Private The Price of Power

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Dromund Kas. It had been some time since he had set foot here. He remembered the celebration and the very merchant he had bought his mace from, but more importantly it was the same time his Master, Revna, had left him with very little word. It was a time that had filled him with much confusion and more anger. He did not understand why she had to leave like that, but that was then and this was now.

He remembered the first time he saw the Mountain that went by the name Prazutis. He had heard stories about him. But it was not until his second run in with him that he decided he needed to speak with him. Recent events had shown him that he still needed to gain much more power and strength.

If anyone could do it just by the tales alone it was Darth Prazutis.

Something within his spine warned him of coming here, warned him of possibilities that could happen if he were to speak with this being that he was not sure was even a man. His presence at Lord Lechner’s home proved that to him. Someone whose very presence forced the will of people to their very knees. The feeling along his spine was like that of a razors edge, tickling and severing the very flesh of his back. The sensation of danger. He had only felt this presence once before.

With his Father

He had come alone, not knowing how long he would be here, but he knew he would be here as long as it took to get what he needed.

He stopped just before the steps that led to his domicile. The massive black structure that seemed to scar the very sky itself. Varin looked at the building, took it in, then decided to press forward.

Darth Prazutis​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Dromund Kaas, New Kaas City, Sith Citadel

The Sith Citadel did not merely rise over the majesty of New Kaas City. It conquered the very skyline.

From the lower avenues, where rainwater ran in black streams along the carved gutters and crimson light bled from the windows of distant towers, the fortress seemed impossible in scale. It climbed from the heart of the storm-wracked capital like a wound driven upward into the heavens, a mountain of obsidian stone, black iron, and Sith alchemic architecture so vast that its highest spires vanished into the clouds. Lightning crawled across the sky above it in violent arcs, but even the storm seemed less like weather than tribute. Again and again, crimson-white fire split the darkness and revealed the Citadel in fragments: blade-like towers, jagged buttresses, fortress balconies, immense gun-citadels, and walls broad enough to house entire barracks within their bones.

It was not beautiful in any gentle sense, it was magnificent in the way a blade was magnificent, in the way a throne was magnificent. In the way an execution was magnificent when performed before an empire. Every step toward it made the city behind Varin Mortifer feel smaller. The avenues widened as he approached the outer grounds, but somehow the space did not feel open. It felt claimed. The statues lining the causeway watched with stone faces and hollow eyes, their forms carved in the likeness of Sith Lords, Dead emperors, and nameless figures whose identities had been consumed by history but whose malice remained perfectly preserved. Dark banners hung from towers taller than most palaces, their crimson sigils stirring in the storm winds like wounds refusing to close.

Then came the wall.

It emerged through the rain as though it had always been there and the world had simply lacked the courage to reveal it. A hundred meters of reinforced blackness rose before him, thirty meters thick and crowned with defense towers every hundred paces, each one a gun-fortress in its own right. Heavy lancers, reductors, and megamasers slept behind armored shutters. Sensor eyes glowed faintly in the stone. Murder holes and shield vanes lay hidden within the architecture, invisible until needed. The wall didn't look like something designed to keep armies out.

It looked like something designed to teach armies regret. Above the gatehouse, Sith glyphs burned with a deep, internal crimson. They didn't flicker like ordinary light. They pulsed, slow and rhythmic, as though the fortress possessed a heart somewhere deep beneath the earth and every rune was a vein carrying its will outward. The air changed beneath them. It became colder. Heavier. The Force itself thickened, coiling through the rain and stone, carrying whispers that were not quite words and pressure that was not quite touch.

The feeling here was different. This wasn't the warning of one predator nearby. This was the sensation of entering the territory of something that had long ago stopped needing to hunt because all roads eventually brought prey to its mouth.

The gate opened. The titanic slabs of alchemically reinforced black metal withdrew inward with the slow, grinding finality of a tomb deciding to admit the living. Red light spilled through the widening seam, cutting across the rain-dark causeway in a single bloody line. Beyond it waited no simple courtyard, no modest entrance garden, no military checkpoint pretending at administrative order. Beyond it waited another world. It went beyond crossing through a gate and more passing the threshold of this world, and crossing into the dark domain of something else entirely. The Citadel grounds stretched farther than reason first allowed the eye to accept. Vast blackstone plazas unfolded beneath the storm, slick with rain and veined with crimson channels that ran between the stones like molten blood. Processional roads split in severe geometries toward inner gates, training yards, barracks-fortresses, shrine towers, and looming administrative wings whose windows burned red and gold through the rain. Rows of Koshûtaral Sentinels stood in perfect stillness along the avenue, their armor black and angular, their visors crimson slits that did not turn as he passed because they had already seen him long before the gate opened.

Out in the distance shapes moved. Blackblade Guard, Cohorts of the Immortal Legion and other more malevolent shapes. Humanoids with wings flew above while monstrous sithspawn stomped across the grounds in distinct pathways. It was a force of such sheer size that all hope seemed to die at the very mouth of the gate. War droids moved between them with insectile precision, spiderbots clung to the walls, and security drones whispered overhead. Somewhere in the distance, something vast roared from behind layers of stone and sorcery. The sound was answered by another, deeper and more hateful, from below. Every step Varin would take the youth would find he was being watched. Unseen eyes observing from hidden places, as if the Citadel itself breathed, as if it watched from every surface. It permitted him forwards.

That knowledge was worse than being stopped, worse than being detained as that brought certainty in a world where the Dark Side was allowed to thrive and come alive. All the way at the far end of the outer approach, in the epicenter of the grounds the main entrance rose above the plaza in a sweep of black steps and monumental pillars. Each pillar had been carved with ancient Sith glyphwork, layered over newer Kainate sigils, not replacing the old malice but chaining it into a greater design. Braziers burned with cerulean flame despite the rain, their smoke crawling upward in unnatural streams before being swallowed by the storm-dark archway. The doors opened before him. Warmth did not greet him. Neither did welcome. Dread Sentinels stood like statues along the approach, positioned at the very entrance like motionless giants.

Varin Mortifer ​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Crimson lightning cracked and flashed above him as rain pelted the entire space beneath it. No strike of electricity was equal to the other, each one carving its legacy into a sky that held an expanse of endless possibility. The rain hissed as it came in contact with any revealed part of Varin's skin, a soft mist following him as he stepped through the massive gates to the citadel.

That of a whole new world had opened to him, Sithspawn patrolled the ground along with wardroids equipped with firepower that would surely decimate him in an instance notice. His gaze scanned over each spec of space around him, getting a feel for his surroundings.

Every angle that could see him spoke of something that was unseen but all seeing. He felt the eyes upon him, he felt uncertainty stir within him.

He stuffed it down. He had come for a reason and he was never one to retreat out of nervousness or fear.

Ahead of him awaited the citadel, its black columns leading towards the very doors that did not keep what was inside safe, but what was outside.

As he drew nearer, he could feel the Dark Lord's presence. Oppressive, yet set like a stone.

He stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the door, the last of the rain that had hit his skin quietly hissing to a silence.

It was not fear or anxiety that stopped him, but the sheer awe of what laid before him and behind him.

Power, pure and radiating from all around.

Varin stepped to the gates.

What lay inside did not wait for him, it beckoned. Called for him to come closer.

And he obliged.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The Great Hall of the Sith Citadel swallowed him whole.

Its scale was obscene. The ceiling vanished high above in shadow, supported by pillars so vast they resembled the trunks of blackened world-trees. Crimson light flowed through channels cut into the floor, walls, and stairways, giving the entire hall the impression of a living circulatory system. Sith banners hung in immense vertical sheets from the upper galleries. Between them stood statues of impossible height, some armored, some hooded, some broken and bound, their faces turned down upon those who entered as if measuring the worth of their fear.

Every sound changed here. The fall of boots didn't simply echo but travel. It was caught by the architecture, carried upward, repeated along unseen galleries, and returned to him altered, heavier, as though the Citadel was teaching his own footsteps how small they were. Ahead stretched the Path of Sorrows. The corridor was broad enough for military formations to march through in full regalia, yet it felt narrow beneath the eyes of the statues lining either side. Defeated Jedi. Broken Mandalorians. Fallen kings. Rebels whose names had been erased from their own monuments and recarved here as warnings. Some were preserved as sculpture. Others weren't so simple. Armor hung empty beneath plaques of conquest. Lightsabers, Swords sat sealed behind black glass. Banners taken from slain enemies drooped like flayed skin from iron hooks.

Every victory had been hammered into the very architecture. Every enemy had been given a place, forever marked for their obliteration by the Abyss that Walks. The dark side pressed harder the deeper he went. It didn't lash out at him. It tested. It probed the edges of thought and memory, touching anger, grief, ambition, fear, hunger. Somewhere behind the walls, mechanisms tracked his biological rhythm. Somewhere above, unseen eyes followed the movement of his hands near his weapons. Somewhere below, ancient things shifted in their pits and listened.

Varin had come alone. There was often security in solitude, reassurance in what was around you. But the Citadel stripped such security away. Instead it made it feel like exposure. A pair of Imperial Crownguard waited at the end of the Path of Sorrows. They were not ordinary sentries. They were giants in black and crimson armor, their helms expressionless, their weapons held with the stillness of beings who had been bred, chosen, and broken into duty. They didn't ask his business. They already knew it. One turned without a word, and the other remained behind, not watching Varin's back so much as owning the space behind him.

The route continued upward. The Obsidian Steps rose ahead. They climbed in a wide, merciless ascent toward the inner sanctum, each stair broad and dark, polished by the passage of Sith Lords, military governors, supplicants, assassins, generals, traitors, and those who had come seeking favor from powers they did not understand until too late. The steps seemed longer than they should have been. The hall changed as he climbed. The red light deepened significantly and the air thinned. The storm outside faded, replaced by the faint, almost inaudible murmur of voices that might have been wind, machinery, or the dead conversing behind the stone.

Right at the summit, the doors to the Throne Amphitheater opened. There, the Citadel ceased being a fortress and it became judgment. The chamber beyond was vast enough to make distance feel ceremonial. Shadow cast down from the overhanging amphitheater above. Beyond it stretched a broad black floor watched over by the Imperial Crownguard, whose silent ranks stood like a wall of living execution. Holographic projectors slept in the dark. Shield generators hummed softly beneath the architecture. High above, galleries vanished into shadow. In the fringes of the chamber the dark silhouettes of Umbral Guard stood like statues.

At the far end, elevated upon a raised dais, stood the throne that could only be described as monstrous. Forged from rune inscribed blackstone, the throne rose like the spine of some dead god, its jagged back clawing upward beneath the immense statues of Vitiate and Darth Sidious that flanked the seat of power. Crimson light crawled through the veins of the dais and gathered beneath it like blood beneath an altar. Directly below lay the Execution Stage, positioned so that the one upon the throne could look down upon the final moments of traitors, failed apprentices, and enemies who had survived long enough to understand where they had been brought.

Upon that throne sat the Shadow Hand of the Kainate Darth Prazutis. The Dark Lord's presence had already filled the chamber long before the doors opened. It gathered in the high shadows, settled in the bones of the Citadel, and pressed upon the air with such weight that even silence seemed compelled into obedience. He was immense, clad in deep black robes threaded with dark crimson and ancient gold, His pale, terrible face uncovered beneath the chamber's blood-red glow. Molten eyes watched from the throne intently, with all the calm of an apex predator observing something new drawn into its view.

For the moment the Dark Lord said nothing as He studied the newcomer.

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

The vastness of the citadel and what was inside collided with Varin's mental capacity of understanding dimension. It was as if this place simply breathed improbability and brutal magnificence.

The guards that stood before him paid no heed to the young Sith as he approached. But all the same as it were outside the doors, he still felt eyes all around him. Watching, studying and dangerously quiet and patient.

Then at the far end of the massive room within the far more massive structure, sat a throne. Upon that throne sat the mountain of power, the apex predator of Sith.

Darth Prazutis was already waiting for him.

Varin halted before the throne, taking in the sight of everything around him until his eyes fixed upon the Sith Lord. The weight of the very room and the presence of the man would be enough to send most to their knees and beg for forgiveness in a pitiful display of cowardice and survival.

Varin was not one to kneel, but he was not foolish enough to not show some form of gratitude for being allowed on such a beings planet and within his own home.

Varin's head slowly dipped to him, a display of respect before he stood back up straight. Again, something about this man, this being felt familiar. Though he had only recently met Him.

“Darth Prazutis.”

He started, his voice carrying to the man upon the throne, the name itself echoed not only in sound but in power. Power that had been growing for ages, a sound that seemed to be etched within the very walls, scarring their memories with what this being was capable of.

Varin's gaze stayed upon the man on the throne.

“I have come to evolve.”

The final word echoed off the walls. Not a request for just power, but to grow, to change and to adapt.

Darth Prazutis​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Evolution.

The words of the youth hung heavily in the air, the room itself choked with a suffocating silence as gravity seemed to orient around every breath the Dark Lord of the Sith took. The giants form was clad in the Zâvrai Kôzkar, an extension of the dominion He exerted that pressed control into the very world around Him. The shadows bent towards Him, unsettling dissonant whispers echoed in the darkest corners, scraping the recesses of the mind. The shadows seemed to consume the Sith Titan like the shudder and heaving of a hung drawing in air, appearing in one moment and disappearing the next. Its presence pressed down upon the bones as silence choked the mind, a cost to stand in the very presence of one who shaped the Sith Order for longer than most within its current power structure had been alive. "Power." The Dark Lord rolled the word off the tongue, His gaze never once leaving Varin as He studied him intensely.

"Power comes at a cost. A cost that grows steeper the further one delves into its depths. Tell me, Varin Mortifer. What are you willing to pay for true power? Many you know fumble in ignorance, incapable of understanding the true cost of what's required to attain true power, to shatter the chains of fate and exist outside of it." The Dark Lord freely spoke the youths name, displaying greater knowledge and understanding. It seemed the cerulean braziers flickered with every word the Dark Lord spoke, the silhouettes of the Umbral Guard and Crownguard dwelling in the room looked like nightmarish wraiths, and somehow even their shadows seemed to move on their own. Even here in a throne room fit for a ruler of Sith, one felt a thousand eyes upon them, yet from no visible direction. It was clear the Sith Citadel hid far more than what the eye could see, concealed deliberately and designed to distract and offset those who walked within, it gave its rulers a unique edge.

"Why? Why come to me. Do you find your masters teachings inadequate for what you desire out of this world? Tell me. You will elaborate, until I am satisfied." The Dark Lord commanded, there was no question in His words as the suffocating presence slowly tightened around the youth just enough to press down on the senses.

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Cost

The word pounded into his mind. Not power itself, but the price to obtain it. The cost to stand above others, the cost to be known and the price of ultimate domination. Domination he wished to master to subjugate the very people that took what was owed to him.

He watched the shadows bend and warp around the Dark Lord before him. The being that truly knew the price of power itself, and paid it.

Varin did not answer immediately, thinking hard on his answer, an answer sufficient enough for such a being before him.

What would he pay for it?

He took a deep breath.

“I have already paid much so far. And I have lost more.”

His fists clenched tightly.

“I have already traveled further than most I know to obtain what it is I control. Yet sometimes it still slips.”

The being Ignati coiled deep within him, stirring from a rest. A light slumber to witness the interaction. Watching in quiet amusement.

He felt the presence tighten around him like a serpent strangling its prey. A tightening in his chest that seemed to force him to answer.

Varin's gaze narrowed towards the Dark Lord before him.

“Some tools require specific jobs. It just so happens that my master was not the right tool for this specific job. A job of true elevation.”

The last word echoed from his voice as if the room had a mind to repeat it.

“Other teachings from her are adequate otherwise.”

He stood before him unwavering before the oppression of power, though inside he could feel the pressure, he refused to show weakness.

“I prefer to scorch my own path. To lead my own way head on, and it has led me here to your throne.”

His hands folded behind his back in a disciplinary stance.

“Does the answer suffice?”

Darth Prazutis​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The Shadow Hand wielded silence and atmosphere like others might wield a blade, His command of the world around Him was so complete it seemed to reorient itself upon Him as the axis, orbiting in accordance to His will. Independence. A determination to blaze ones own path through the halls of power, to ascend and grow. It seemed the youth chose his words carefully, determined no to scorn his own master before Him, while providing a carefully plucked explanation. "You speak yet conceal the meaning behind your words, allow me to pull back the curtain. You've come because your master yet lacks the strength of will, and power over the Dark Side of the Force to guide you higher on the ladder of power." Few things could escape the notice of the infamous Lord of Lies, and dancing around meaning was certainly one of them that never could. To describe ones masters teachings as adequate, it spoke to him of what remained unsaid.

In His grasp over the Dark Side He'd acquired the gifts to see beyond what was presented, His senses opened what lurked within the youth, and He observed its presence carefully. There was power there, independent of Varin but available if he could learn to master its ways and strip its independence away to take what belonged to him. For now, he needed to understand more, to fully grasp the entity that dwelled within. Even from here He could feel the resonance in the dark, it came in the form of a slumbering inferno. "Before I pass my judgement, I will see what stands before me, what hides in my presence." All of a sudden, the youth would find himself rooted with an impossibly strong grip as his body was sheathed in the Dark Lords telekinetic power.

"I would speak to what skulks below flesh and bone, to what conceals itself behind soul. Reveal oneself to me or I will destroy the canvas that protects you and drag you out screaming before my throne." The words fell like the lid of a coffin. A simple declaration, it would submit to His commands one way, or another.

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Before Varin could think of a rebuttal to the Dark Lord before him, his body locked in place. What felt like chains that not only bound his body, but his very being, held him in place as Darth Prazutis sat upon his throne, holding Varin in place with mere thought.

Varin struggled, attempting to move but the presence only tightened its coils before his body. Varin's gaze glared at the Dark Lord before him as he struggled to move, his chest tightening as he struggled to breathe.

The runes pulsed beneath his shirt, revealing ancient Sith ritual patterns, branded within his flesh.

But when the threat of death sounded within the very halls, that grabbed His attention.

Ignati surged through Varin's body as smoke erupted from his back, the back of the shirt burning away to reveal the ritual circle of binding. Varin's body buckled and twitched as Ignati forced his way through.

Then He spoke, a guttural voice deep like the movement of tectonic plates with a fury that built planets from the very core.

“Release me!”

Usually Ignati would have given Varin a fighting chance to save himself, but He knew what kind of power Prazutis held. He would not take the chance of playing with the boy's life.

His muscles flexed as he tried to fight the hold, unable to move.

Except for a slight flex of the fingers balling into a fist. A sense of fight within Ignati. A being that was once a Godlike entity of the dark side.

The runes pulsed again, flaring and maintaining brightness that slowly burned away the shirt to reveal the runes upon his arms, chest and ribs fully. An animalistic growl escaping his throat as he continued to fight.

Darth Prazutis​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

After such a display, it would've been understood if one was shocked, unsettled when the entity born of the dark side reared its head. Smoke poured into the open air accompanied by the raging fires of volcanic fury bound within the young boys form. Fire burning so hot it turned the very fabric of the boys shirt to ash, runework glowed across tan, scarred flesh woven with the delicate hand of a master's touch. The pulsing of each rune glowed with the brightness of a flashbang, briefly pushing the darkness back in the favor of destructive fury. But this wasn't the first time the Shadow Hand stood before a raging beast of annihilation, and He wasn't most mortals.

The Shadow Hand stared down passively at the entities emergence, his eyes narrowing slightly as He pushed through the force to see beyond flesh, to gleam what lurked below. All the while the titanic grip He held on the youth remained in place, growing tighter the more the fiery spirit pushed outwards. The single tug of a finger would tell the entity that He held enough power in the dark side to wreak havoc on the bindings if He so chose, to tighten or loosen, to pull him from his host if He so wished. Just as quickly as the gesture came it faded beneath his gaze. "Curious. What do you call yourself, creature?"

Regardless of the answer it gave, the Dark Lord would continue. The emergence of this creature spoke of the power within Varin's reach, combined with the sheer potential that he displayed? If the youth's mastery over the dark side grew, in time he could learn to draw from the depths of power this entity possessed, to take instead of request. It was a hidden reservoir of power that he could reach into when others touched their limit. It wouldn't be easy and he would need to shatter his own limitations, grow far stronger, to unlock enlightenment through agony. "Whether he chose you, or you chose him the origins do not concern me. The boys potential does. I see why you remain. In time if he proves himself, I may show him how to take what he desires." The Dark Lord's head tilted slightly as He paused, before continuing.

"Tell me, is this all you can muster? If you wish freedom. Show me how desperate you are for it." The noose around the youth's neck would tighten, a test to see how far He could push the entity, if it had no other option.

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber​

The force tightened around his form. A deep low growl reverberated from his chest.

“I care not what concerns you.”

The eyes slowly deepened to a crimson red like stars bleeding in the void of space.

“Names are earned Shadow Hand.”

Ignati’s gaze glared in the direction of Darth Prazutis. A challenged gaze in his eye after asked if this was all his strength. The balled fists tightened as he strained against the hold. But Darth Prazutis seemed to want a demonstration of His power. His jaw locked as a singular horn slowly pierced through Varin’s forehead, curling upwards then back.

“You wish to see what I can display? Very well.”

The force surged through Ignati’s body, his strength growing exponentially along with his durability. The force stranglehold about his neck would find great resistance and even further pull from his arms as they slowly bent at the elbows. Seeming to power through the hold.

“You wish to witness a true Child of Bogan himself.”

His voice rumbled through the air as heat pulsed from his body.

Superheated smoke erupted from his back in tendrils that snaked along the floor, slithering along the surface at great speeds and from various angles.

“Then I will grant you but a glimpse.”

Almost as if stepping through deep thick mud, Ignati struggled to pull a step forward, a animalistic growl ripping from his throat.

A single step forward, a declaration of a portion of power. But not the full display.

The joints of his jaws popped and cracked as they slowly opened, red lightning surging between his teeth before a massive roar exploded from his mouth. A massive burst of red lightning surged from his throat like a quick flash, not like usual continuous Sith lightning. More concentrated, more pinpoint.

As soon as the burst erupted, the tendrils moved towards Darth Prazutis’ form, ready to wrap burn and entangle the mountain of a man. Ready to show him a glimpse of power he would choose to show him.

Darth Prazutis
​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

There was no visible reaction.

Not when resistance against the telekinetic hold grew strong, not when limbs moved and steps were taken. No look of surprise came, neither did a look of struggle on the face of the Shadow Hand. All that remained was the same, scrutinizing gaze of the Abyss that Walks scanning every moment, every change as the transformation continued to take over more, and more of the young man's body. It was the evaluation of a dark master eager to scan a charge for what they were worth, what they were capable of when pushed to the brink. It became clear as the creature continued to speak, that His words over it were having the intended result. It was being shepherded towards the outcome He'd devised, drawn down the path He'd laid before it. Long ago He'd mastered the art of manipulating others, learning their faults and how to press down to evoke the desired result. It was a skill many Sith desired, but few could contend with the Lord of Lies on such a level. Certainly Taeli Raaf , and now evidently Taiia Mataan after their meeting on Odessen that had turned out well. In truth He enjoyed their interactions. But this creature?​

​

It could be led.​

​

When the darkness of the throne room burned away at the eruption of crimson lightning, the mosaics carved into the walls drank in the energy. The dark side on Dromund Kaas saturated everything, an ebullient storm among an ancestral Sith throneworld reawakened by the Kainate. Its power suffused the lightning, growing its terrible wrath. It snaked around the muscular youths body like a serpent, before surging outwards towards the once-Sith Emperor. Right before the lightning touched His form, it came to an abrupt stop, as if it was frozen in the air, as if time itself had ceased and held its form, the energy still hummed and roared its destructive fury, its light still drowned out shadows in arterial splendor. Mere inches from the Shadow Hand it had suddenly stopped. The runes across the form of the Shadow Hand had only flashed once before returning to their prior equilibrium. "Is that all? I expected more from a 'Child of Bogan'. Perhaps that is all you are, little more than a child trapped in the body of a youth, incapable of freeing yourself. Don't spout your platitudes at me, you pathetic creature." The Dark Lord lifted His palm from the armrest then, and pushed His fingers forward in a sudden motion. It was among the first motions He'd made since they'd walked into His throne room.​

​

The result?​

​

The bolt of lightning was forced backwards in a sudden, titanic thrust at great speed straight towards the entity that spoke of its greatness, while standing in the throne room of the Shadow Hand of the Kainate. "Show me more." ​

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

The lightning had stopped before the Dark Lord, energy crackling and screaming. Eager to tear and singe flesh. Only it no longer obeyed him.

Ignati's gaze glared at him. His words echoing off his form before lightning surged back towards his body. Ignati did not move, his body took upon the lightning like a metallic rod absorbing it back into his body. And explosion of energy blew from his body in all directions, dust clouds and debris falling around him. His silhouette still stood, dark with fiery ember eyes as his only discernible feature.

His eye flared to life with a bright orange hue like an inferno itself manifested from his socket. A yell erupted from his throat as a beam of heat and pure dark side energy shot forth to him.

Ignati moved then. His body still slower from hard resistance but he dropped on all fours, claws piercing from his finger tips tearing flesh away digging into the stonework beneath him for grip.

Though his pace was still slowed he still barreled towards the Dark Lord.

“I will show you oblivion then!”

Fiery wings erupted from his back, flame and dark side energy coalesced into a destructive force that had once brought planets to their knees in another age. They unfurled as he leapt towards Darth Prazutis, the wings flexed forward, reshaping into spear-like shapes that darted towards him, several shapes shooting right for his chest and head region as Ignati drew closer.

Darth Prazutis​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The destructive beam hit its mark and for a moment, the Dark Lord of the Sith vanished in a flash of orange light. Obfuscation combined with the eruption of energy, and smoke from the fiery rage that briefly obscured the giant on His throne. When it finally cleared there He was, still sitting atop His throne. Before Him was a bubble of energy situated close to His form, a barrier of power constantly generated to shroud the Dark Titan from harm. Its form fractured like broken glass, spider webbing arced out from the point of contact, a gaping hole in the translucent barrier from the beams destructive fury, but there was no contact to the Dark Lord proper. "Such impulse. You are little more than a Tukata yet lacking its intelligence and patience."

After the entity's declaration of oblivion, its form erupted in a devastating burst of power. The Dark Side flowed from Varin's body as the entity was driven to near mindless rage, no longer holding anything back. In this state, the Dark Lord could utilize the force to get the full measure of him as he took to flight with blazing wings at his back. "Yes. Strike me down." Prazutis baited, right as he closed across half the distance between them something happened.

A devastating eruption rooted in the Dark Side so profound, the room trembled at its emergence. Once the entity was too far committed to his rage fueled assault, behind him came not one, not two, but dozens of strands woven from the dark side itself. All at once an entire web of energy consumed the room shooting upwards, downwards, and across from every angle. They surged up the room swiftly attempting to overtake the distracted entity before he could even touch the Shadow Hand. If any one of the strands connected, seized his form the effect would be immediate and devastating. They would all at once sever his connection to the force, while sapping his own strength to fuel its power.

It was a Sith incantation certainly, but the mind boggling part of it, was rooted in the fact that none were spoken. The sheer magnitude of power displayed was a sight to behold, all while the Shadow Hand hadn't moved once from that towering throne. It was a carefully laid trap built through the layering of Dun Möch in every word spoken to the arrogance fueled, entity contained within the youths flesh. There was a staggering amount of power there, and if he could learn to control it and prevent it from controlling him? The possibilities were endless:

"Are you finished?"

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber​

The Mindscape

Chains….chains now bound the destructive entity that resided within flesh, spirit and mind of Varin. Wrapping its body in a way that left it no room to breathe. Deep within Varin’s mindscape, dark chains erupted from the ground binding Ignati’s wings first, then his legs. The chains slithered and writhed around Ignati’s body as he flailed about roaring like a mad beast, flailing his head before unleashing a torrent of flame from his maw.

The mindscape held both of them in chains, but Varin looked up from his spot and slowly stood as Ignati fought, screaming obscenities.

Chains still bound Vatin’s legs, preventing him from fully capitalizing. But for now, he for once stood over Ignati. His gaze glaring into the eyes of the beast.

Reality

Suspended before the Dark Lord the flailing beast had fallen silent, Varin’s body had grown still. Limp almost like a body that had been put out on display before an audience.

But he breathed.

His chest heaved with large intaking of air and release. His fists clenched as he struggled to move.

When his head eventually raised, Varin’s eyes met with Darth Prazutis’. Confusion, but also anger. Fight still bloomed within the boy, it was almost all he knew. He had no flight instinct, he had no feeling to hide or run. Only to destroy, and his gaze reflected that.

His voice was harsh, almost like a growl.

“What have you done to me.”

Darth Prazutis​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

All that he was met with from the Dark Lord of the Sith was the cold, unreadable apathy of on his face as he seemed to look through him. There was an almost clinical element to the cold, dispassionate nature yet it was betrayed in the eyes. A figure of such power, His darkness drowned out the natural pigmentation of His eyes. They would be a dominant pair of molten fury, pure manifestations of the dark side. It poured off Him like heat from the Sun. All throughout the room the tendrils of power began to dissipate, vanishing into whisps of black vapor on the air. Only the bands coiling around the young mans form remained.

“Interesting.”

The tone in His voice was almost clinical, like a scientist inspecting a patient as his gaze passed through the youth. It seemed the power of the being within him had dissipated with what remained of the force connection between them, the entity swiftly going dark and pushed beneath the fleshy canvas. The wings had disappeared, any semblance that it had been here at all were gone. “I drew out the beast within to witness it bear its fangs.” Such events clearly robbed him of any control, it was power but at a price of a different kind, someone else’s power flowing through him like a conduit of sorts, although the entity was clearly in the drivers seat, this would need to change.

”Then I sent it away when I was finished with it.” The Shadow Hand raised a finger and the bands of energy severing his connection to the force, and sapping his strength faded dropping him to the cold floor. “Tell me, what do you remember while it was in control?”

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber​

Varin listened, opting to remain silent as Darth Prazutis explained in his own way what had happened. The force imprisonment and its bonds fastening tightly around his body, coiling, squeezing. Not physically. But suffocating the Force in his body. Snuffing it out and casting it aside like it were nothing.

Then his body dropped.

Varin had just enough time to catch himself on all fours. The coldness ran through his body before his body heat began to rise once more to his own personal normality. Still much higher than any normal person. He breathed for a moment as he stayed there, willing himself to stand.

Sent…away?

Those words haunted his mind as he dwelled further more on them.

The Dark Lord's question finally reaching Varin’s ears.

For a moment longer he was quiet, before he slowly pulled himself up.

“I remember…rage…I remember bloodlust…battlelust…the will to dominate.”

His gaze slowly lifted to meet Darth Prazutis’.

“I remember…momentum? Or at least…my body remembers it…I did not see it.”

His gaze sharpened as he tried to remember further. But no memory of the exchange or the words came to mind. Not even the destructive heat that was birthed within the very room around him came to memory. As if he wore blinders.

Darth Prazutis​