his property to its place. That ferrel face always in a wrinkled mid growl. The information flowed affluently, a powerful and undamaged hyperwave transceiver allowing for the cutting edge to those onboard. To a slicer levels even beyond the young Nejaa himself, the options were near limitless. Cryax, that slicer.

"And open up the bay ceiling-- code should still be entered in there... find it yourself."

And he watched like a hawk at every digital feature that horrible creature utilized.

 

[Cryax Bane]

The interior of Nejaa’s ship, a stolen Sith Infiltrator, was a beautiful testament to the ingenuity of Sith engineering. Its cloaking device was powered by stygium crystals, and it was even said to be alive with the dark side of the Force. Cryax was no pilot, of course, but the Chiss knew starship computers like the back of his hand, and he couldn’t wait to get his blue paws all over the Scimitar’s systems to see what made it tick. Bane was just about to go looking for it on his own, when he felt a rough hand yanking him back by his shirt collar.

"Don't even think about touching anything in here, brainbolt. I've got this whole thing rigged in layers, there's no way you're pulling anything off, and don't even try to send out a message. I won't remind you again that I can and will, and look forward to showing you different abilities you haven't yet seen or experienced."

Cryax rolled his eyes at Nejaa. His handsome face brimming with resentment, he tried half-heartedly to bat Nejaa’s hand away, but the boy’s grip didn’t budge. Defeated, he dropped his hands to his sides and growled at the Jedi.

“I’d like to see you try and remove that impoundment transmitter without me.”

As soon as Bane was released, he felt a violent shove forward. At first, the Chiss balked like a stubborn mule, but finally, he relented and let Nejaa shove him all the way through the ship, until they both climbed the ladder that reached up into the cockpit. Cryax was thrilled to find out that the ship’s computer was modified and he let his glimmering red eyes linger slowly over the the state-of-the-art holoprojected interfaces. He was so excited, he almost forgot that he was a prisoner of the Jedi's. Bane flopped down on one of the cushions, and instantly began to examine the system, looking for its strengths and weaknesses, and most importantly seeking out that pesky little transmitter that would allow the Scimitar to be tracked by the impounding authorities. Nejaa’s voice barked out orders behind him, so close he could feel the boy’s hot breath on his neck.

"And open up the bay ceiling-- code should still be entered in there... find it yourself."

Cryax gave the Jedi another eye roll, this time accompanied by a dramatic sigh. The Chiss slicer was growing tired of his mistreatment, especially now that his adrenaline was wearing off. His face was caked with a thick layer of grime, and his body ached from a possible broken bone or torn ligament, he couldn’t tell which. He needed a shower and medical attention in the worst way. But he dutifully did as he asked, because the alternative would be worse than a few broken bones. A few clicks with his nimble blue-skinned fingers, and Nejaa would find the bay ceiling to be open. The Scimitar would dive right into a twinkling expanse of stars against a layer of endless black.

“Not even a thank you,” Cryax muttered sullenly, averting his petulant gaze from the Jedi. Then, he turned back to the computer and began to slice directly into the Scimitar’s systems.

“Don’t panic, Nejaa,” he chided. “I’m just removing that transmitter. That way we aren’t tracked.”

It was going to be another thankless job. Of that, Bane was sure.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]