As Braze's fingers closed around the hilt of Jasper's lightsaber, he ignited it with a deft flick of his wrist, the blade humming to life as it spun through the air in a defensive arc. He was all too aware of the fine balance he needed to maintain—remaining within Jasper's periphery, yet out of his way. He knew he wouldn't do Jasper any favors if he got underfoot. Their close-knit bond, born of endless hours of training and life-or-death situations, allowed him to anticipate his master's movements as easily as his own.
That bond was momentarily shattered when the atmosphere soured, filling with an unbearable chorus of psychic screams and wails. As the sentiments of true abject horror flooded his senses with cries of despair, Braze felt an upheaval that shook him to his core. He felt his throat gloss over with saliva. Braze's stomach revolted, and he felt his insides lurch violently, bile rising to meet the back of his throat. Despite his best efforts, he was violently sickened, doubling over as he involuntarily emptied his stomach's contents, repulsed and overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotional horror around him.
In that instant of weakness, a jagged bolt of Force lightning zigzagged through the air, zeroing in on him. The shock hit him like a punch from an electrostaff, convulsing his muscles and blurring his vision. While his insulated boots might have saved him from immediate death, the agony was still paralyzing.
He was dazed briefly and he could feel everything around it fully. And then it clicked. This horror show wasn't just some random Sith mind-trick—it was Wake's signature, as distinct as a fingerprint. Those disembodied screams were the last remnants of minds Wake had devoured, their anguish now a weapon to torment the living.
The revelation ignited something within Braze, turning his nausea into a broiling cauldron of righteous indignation.
"Wake, you twisted, soul-eating abomination," Braze muttered under his breath, reigniting his blade with renewed purpose.
"You won't get the satisfaction of breaking me—not when it's you who's going to be undone." Braze hissed bitterly, teeth clenched as he reignited Jasper's blade.
"You just made this personal."
His grip tightened on both lightsabers, his focus now razor-sharp. Any lingering traces of his prior disorientation were scorched away by his newfound resolve. Braze firmly resumed his defensive stance—dual blades at the ready, his body a shield covering Jasper's back. Together, they would make this Sith vampire regret ever crossing their path, Wake's twisted games be damned. With gritted teeth, he refocused on the enemy before him, letting his outrage burn away the remaining traces of his earlier weakness. He was now more than ready to stand his ground, covering Jasper's flank as they faced down the waking nightmare that was their enemy.
The attack was fast, but Braze was faster, his new-found indignation fueling his reflexes.
"Not today, Bat Babe!" Braze shouted as a dark tendril snaked through the air towards him. With a swift flick of Jasper's lightsaber, he parried the ethereal appendage as though it were a solid blade. Taking advantage of the pause, he slid his lightsaber into a downward slash, cutting just behind the tendril's curling tip.
Whatever Wake had intended to accomplish, it 'seemed' to backfire—instilling Braze with a newfound surge of energy and determination. Channeling this vigor, Braze unleashed a whirlwind that drew the very air around her into a tight vortex. This wasn't a defensive maneuver; it was targeted and lethal. The swirling gusts converged on her, compressing a searing ball of white-hot fire at its core, directing it toward her center.
