Shed, Hide, Revenge.

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Cell of Cryax.

The feeling in his head was air. Very hot air. Every decision was a hard one, left, right, or do I go forward? It was impossible to really know where he was from the window's view of Coruscant alone, but he couldn't stop moving. Hallways lead to rooms, lavish rooms, and finally a door. Nejaa's legs dragged with his commands, eyes straining just to see far enough. Barren body wavered against a diminishing strength, one hand planted and sliding against the wall to support what his legs couldn't. All of him shivered, his skin twitching, trying to cope with the mixed signals it was surely receiving from that drugged brain, as close in form to Cryax himself as anyone could probably get. Blood kept rushing to his head and slurring his movement, throwing him into a swarm of dizziness. Behind him, he could still hear the confused whirring of spider like defense droids. The groaning of of a sick man who had trusted far too much in his own ability to remain within close proximity to a hostile Jedi Knight- no, to a hostile Nejaa. In his hand already was a crumpled thing of fabric, dark green, which unfolded to be a shirt.

"Ffff--"

Nejaa's entire frame hurt, ached from abuse. His skin was clean enough, though covered in a film of sweat. Although his skin had been cut and bruised, punctured by needles and god only knew what else, it showed signs of none of it. He had long since covered the damage with his own shapeshifting abilities, doing so even under the painful toll it always cost him. It didn't take long for him to pull the shirt over his head, but it didn't cover him near completely enough, as that was all he had to wear. He had been delivered here as a container for his organs, to be taken apart and sold away in bits and pieces. He wasn't spared the decency of clothing. To compensate, shifty fingers gripped at a cloth lining one of Bane's decorative tables and yanked it away. A series of ridiculously expensive looking art pieces flipped and spun to the floor, pots and hollow things smashing with a resilient glass-like explosion.

Escape...
Run, get free...
Amass, return, burn him to the ground...

This clawdite fell like a plague against the entry hatch release panel, a near silent hiss snapping durasteel to the side. I can't stop moving, I can't stop moving. Even before he tied the black cloth around his waist he pushed himself out of the room, unsure footing leading him in random directions. Whatever brought him down, into a more public area. Somewhere where he could get outside- that's right, he needed to outside. Away from public authority, that was priority, as long as he was away from-... a casino!? He had woven through enough of the building to land himself at the open archway of a gambling operation. Giant machines lit up in brilliant arrays, funky noises and bouncing graphics.

Fake Freedom;
Coruscant Casino;
Outside Cryax's Den.

And security details. Light, but intimidating nevertheless. He had to risk it, he had to blend in. Although it was surely unlikely to find [member="Cryax Bane"] in attire quite like this, Nejaa nodded as casually as possible and entered the space. He had crippled the man who's form he now wore, left him in a pile on his own floor. Tears burnt his eyes, but he fought them hard.

"Hey--! You there--!"
"Hhh- Wha-what?"
"-- Your ID please, didn't think you were getting in here without it did you?"

Nejaa didn't have time for this. Skidding around and straightening in attention, Nejaa locked eyes with the organic security personnel who had called him out, a stalky looking gotal male. His odd form and harry build made him almost instantly intolerable. "So, pull it out, let's see that ID eh?" That devilish blue face crinkled into a snarl, red eyes hiding drastic emotion without making it intangible. He didn't answer again, at least not with words. Instead, a quick motion and Nejaa'd grabbed the creatures index finger. Twisted it round 'till it cracked, then slugged the guard hard in the throat until he fell backwards, tripping and colliding with the back wall, a silent gaping. Swallowing hard, the boy vanished into the crowd, swarms of people just beyond the shocked audience. Again, Nejaa's skin fluctuated, all of this stimulation quickly sobering him and his influence over that specific racial trait. This time, his features sank and he seemed to put on additional age. Tan skin, ridged and gunsmith. Ugly features, beady eyes. Even his hairline receded, shedding what hair he no longer needed, until only a spindly ponytail of black hair complete a weequay's appearance. Each of the three droids who had seen the incident sped off in pursuit of, well, they had last seen a certain chiss...

On request so as to follow the thread; [member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

And with the most painful farewell, the invisible boy fled his captivity. Unfamiliar emotions, their jagged edges dulled by time and misdeeds, flooded his system, mixing up a dangerous brew of humiliation, adrenaline and vengeance. That. Little. queen. Bane rifled through the jumble of clothing on the floor and discovered that the monster had swiped his shirt. “Kteh!” he exclaimed, cursing in Cheunh, his arms clutched around his midsection as pain howled through his rib cage. Pants and boots were gingerly donned, but laces and belt were both a luxury he couldn't afford, so both were left undone. Once dressed, he pulled his blaster out of it’s holster and clicked off the safety.

“Follow.” The two droid bodyguards who were uselessly flanking the door frame the entire time he fought the shapeshifter both clanged to life with his command. The metal soldiers dutifully followed close on the heels of their Chiss master who flew out of his apartment and ran down the hallway with his blaster drawn. A pair of passing casino guests, a male and female Rodian draped in each others arms, gasped and gave him a wide berth.

Cryax had kept a few souvenirs from his time as President of the Red Ravens and one of those were a pair of augmented reality contacts that he had specially tailored to his sensitive Chiss orbs. The imperceptible little devices were programmed to constantly monitor the security cameras at all of the CRC’s most sensitive locations like the Cream and the Crop. Using voice commands as headed for the turbolift, Bane began to browse through the feeds. From various vantage points around the casino, Bane could spot brief snatches of his own image, like a blue-flickering ghost, running in a t-shirt and something that passed for a skirt. Was that his tablecloth? From different angles he watched himself run through the main casino floor, push his way through a crowd of gamblers, and finally dispose of a Gotal security guard.

As he took the turbolift down to the main casino floor, Cryax began to bark commands to the casino’s head of security, ordering an APB on a dangerous assailant who was loose in the casino, but once he got to the description, he trailed off, oblivious to the man's confused cries. "Mr. Bane? Are you still there? Is everything alright, boss?" Blue skin, glowing red eyes, five-eleven, a short mop of blue-black hair. Would the guards even be able to tell the difference between he and his doppleganger?

How do you hunt an enemy, when the enemy is you?

[member="Nejaa Niynx"] [member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Coruscant;
The Chase.

Hordes of people were a clawdite's favorite clothes. As he brushed past each odd creature and fowl alien, he stole their features. Threw away who he had just been and seamlessly morphed into someone else entirely. As an aside, it was likely that no two transformations would ever be truly identical- to see one would be to see an image created and exploded in the same breath. Something no one could ever see again, a person, a smile, which actually never existed. Blinking, and gripping his lips against teeth, he trudged froward. His skin stung like licks of fire, bordering dehydration as it was. Stretching dry skin, always more painful and more dangerous. He didn't have a choice, and it beat what he had just come from. His fighting chance had been restored- but at what cost?

It certainly wasn't the Jedi's influence put to blame here though, Nejaa's fingers sliding in and out of pockets. Quick snippets into other people's bags, or maybe the contents in a jacket's breast-pocket. He had done this before. Again, under different circumstances. Finally the crowds of people ended and he filed into the lines of glowing machines. A blur of machinery, whirling numbers and images. Awkward odors from probably illegal drugs- or what would have been ruled illegal during his stay on the planet years ago. Anyone sitting down, coat hung on the back of their chair, bags set to the side, they wouldn't see those items ever again. And it was done so quietly, as if he hadn't even been there. Quickly he put together clothes which stood out less, a long coat which actually looked rather expensive. It was far larger than Nejaa could hope to fill out, but it hung over him regardless. The hat, set beside a card player, and his form changed again. A human woman, younger looking, dark brunette hair.

As his features changed, so did his understanding of his restraints. His neck grew more slender, properly fitting a young woman's features, and as it did so, the collar grew loose. Loose enough for the needles to remove themselves completely from his skin. For a moment, he panicked, the size of his neck fluctuating and coming dangerously close to impaling himself again- what if he had just activated an explosive of some kind. Who was he kidding, this was a slave collar. Of course, just because the needles had been released didn't mean that his connection to the force returned in some triumphant rush. He felt nothing, a cold emptiness where the force had been even still. The drugs would course through his system for hours yet.

So then... perhaps the needles were only there for added restraint?

If he wasn't dead already, it might have been nothing beyond bluff. Ha! What if the whole thing had been some sick delusion of this underworld criminal [member="Cryax Bane"]. Just some failed serial killer, bent on obscure forms of torture. A false sense of victory raised him to take the next step, pushed him to exit the area. Red lips and large round eyes, long, dark eyelashes. An almost alluring woman's jacket and barren legs. Nejaa looked like that when he finally stumbled across exit signs. His eyes scoured them only to find the camera sitting just above it last. Even though his form now couldn't be recognized he still flinched a bit, the idea alone of being seen at all on a sith controlled planet.

Core Worlds;
Coruscant;
The Chase.

He was out. Alive, and out. Well, out of the building, chilled winds blasting him as he practically ran from the sliding glass door. Night had come more quickly than he had thought, made more dramatic by the luminescent lighting of holo-ads. That hadn't changed, but he wasn't sure he even wanted any fond memories of this planet. Before the sith, it had been the Jedi, and they were no diff-- never mind, they were different.

Yanking the contents of his stolen treasures, siting fingers revealed not two but three credit chips, and the coat had a comlink already in the pocket. Other things included a pen and a necklace made of costly looking black beads. Each exhale put fog into the air, and he felt goosebumps ride up the insides of his bare legs. Spread out around him was a nightlife he had seen and recognized. Drunken and slurring citizens of various species all lingered about. Some smoke from already-lit-once-deathsticks, others drank from previously purchased beverages. Some looked wealthy, or at least posed to be, others didn't bother and took the appearance of the trash they really all were. Here, the drag of his body would only blend him in further from the prying eye.

Landing pads and a large parking garage lay just beyond, his first objective of course would be to leave. Bare foot and cautious about it, Nejaa sprinted, only hoping that he could work something out. Somehow just... procure himself a vehicle to leave on. Speeders required more than nimble fingers and a large pocket.

<<Parking permit, please.>>

Nejaa almost spat, the thoughts in his head terminating conventional awareness, and the droid's voice shaking him with surprise as a result. He, well she for the moment, even looked the wrong way before locating the droid and putting her hands up. "Oh, yeah, I- listen I left my... child bag in the front seat of my speeder, silly me, just need to go get it."

<<Yes. That is fine. Parking permit or personal identification, please.>>
"N-No, listen I--"

Had he the force or his lightsaber, Nejaa would have already disposed of this ancient and simple garbage can of a droid. The droid didn't listen, there was no room for a clever communication on something so basic, either he had it or not. And he didn't. Additionally, to disobey the damned thing would mean activating some alarm elsewhere, and further trouble.

"S-Sorry--!"
Didn't have a choice.

He just sprinted past it, the droid attempting to ask one more time before verbally alerting Nejaa that yes, an alarm was being sounded. His face changed, body changed, once more. Back to human, back to what was most comfortable. His eyes remained orange and red, a fat, diamond shaped pupil hovering around the center, prickled and without any straight lines. Although noise didn't blast, red lights began to spin around the many floors of parked speeders, alerting anyone inside the garage of a hostile intruder; that or a fire, it had never been that clear. Echoing the sudden burst of crimson, flash-lighting were a few startled squeals, others close by, some accompanied by groups, others alone- some hesitating and beginning to head back towards their parked speeder. That would be his ticket out of here.

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax watched the Turbolift’s floor numbers light up like fireworks as it zipped past some of the casino’s main attractions, like the Azure Rose, a premium access night club, the Salty Gall Hotel, and even the Coruscant National Museum. Like a voyeur, the Chiss watched the augmented reality field in front of him, a flowing cascade of angles for his glowing red eyes to inspect and interpret. There was his own fading ghost, on the main casino floor, stealing clothes. A long coat. A hat. Alone in the crowd, no one seemed to notice that Nejaa transformed right in the middle of the casino, shedding his worn blue skin like a snake. Oh, but there was one who couldn’t tear his red eyes away. Continuing through the stream of images, Cryax punched the button for the main casino floor over and over again.

On one snippet, Nejaa's newborn shape, a dark-eyed woman, now more appropriately dressed, but still barefoot, hurried towards an exit sign. Bane flashed to another segment and watched the bottom of the Jedi’s dainty heels disappear out the door, just as he and his droids spilled out of the Turbolift.

He hissed angrily under his breath, his alien vocal chords clicking out a frustrated growl of Cheuhn. ”Vizehn turcah cseah s vah euhn searoten'i.”

Luckily, Bane knew the casino like the back of his blue-skinned hand and he knew that exit. Deaf to the cries of his protesting rib cage, the Chiss sprinted towards the flashing pink exit sign with droids right on his heels.

That Moactan Teel was getting away. His prize. His Nejaa. Cryax found himself already missing his fleeting touch and the allure of his lips, with a hint of a smile that was never quite realized. His hands itched to possess. That man belonged to him now. It didn’t bother him that Nejaa was a monster. Bane lived among the monsters, consorted with them, slept with them. Most of them were like Cryax himself, heathens and cads who had no dark-sided catalyst to guide their bloody hands, or excuse their misdeeds. Like him, they were simply evil men and women, driven by the darkness of their hearts.

There were cameras outside the casino of course, just not as many of them, and as the cool night air dried his sweat, Bane had begun to lose sight of the dark-eyed woman in the trench coat. He flicked on his commlink and barked at his security team to send out a search party of droids, giving them the description of the tiny barefooted woman. Crowds and traffic clogged the street, like fat through an artery, and Cryax shoved his way through it all. A red light flickered in the distance, an alarm from a nearby parking garage that beckoned him. It was a shot in the dark but it wouldn't hurt to check it out. Jerking his heads towards his two bodyguards, he jogged towards it. His broken rib’s chorus of agony reached a crescendo as he pushed himself past his physical limits.

I will not eat or sleep or rest until I find you. And I will find you. There is no escape pod. No getaway car. You will have no choice but to surrender to me.

You are mine.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Coruscant;
The Chase.

That heart beat like it hadn't ever beat before, barely contained within Nejaa's small chest. And for the first time in god knew how long it wasn't diluted by some kind of relaxant or other narcotic. Now it was all lights around him, flashing red ones, and durasteel. Permacrete flooring, rough on his feet, and groups of people cowering as he came close. As if he-- HE was actually going to hurt them. As if he meant any of them any harm. Nejaa didn't have time to check for cameras, didn't have time to look both ways, or peer back to see if someone was following him. Should security be just behind him, he could only hope to find a suitable ride before they snagged him with their worst. The tears which had burnt through Nejaa's fragile defenses during every painful interaction with that Blue Devil continued to show themselves. Continued to burn and sting until they left those oddly beautiful eyes to stripe down his cheeks. He hadn't wanted any of this, and it shouldn't have happened to him-- it wouldn't have happened to him if it weren't for the Jedi-- for his idiotic, crawling filth of a padawan! They sabotaged him, they ruined everything-- they probably wanted this!

Illogical, irrational thoughts boomed through his young head, pincer like teeth clamping hard on a loose bottom lip. Tips of needles touched his neck as habit widened the girth of his neck, his form returning to a human's, well, Nejaa's- the Nejaa he had created to feel safe inside, not the rough and damaged, ugly monster underneath.but he didn't complete the shape's change, leaving his neck slender so as to avoid re-administering the collar's drugs; even if he didn't know about them, no one wanted needles in their skin.

"You- you! I need that speeder!"

Nejaa's hand flung from one side to another, a spooked face, shifting towards confusion, hesitation, then realization. The alien creatures he had shouted at, they had reacted in fear, and at first everything checked out. But their small, black eyes weren't directed towards Nejaa, no, they hovered just above his head. At something which lay behind him, a thick swell swallowed deep into his throat, suspense and mystery both working together to cover him in an ice cold sweat. He didn't want to look back, didn't want to face whatever it was they were looking at. And he didn't have to, it was instead brought to him.

A thick blaster-bolt of blue green energy splashed on the permacrete just beside him, sparks and stringy combustion burst over the surface before it all vanished. Then another blast fell hard almost exactly in the same place, but a few feet further up. Close to Nejaa this time. His chest filled, and he whirled round to face whatever it was approaching. Three droids, lanky models with stretched arms; in fact, the left arm gradually formed into a long barreled rifle of sorts. Cylindrical heads flashed with the same red alarm that broadcasted through the rest of the garage. Even so, it was the large insignia inscribed across their torso which gave them away as security droids belonging to public authority. It was't uncommon for higher end or larger speeder garages to store their own low level protection droids. Police, of sorts, though these were certainly more readily hostile than the police droids of old, here on Coruscant.

"Hhhohfracker--"

When he turned again, the couple he had just threatened, a pair of Nosaurians, had already gotten back in their speeder and the engines were primed. It was all he could do to get out of the way as they departed in a scene of reckless abandon for other life. His plans, his ideas, they all were caving in and becoming cornered, "frack, ohfrack, fracker, think-think Nejaa, oh blast it-" his hands undulating up and down as he threw himself behind a support beam which ran up and into the ceiling above. Another beam-blast came, the odd turquoise color much more closely resembling a stun-level bolt, but he couldn't be sure and he had no dying urge to find out for sure. He wouldn't be caught again. Not by Cryax, not by the sith, not by anyone. But he needed something to happen... something good-- dammit! Instead, only the digital groan of droids barking for him to stand down, noting that they had in fact been cleared for hostile force and wouldn't be hesitant in their use of it. Outdated or low budget audio functions sounded neither organic or like it even tried to be so. Words were all prerecorded, forming odd sentences which didn't sound correct together, broken and segmented but all there.

<<Halt! You have violated property laws belonging to- Barvy Parking Garage- you are under arrest, please surrender.>>
<<Halt! You have violated property laws belonging to- Barvy Parking Garage- you are under arrest, please surrender.>>
<<Halt! You have violated property laws belonging to- Barvy Parking Garage- you are under arrest, please surrender.>>

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

The kill chip! Cryax had almost forgotten about the infinitesimal nub that the CRC medical assistant had inserted deep beneath the skin of the Jedi’s nape. “Kill chip. Track,” he commanded, signalling his AR contacts to open the geolocation software that would show him Nejaa’s whereabouts. Sure enough, the little blue dot flashed in the middle of the Barvy Parking Garage, where Nejaa seemed to be cornered. As he closed the distance, the Chiss could hear the familiar droning of the security Droids. A symphony to his ears. The parking garage was a spangle of flashing alarms and blaster fire, and he followed the carbon scoring on the duracrete, bread crumbs that would lead to his little rabbit.

Suddenly, there was his prey in all of his terribly beauty. The dark-eyed woman had been replaced, with the form of the the stolen man that Bane wanted back in his arms and between his thighs. His heart was twisting and writhing like meat on a hook. As all rational thought was surrendered, want soon gave in to need. The security droids clattered forward, waving their blasters. Bane’s voice rang out, in between gasps for air.

“Stand down. Don’t shoot.”

The droids whipped their metal heads in the direction of his order, and then the Barvy Parking Garage security droids did a very funny thing. They obeyed him. It only took a quick facial recognition scan to pull up a dossier on the Chiss. Files that detailed that he was an elite slicer for the One Sith, and the name of the very powerful man who protected him, the Wrath of the Dark Lord. It paid to have friends in high places.

He turned his attention towards Nejaa, a tearful anomaly in a woman’s trench coat and bare feet. His dark eyes glimmered with fear, and his nose wrinkled in a snarl. The Chiss stared him down with red eyes that held no warmth, only bottomless pools of destruction. The next few words would presumably put an end to the chase.

“Kill chip,” he hissed. “I put a fething kill chip in you. If you run, Nejaa, I will use it.”

Keeping his blaster aimed at the Jedi, he extended a blue-skinned hand.

“Come.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Coruscant;
The Chase.

“Stand down. Don’t shoot.”


That was supposed to sound good, and it almost did. He almost jumped from the cover he had taken, back pressed against a permacrete support column. He almost whirled around, hands in the air, wanting desperately to find a friend among enemies. Someone on his side, even when there was no reason, but he didn't move. Instead, the blood rushing through his veins paused and became cold. His stomach tightened, and each muscle throughout his body fired, all at once. Hell was haunting him, following him. It was now attached to him and obsessed with him.

The droids actually listened. The shots ceased, and for one moment he was able to stand still in ear splitting silence. Adrenaline, unlike something shot up from a needle, pumped through him. His jaw was pressed together, teeth grinding together loud enough to be heard in chunks. He didn't know a way out of this, he hadn't prepared for, for this! He hadn't even prepared for the droids or their weapons- he was already pinned. Slowly, sounds and noises became more clear and distinct from one another. He could hear boots, and each step sounded loose. Laces were probably untied, or loose, nothing military or probably official either. No, it had to be him, that sick, slimy, snake of a creature. The Devil, or something like it. Even when he wasn't there, looming over him or touching him, Cryax was glued to him. The feeling of blood on the hands of a first time killer which can't be washed off, enough alone to drive most over the edge.

“Kill chip,” he hissed. “I put a fething kill chip in you. If you run, Nejaa, I will use it.”


No. No, no that wouldn't be fair. It couldn't be, no-! That was too cruel, how was that even possible, what sick world had he fallen into!? Eyes which looked up, as if there might be some heaven above, found only crudely lit ceilings. Above him was just another floor of the same nightmare. Clenched fist and forearm slammed hard against pillar behind, a his of his own shot like venom through curled lips. No, those eyes no longer sought heaven or relied on its protection. Instead, they drew black, and his brow tore wrinkles into his forehead. Again his fist pounded a material much harder than it, and again he could feel something in his elbow crack. All he could do was scream, or howl, which is what it ended up becoming- at least before he was caught off guard by a searing pain and sent into a choking cough and stagger. As Nejaa's throat swelled the needles of his collar punctured and ripped skin. Sliced it into neat lines, almost cryptically, until blood leaked down his jugular and the crevice of his back. Between the shoulder blades.

"No!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAFRAAAAAACCKKKK!!"

He no longer had anything to lose, he was a caged animal fighting for freedom against more than a match. When he spun from behind protection Nejaa was nearly frothing at the mouth, crimson red horizontal slit-pupils across glaring eyes. One hand, the same he had just used as hammer raised shaking, three fingers loosely pointing to Cryax. It was red and bruised already, an odd grey-yellow color, and swelling too. Nostrils flared like hot air vents, a grimacing snarl in each of his words.

"What IS it with you!? Huuuaaahhh!? WhattheFRACK is it withyou?!"

His hands moved to his head, those same three fingers slamming against his head like a gun. "You're FRACKED, you're SICK!! LeavemeALONE! Wh... why ME anyway!? Why the frack ME?! Can't you just-- Idon'tknow frackinPICK someone else!? HUH!? WHY ME?!" By the end of this, his hands had only managed to fall by his sides. There was no greater state of vulnerability. His arms would not shelter him from gunfire. What did it matter if he opened himself to anything or everything.

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax impassively watched the boy’s already thin veneer of composure crack as he screamed bloody murder. The realization that his freedom was being stripped from him again was causing a complete meltdown. A sliver of the original monster poked through Nejaa’s lovely facade, transforming him into a storm cloud of red pupils and a growling tongue. Something resembling a conscience tugged at the Chiss who was somewhat disturbed by the thought of forcing the emotionally frail young man back into captivity, but as quickly as those thoughts surfaced, the demon inside of him beat its wings, snuffing out that flicker of empathy.

Still, a nagging voice scratched at the back of Cryax’s mind. Men can not be mastered like computers, composed and rewritten like numbers and zeroes. You’re kidding yourself if you think this is a good idea. Again the demon’s wings fluttered. You have owned men before. They were paid credits, but their loyalty was paid in blood. You have owned planets and cities. You can own this man.

Despite Bane’s new-found resolve, the boy would not go willingly with him. His tight jaw worried itself in anticipation of a struggle. The Jedi’s wide-set eyes glimmered with tears as streams of red cascaded down his shoulders. Oh no, he wasn't going without a fight.

“Look what you’ve done, Nejaa. You’re making such a mess.” Cryax tutted.

The Jedi was going to need medical attention soon. If the collar's chemicals poured freely into his open wounds, they could cause permanent damage to his nervous system. Wincing from the pain of his shattered rib, Cryax nodded his head towards his Mirari bodyguard droids. With their metal faces vacant of sympathy, they began trooping towards the broken Jedi. With a shrug, Bane tried to put things in perspective for Nejaa.

“You’re lucky I found you. I could have sold you to the highest bidder on Zygerria. You could have ended up with a Sith Lord who would laugh as he skinned you alive.”

The two droids wordlessly began to advance on the boy, their metal arms reaching out for him.

"You really should be thanking me."

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Coruscant;
The Chase.

“You’re lucky I found you. I could have sold you to the highest bidder on Zygerria. You could have ended up with a Sith Lord who would laugh as he skinned you alive.”

No. No this couldn't be his fate- it wouldn't be. Fangs slid against one another and fingers curled to consistently grow more tight. Wrinkles rose to support that feral snarl, and hissing escape of air whizzed through teeth. Nejaa's eyes moved like magma, flames of red and orange slowly consuming everything, erupting from their core. Knees were bent, flexed until solid, his torso in like manner. He could feel his face changing even without his command, receding and mutating, falling back to its origin. The cuts around his neck stretched, and some ripped further, more blood. It was burnt, gnarled by the dark side and twisted into whatever surviving creature was left. Grey and unlike the others of his species. Far more humanoid, and far more tortured. Nejaa's ears rose to a point and pinned flat against his skull. Hair, already wild and thrown, lost its pigment and brushed ashen red. For the first time in- since he could remember, Nejaa stood before reality in his true form, completely and purely, before Cryax and his pathetic droid support. High cheek bones and lips which looked sewn together when shut, deeply set into a natural frown.

"You really should be thanking me."

There was no real outlet. Nothing he could do or say would come close to matching his emotions. To rip them all apart, hell, to skin him alive, it wouldn't do justice. To kill this man a new, horrible way, every day for the rest of his life- it wouldn't be enough. Not even by a long shot. He strained so hard, reached and pulled for the force, but he could only sift fingers through a storm of chaotic nothing. No almighty, crushing force or shot of explosive flame. No unstoppable blade, or a body ruled and guided by something far larger. Now, he was just an injured, weak boy without a foreseeable destiny. Even with the Council shackling him so, he had always wanted something great for himself. Always told himself that one day he would master his fear and make himself someone to remember. Every night, when nightmares didn't haunt his sleep, he dreamt of helping the galaxy. Saving the innocent lives he had seen killed so many times, changing how things had been and making them better now. He had thought, at least, through the work of a Jedi he could feel proud of himself before the end. But wasn't that now? When his friends had been killed, when no one yet knew where to look for him. When he stood, nearly naked, chained to and taunted by his new owner.

Wasn't that were destiny sort of... puttered out?

"I'll Kill you myself... Cryax Bane. I swear to you, ISWEARTOYOU- I will destroy you with my own two hands before I'm dead."

Even the rasp of Nejaa's whisper was different now, more threatening, a much more gravel-like voice than when copying a human's sweet tone. Metal against permacrete as droids drew nearer. A mechanical beat of feet to ground, always in rhythm, his own heart meeting each pound. "You don't own me- you NEVER owned me! You're aLIAR! You're a frackin'LIAR!!" The fear of death was gone, he would embrace it before what might come without it. So he stepped forward, towards the oncoming droids, his stare surpassing them and boring a hole straight through Cryax.

Feed him to the dark side, feed him, Nejaa...
Eat him alive, spit out his bones and crush them to dust...
Make him suffer, Nejaa, make him suffer for one thousand life times...

There was nothing which could separate him from power now, no one drug or entity which could pull him apart from whatever seeped through his veins. Even through the void, he could hear its whispers, he could feel something there. Enough, there. Maybe the light had failed him, maybe it was too fragile and hopeful, but whatever this was- this worked to keep its promises. Hope had been replaced with do. And 'do' meant killing. Nejaa's fingers snapped and pulled, the collar around his neck shaking and then exploding into spare parts in response. Both security droids paused, then imploded in on themselves, crushed until their joints would no longer recognize movement. Blast shields on surrounding speeders shattered and alarms sounded, some groaning before a door or roof bent, snapped, and crumpled.

"You can't kill me, bugslut, YOU can't even sell me. You want me all for your-fracked-up-self."

A third droid, one of the spiders, cracked and peeled apart, flaying itself until each leg was pulled from the joints and dropped back to the ground. Lifeless and unmoving.

"You can't have me."

[member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

The plan had been going so well, but just like that, the tables turned. Suddenly, the broken boy, underestimated like a mongoose within a serpent's coil, fragmented into a thousand pieces before his blood red eyes. Nejaa was a flurry of dirt-brown sunken cheeks, jagged teeth, and pointy ears. Clawdite. How did he not see it before? Nejaa, robbed of his beauty and bursting with rage and the pain from flesh grinding against muscles, screamed and howled like a dervish. He smashed his Force collar to bits and with freedom to use his powers, decimated Cryax’s bodyguard droids.

“You can’t have me.”

The four words punched Cryax right in the heart. The sting of rejection was almost sickly sweet in its potency. It penetrated through his numbness, and set him on fire. It stole whatever false shred of dignity he had left. Unfortunately, it reminded Bane what it was like to feel something again, and since he found feelings an inconvenient hazard that he didn't have time for in his line of work, it filled him with a burning spite.

Speaking of hazards, Cryax’s life felt extremely fragile in the presence of the unrestrained Jedi. The Chiss’s brain performed a quick round of risk-assessment, mentally tallying the probability of effects much like a computer would. The most risk averse action he could take was to run like hell. Did it make him look like a scared little nuna? Probably, but odds were odds, and Bane was taking no chances around a Force user who had left his droids in a pile not fit for a scrap heap. Not to mention a Barvy Parking Garage security droid. The Chiss made no grand speeches, nor made any effort to hide his fear of the Force user. His red orbs wide with panic, he turned so quickly that he skidded on his heel, and then ran as fast as his cybernetic legs would allow.

Like a dog slinking away with its tail between its legs, Cryax fled. Defeated and punctured. His heart decaying like carrion. Cursing the creature who made him feel that way.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be going back to my apartment alone. What a slap in the face to make me want you and then disown me.

You were supposed to be mine.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]