Private That's Why You Shouldn't Go Down

[Calyx Sundrift]

Kasir Dorran

The turbolift shuddered. Lights flickered. With a shriek, the rusty doors ground open.
Darkness loomed ahead.

“Lights!” The command was muffled by the rebreather, but it rang out, firm and clear.

Eight beams cut through the gloom, sweeping across a desolate hallway. Dust hung thick in the air, undisturbed for years. The ventilation systems on Empress Teta’s lower levels had been shut down long ago.

This was Level Ten, beneath even the restructured sewer lines. No oxygen, no light, and no life. No one came down here willingly.

Unless, of course, they were paid to.

Calyx swept his beam upward, catching a swath of black fungus clinging to the ceiling. “Nasty place,” he muttered, glancing at the Duros beside him. “Bet there’s hawk-bats nesting down here.”

“Not a chance,” the Duros replied, his light tracing a broken door panel on their right. “Nothin’ lives down here.”

Calyx let out a low laugh. Hollow, in the stillness. “Tell that to Kanjiklub.” The crime syndicate they all worked for had taken an interest in Level Ten. Possibly as a new smuggling route, or maybe for weapons storage. Either way, it was up to them to investigate its true potential.

“Think someone beat us down here?” one of them suddenly asked from up ahead.

“Nah.” another voice answered quickly.

Calyx had felt the underlying edge. “Why not?” He hesitated. Calyx was already moving “’Cause-” tHe kid’s light had landed on a blast door.

A hole had been carved through it. A sense of dread crept up on him.

Lightsaber.

“Oh, burn me,” Calyx muttered.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Calyx Sundrift​

Like an icy hand upon the breath of the living, Kasir found himself far from Korriban, sent with purpose. His Master had sent him here to unearth relics buried in the city. The Sangnir did not question; he hunted.

In such depths the air was thick with decay, along with the taste of rust and mold. For him, it was not suffocation, but perfume, for this place was ripe with prey. Shadows clung to him, pooling at his feet, stretching with each step, desiring to taste what he would taste.

He heard them long before ever seeing them, the survivors, the stragglers who wandered too deep. No matter where the Sith assassin roamed, there were always scavengers who believed themselves to be clever. But their heartbeats always betrayed them in the end.

When he finally struck, it was not driven by blind fury. With inhuman strength and grace, his lithe form poised on the balls of his feet, slithering forth. His slender, pale digits, already stained with the viscera of previous victims, closed tightly around the victim's throat, their screams devoured by the chamber as his fangs sank deep into their flesh.

Iron and fire. Hot and intoxicating. The crimson sustenance spilled across his tongue, down his chin, dripping onto his hands until they were slick.

For a time, he was just a vessel for the beast within.

The body sagged in his grasp, a broken puppet that still twitched. There was no satisfaction in this kill, only the cold voids of his orbs mirroring the emptiness within.

A living embodiment of death itself.

The presence of others pressed against his senses, their aura foreign, lacking the darkness of the Sith. Either way, a potential threat that could not be ignored. Head tilting, nostrils flaying like a Nexu on the prowl, he honed in on their scent.

His gaze shifted toward the carved blast door, the scar of a lightsaber.

He had been careless, distracted by the indulgence.

Now others wandered into this hunt.

Kasir would not flee, nor cloak himself. He stood out in the open, self‑made divinity burning bright, daring fate to make the next move.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Kasir Dorran​

Calyx stood beside the young gang member, who's light still traced the edges of the carved-open blastdoor. Another joined. The Duros he'd joked with earlier.

He stared at the hole, then scoffed and stepped through. "Ain't nothing. I told you, there's nothin' alive down 'ere."

"That's recent!" Calyx hissed.

The Duros just glanced back, shrugged, and unholstered his blaster. The others all followed suit. Calyx knew better. If they were up against somebody who wielded a saber, a blaster wasn't going to cut it. It simply wouldn't be fast enough. He left his blaster for what it was and drew his vibroknife. It wasn't optimal, but he'd used it to duel before. It allowed him to execute some cadances of Ataru, at least. That gave him much better odds than a blaster pistol would.

Three of the others passed through the hole before Calyx took his chances. That made him the fifth in line. Front and rear covered.

The eight beams of light swayed from the dark ceiling to treacherous rusted floor, and the eerily long corridor that lay ahead. Twice did they pass a cross-section, and twice did they discuss splitting up. Calyx advocated against it, just firm enough to push his opinion through.

They found one of the bodies first. A pale, dried husk. Torn open from neck to groin, lifeless eyes reflecting unspoken shock and horror. The group collectively held their breath. "Force! What kriffing happened here?" One of them exclaimed, kneeling down next to the body. She was a Nikto, dark hair short and unkempt. Calyx couldn't recall her name. Luche? Lache? Something like that.

"Bloodsucker." The Duros thought for a moment. "Must be Mynocks or something."

Calyx made a face "Mynocks don't do that." He retorted. "They don't even take blood!"

"Wyyyschok then?" Another offered. Those spiders were vicious, and it did seem like something they could do.

Calyx attacked again. "On a city planet?" The silence was telling.

"He's not been dead for long. Couple of hours at most." The Nikto woman - Calyx had decide to dub her Lu - said. She was still studying the body. "Cal's right about the danger. Whatever did this has gotta be still around." Lu concluded.

The Duros snorted. "We knew t'was gonna be dangerous. That's why Kanjiklub sent eight of us." Some nodded. "Whoever pulled this kriff will be shot on sight. Simple as that." With firm step, the Duros continued. Behind him followed an Ortolan, the two other humans beside Calyx, and a bulky Whiphid. It left him with Lu and the young Zabrak who'd found the signs of danger first.

"Think it's safe to continue?"

"No." Calyx offered honestly. "But we don't have much of a choice." With a tight grip on his vibroblade, Calyx strode after the others.

The Ortolan, walking beside the Nikto, cast his light down the corridor.

It was then that they saw it. The dark shape in the distance. Unmoving, bloodied, beside the bodies. Eyes settled on them, two luminous reflection in the torch's light. The human before him cried something out. The Duros was already firing his blaster.

In a heartbeat, the others followed. A volley of blasterfire lighting up the corridor as angry red streaks shot toward the dark figure.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Calyx Sundrift​

Those beams of light were but fragile things, borne upon mortal bones that sought to pierce the all-consuming dark.. only revealing a glimpse of their fear, rather than any hint of true courage. In that moment, the Sith's elongated fangs glinted, aching with the hunger that consumed him.

A guttural snarl rumbled from deep within his chest, vibrating through the cold corridor..

Then came the first volley of blasterfire through the air, bolts scorching all around him. But before the bolt could reach him, he had slipped sideways into the welcoming arms of the shadows, their inky embrace a familiar caress, a door welcoming the Sith home. Beams of light swung wildly as the predator was gone.

Kasir heard the tightening of throats, the quickening of heartbeats, as he emerged at the flank of the Duros, tearing through flesh viciously with wet, even intimate violence. His palate was coated with arterial spray. The figure's scream gurgled and died in a pool of crimson at his feet.

From the belt, a hand drew forth a short and cruel blade. This one was forged not only for war, but sacrifice. The edge was razor sharp, perfect for the rituals that he delighted in. With savage grace, he descended upon the next of their group, driving the steel into the chest again and again, relentlessly. A gory symphony it became, painting the walls, while cries of agony continued.

The third raised his blaster too slowly, and his hand snapped out, seizing the weapon by its barrel, twisting it aside. A bolt hit the ceiling. With a fluid motion, he drove the blade upon the man’s jaw, punching through the skull, silencing him instantly. A crack wrenched it free.

Now two tried to flank him, but the Sangnir emerged into the shadows once more, only to reappear behind them.

Their lights fell, rolling across the floor after futile attempts to defend themselves.

The sixth, already stumbling back, was firing wildly.

Amidst the chaos and carnage, his gaze remained fixated on the one who wielded a knife. Oh, he would take his time with that one.

A wrist was ensnared by his iron grip, twisting until the bone snapped with a satisfying crunch. And that was just the beginning, for he began savoring every drop as he drove fangs into the exposed neck of his prey.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Kasir Dorran​

A hail of blaster fire lit up the corridor, angry red bolts cutting through the dark and slamming into the shape of nightmares beyond. The air filled with the crack of energy discharge and the acrid tang of ozone.

And then? Nothing. No body fell. No scorch marks seared the walls.

“He’s gone!” the Zabrak shouted, panic edging his voice.

But Calyx still felt it. The looming threat stirring in the Force.

“Can’t have missed ’em! Where’s the kriffing lights?” the Duros roared.

Several torches snapped on, beams lancing across the corridor. Calyx, instead, flicked his vibroknife to life. The blade hummed low, the edge heating to a dull, dangerous glow.

The lights revealed only empty floor and curling shadows. No corpse. No trace.

“Blast. Where did h-rgrhrgh” The Duros gurgled blood, cut-off mid sentence. The dark figure, terrible fangs glinting in the light, clung to him like liquid shadow.

Blaster pistols swung toward the figure, but it was too late.

The shadow drew its dagger and drove it down into the Ortolan, again and again. Blue blood sprayed in ribbons, spattering walls and pooling fast on the floor. Someone fired out of reflex, the bolt scorching the ceiling as the nightmare moved. Too quick. Too close. The two nearest were carved down before their screams even finished.

Calyx staggered back, guard raised, fear knotting in his stomach. His every instinct screaming to run. “Move back,” he ordered, shocked at how calm it came out.

To his surprise, the Zabrak and Nikto obeyed.

But the woman - she was a heartbeat too slow.

Her cry tore through the corridor as her wrist snapped. Fangs plunged into her neck, silencing her in a wet gurgle. The creature never looked away as it ended her life. Its gaze stayed locked on him.

“Run. Go!” Calyx snarled, shoving the kid back with a sharp wave of his hand.

The torches clutched in the spasming grips of the dead spilled their light across the rusty metal gratings, painting the floor in a mosaic of ruin and blood. And in the ragged, choking breaths of the dying, Calyx felt it again.

That awful filth that never failed to find him when he was at his wit's end.

The dance of rage. The firestorm and icy fury surging together.

The Dark Side.

His dormant senses flared to life. His body felt lithe, coiling with strength beyond boundaries. Confidence, false perhaps, rose to meet the fear and horror gnawing at him.

“What are you?” he demanded, voice low but hard. His posture straightened, chin lifting high as though daring the nightmare to answer.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Calyx Sundrift​

The corridor was a hellscape, reeking of ozone and blood. Kasir stood amidst it, fangs slick, chin and throat painted in crimson that had yet to dry.

The dying still twitched at his feet, their spasms a beautiful percussion cutting through the silence. A reminder of the brutal beauty of his power.

For a time, only silence followed the figure's words. He spared the Zabrak, for it pleased the Sangnir, to know one trembling witness could spread rumors. They would carry the Sith’s shadow further than any blade possibly could.

From the depths of his sockets, dark amusement danced like a flame, a constant reminder of the seething chaos that lurked beneath the porcelain mask. His head tilted once more, contemplating the absurdity of the mortal's demand.

“The blade that drinks.”

As if the boy even deserved a single syllable from a tongue still coated with the taste of sustenance.

Senses flared, attuned to the thumping of a heartbeat, the adrenaline pulsing through this stranger's veins. He smelled beyond the sickly scent of slaughter, for something else stirred. The Dark was coiling within this one like smoke, a malevolent aura that became rather intriguing.

A potential for chaos and corruption..

Unnerving grace moved him, his frame shifting, circling forward, feet barely making a sound. The ceremonial dagger gleamed with a wicked shine. His other hand was flexing as though it still longed to close around another throat. The rush that came with extinguishing life was forever intoxicating.

The space left between them was an invitation.

To the Sith, the absence of humming glowsticks was a thrilling change, offering true danger, and challenge that lacked in so many battles.

No doubt, the Dark too flowed through him too, cold and electric, threading his limbs beyond the unnatural strength they already possessed. He could end this now, tear apart flesh, drink him dry, and savor the taste of despair.

But he wouldn't. Not yet. Sometimes, there was pleasure is prolonging the inevitable. That fire he felt rising in the mortal was rare, especially in this region of the galaxy. And perhaps, just perhaps, it was worth testing whether he could truly dance in the storm.

Kasir’s lips peeled back from his fangs.

“Show me.”

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

“The blade that drinks.”​

A chill traveled down his spine. Fear stabbed him like jagged ice. But fear was a weapon when you clung to the Dark side. It transformed to anger, joining the intimate battle for control that raged inside of him.

He would not be forced into rage. But he could not resist the deattachment and overconfidence that came with the Dark side's touch. In that moment, despite recognizing he could not beat this creature in a contest of raw power, Calyx believed he could win. The Dark side was survival. And the Dark side had chosen him.

"Very well."

Calyx’s fingers curled, and the Force answered. Seven torches flared back to life at once, twisting upward in a spiral to bathe the Sith in shifting light. Shadows writhed across the corridor like living things. A mask to hide his true intent.

He hissed through his teeth and thrust his will deeper. Metal screamed. The steel plating along both walls tore free, folding inward like jaws, seeking to crush the Sith between them.

He relinquished his hold on the lights. It was a distraction only, and besides too much for his focus.

Expecting the inevitable counterstrike, Calyx fell back. Blade ready, senses coiled tight as wire.

Kasir Dorran

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Calyx Sundrift
​

Light twisted upward in a spiral, clawing at the dark with theatrics. Beneath that flashy display, he could feel a shift in the air, the stirring of a primal emotion that curdled into something colder. It was anger, not the fiery rage that screamed for attention, but the kind that smoldered from the need to survive.

Good.

Once more Kasir's head tilted, eyes unflinching, devoid of emotion as he absorbed the screaming corridor. No doubt, it was a vicious trap laid before him, beautiful in its simplicity. And for a split second, he allowed himself the indulgence of considering the option of letting it close. For to embrace the metal that would carve into his skin, he could welcome pain, so that it might remind him of his unbreakable spirit.

When he did move, it was not with haste, but with the fluidity born of something ancient, his frame slipping sideways as he navigated this jagged plating. His cloak caught and tore, revealing the scars etched into his skin like a map of violence. In the end, he emerged untouched, save for the smear of rust across his cheek, a stark contrast against the ghostly pallor.

Ozone curled from his nostrils as he exhaled, and he could feel the dark coursing through his icy veins now.

"I could take you now," he murmured, voice laced with honeyed malice, "but where's the thrill in that?"

The dagger twitched in his grasp, its silvered edge still slick with freshly spilled blood.. still hungry.

"I want to hear you beg."

The anticipation of submission could be just as intoxicating as the act itself..

The silence blinked before Kasir reacted, his lithe body moving like a shadow uncoiling, each step a whisper, each breath as if the corridor was prepared to accommodate his appetite.

This was a blade meant not for war, but for ritual; for savoring.

While one to typically meet a foe head-on, he circled to the side, biding his time in hopes of forcing a subtle shift in their stance, a dance wanting to make the boy second guess the angle of his guard.

With a flick of the wrist, he unleashed a strike, one that blurred from unnatural speed. Indeed, it held the promise of shattering bone if he willed it so, but there was no need for such violence. Not yet. Instead, it was precise, aiming for the shoulder, desiring to slice through cloth and flesh, far from fatal if it connected, but just enough to cause pain that would linger.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Some of the fire in his veins subsided. Exhaustion waited just beyond, the Dark side's cold ready to make place for muscle cramps and nausea.

He still didn't understand it.

The Light side was as if flowing along with the river. Only subtly guiding yourself through the right bends. The Dark side? The Dark side was a battle for control and survival. Nothing was given, everything had to be taken. That on itself was more taxing than he'd ever thought it would be.

He felt a sting of failure when the creature made of shadows escaped his assault with cloth tears alone. Doubt immediately surged after it. That had taken a lot out of him - how many more assaults with the Dark side could he manage?

Calyx had leveled his blade, guard still raised when the shadow struck. Its speed caught him - there was no way he could keep up. Yet as it circled and struck, Calyx managed to swivel his body and catch the blow as sharp cut on the back of his lower arm. Fresh, red blood joined in the metallic tang that steadily filled the corridor.

"Begging is for forgiveness." He managed to suppress the pain thumping through his body. "And I've done no wrong."

Calyx's bleeding arm shot outward, strengthened by the Dark side, in a thrust at blurring speeds. Seeking to plant the vibroknife right in the middle of the creature's chest.

Kasir Dorran

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Calyx Sundrift​

The hiss of steel and the thrum of the Dark always made for a perfect evening. Kasir heard it first, the breath becoming ragged, the drumming of his heart, and a wet metallic pulse of blood spilling from the fresh cut. That scent hit the Sangnir like incense, engulfing his senses in a frenzy of desire; so, he allowed it to curl into his nostrils. His hunger only roared.

Then, the blade came forward, the same as they always did, wanting to promise death. He wouldn't flinch, instead locking his eyes on Calyx. Unblinking, black pools, reflecting the room’s torchlight. He wanted the boy to see it, the acceptance, the invitation. And as it punched into his chest with a sickening crunch, the assassin felt the searing pain of mortality, even in his cursed, undead state. It burned and gnawed at him, enough to stagger him half a step.

Hot blood welled up, coating his tongue. Lips parted, fangs glinted, as he drew in a taste of himself.

"Blood crowns me king."

But the assassin’s body responded in the only way it knew, like a machine, with calculation. Teeth clenched, jaw flexing hard, his hips began twisting with deadly intent. His boots dug into the floor, grounding himself against the impact. The wound throbbed, but he welcomed it, for pain was both a form of worship and a badge of honor, proof of his commitment to the dark arts.

The kinetic force pulsed through his body, a transfer that left his frame coiled for destruction. With a snap of his hand, it lashed out, aiming a crushing blow in the direction of his gut. Blade for fist, blood for breath, a ritualistic trade that defined his existence.