ToC: Jared Ovmar VS. Mikhail Shorn

[Louise]

Welcome to the Murder Bridge!

The Tournament of the Cauldron had come home to Rattatak, but it wasn't back in the pits just yet. No. This semi-final was to take place on the planet's frigid north pole.

A crumbling bridge, surrounded by a decaying fortress lost to time, lost to history. If one were to inquire about the decrepit building there would be no answers to be found. Perhaps if one was to delve into an old archive they would uncover the truth about the structure, perhaps but we are not here to read, we are here to fight, we are here to die, we are here to win.

A blizzard swirled around them, accompanied by a cruel wind that could pierce through to the bone. A portion of stone eroded over time by harsh conditions crumbled right there and then. Was this safe? Was this legal?

No. This was the semi-final.

Would the bridge hold out?

Perhaps, but at least given the natures of the two competitors of this round the bridge would receive a night of passion before total annihilation. @[member="Jared Ovmar"] and @[member="Mikhail Shorn"]. Two faces loved by the palms of women's hands. It was likely that this would be a bout of both comedy and destruction. A meeting of those without morals, there was no clear favourite here.

Also, top tip: Don't fall off, that's a pretty deep chasm, who knows what may lurk below.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

The Sith Lord stood on the opposite side of the bridge from his opponent. Chill winds whipped across his form, but he - as in the previous fights - was geared up in well-worn phrik armor. His armor heated him, cozily, but it wasn't as if he was wearing a suit of snowtrooper gear. The outside was cold. COLD. Even with the advent of technology warming him he could still feel the blizzard's bite. Consequences? Shorn had goosebumps, was shivering a little, and felt kinda sleepy. He gritted his teeth and tried to peer through the swirling winds. See, that was the worst bit of this. Not the cold, but the lack of visibility. He swapped his vision to thermal. There. Much better. He spotted the man across the bridge from him. Unlike the previous couple rounds he didn't have to search for his opponent. They were on a kriffing bridge. It wasn't like there was anywhere for them to actually go.

Mikhail watched his opponent with an icy gaze to match the blizzard outside. Prior to entering the round, Shorn had watched some footage of Lame-Song's previous fights. The guy liked mental attacks. In one round he'd straight up demolished his opponent by ripping the dude's mind apart. Mikhail knew he was at a big disadvantage facing Glory-Warble. The guy had the perfect skill set to take him down. Shorn didn't fare too well against mental attacks. He knew he needed to end the fight quickly, before the dude could launch a sustained attack on his mind. In previous fights he'd focused on wearing down the opponent through a barrage of brutal attacks. He couldn't do that with what's-his-face. The only way he'd beat the slick-talking Songster was with an unrelenting, sustained barrage of attacks or by finishing him in one big move.

The Thronebreaker opted for the later.

Mikhail knew the crowds watching would probably boo him for what he was about to do. They wanted a drawn out fight with lots of excitement and tension. Shorn didn't want that. He wanted to win. He wanted to crush @[member="Jared Ovmar"] completely in a display of utter domination. The crowd could go kriff themselves. So could the Cauldron Wenches. He'd heard that Ashin'd been beaten out. That meant the tournament was practically his for the taking. Some Jedi Master and a non-Force User were all that was left. Mikhail snorted. The Jedi he disregarded out of hand. Stupid Jedi. But the merc had managed to beat Ashin. He didn't know how. He hadn't been focused on watching that footage. He expected he would find out after he curb stomped the Fringe dude.

The setting favored him. A decrepit bridge with a gigantic abyss beneath? Please. They'd practically given him the match with a bow on top. Mikhail smirked as he reached out with the Force. His inexorable telekinetic power could be matched by a few. Glory-Song wasn't one of them. That said, if Jared got in to melee distance all Mikhail had was his dagger. Good thing he wasn't planning on letting the Mind Rapist get that close.

The Dark Side swirled around him, its atramentous power intoxicating. Mikhail breathed in sharply, pulling the energy of the Force into him. The power thrummed within him. A potent, cimmerian miasma. Untapped. Waiting for him to unleash its potential. His smirk turned into a smile. People kept saying "You can be good, Mikhail! You don't have to be like this!" Be like what... ridiculously powerful and awesome? Pfft. They didn't understand. With the Dark Side, he felt invincible.

Oh, and he was pissed about Varanin losing. He'd wanted to hand her her ass personally. In the final. Her losing pissed him off. The Empress of Ten Thousand Worlds who'd ordered him around like some pet akk dog? Losing to some rando? She was supposed to be frakking better than that. His mouth twisted into a mixture of anger and disgust.

"Kriff this bridge."

He reached out and telekinetically grabbed the support structure of the bridge where Glory-Song stood. He also grabbed Warbly-Boy and attempted to fix him into place so that he couldn't move. For most Force Users such a feat would have been next to impossible. But Mikhail had long been one of the foremost practitioners of telekinesis in the galaxy. For him, this was merely very, very hard. Sweat dripped from his brow, strangely warm compared to the cold outside.

His hands whipped down toward the ground, as if he was throwing something violently to the floor. He heaved. Heaved the bridge structures. Heaved Glory-Whistler too. He pulled down so hard he half-expected the whole fortress to come down too.

It didn't.

But the bridge did make a theatric noise.

KRAKA-DOOOOM

The decrepit bridge, weak from years of disrepair, tore apart like straw beneath the influence of the man who had brought down the Senate Building. The entire portion of the bridge upon which Glory-Song stood caved in and started to fall down, down, down. And the dude, hopefully pulled downward as well by Shorn's telekinesis, would fall into the abyss.

Would the bridge hold out?

Nope.

 

[Arage Bao]

So.

Here he was.

Going to fight the fething Throne-Breaker himself. Any last words? Not really, maybe complain a bit about the cold weather. Because by the living Force, it is cold. If they would stay here for much longer his balls would probably freeze off, good thing he was wearing that nifty Beskar'gam armor. How the kark those Mandalorians wore this crap without the Force? Jared did not have a clue, but he was developing a healthy dosis of respect for those karkers. Strong bastards they were, to carry this heavy of a burden into a fight.

Not that Jared had any problems with it, not really, he was just whining because he missed his fancy robes. But for some reason he had assumed that beskar'gam would be... well warmed. Think again, sonny, balls were still freezing off. Atleast.. he would be better protected than usually. He could not remember the last time he had worn anything else than a robe to a fight. The Force had strengthened him through everything, now.. well. He would still need to be careful, but less so.

Regardless, back to Mikhail Shorn, Throne-Breaker, God, and half a dozen other things. Jared had heard of this man, never personally fought with or against him though. Which seemed a bit strange to him, because... well.. they were both affiliated with the Confederation. He had won the Sith Throne once.. and given it to Dranok, that in itself said something about the man he was facing today. Power did not matter to him, not the kind of power that most of the people craved for at least. It was not influence that drew Mikhail, it was Chaos. Chaos and strife.

And Mikhail was its Herald. The Herald of Chaos. Jared would have continued to muse on it, but the duel was about to start. So he started to draw upon the Force. In contrary to his opponent, the Lord had not been watching the duels. It did not matter, if he knew how his opponent fought. Not with Mikhail. The lad was too unpredictable to really make out a proper strategy. So he would do what he always did.

Just mind rape 'em.

Hopefully it would work out.

Probably would.

Maybe.

At any rate, there he stood on the bridge, minding his own business. Drawing in the sweet essence of the Darkside, when he felt an invisible hand trying to grab him. Now you gotta understand something about the Force and how these kinds of things worked.

First of all, every person was surrounded by his or hers own personal Force Aura. Or maybe it was called something different, at any rate, their essence. This essence protected them to a limited extent. When you were Force Sensitive, this essence was far more useful. And when you were a Master? Well.. let us just say the sky was the figurative limited. Maybe it was even Space itself that was the limit.

I digress.

A Force Master had an Aura surrounding himself, which prevented people from just randomly grabbing them with the Force and choking them out. Or trying to hold them in one place, like this guy was trying to do. Of course, that did not mean that Jared had an easy time with it. Oh no, it was -difficult- to get out of that little trap, Mikhail was trying to pull.

But keep in mind, said Aura was fueled by your own Willpower... Yeah, Jared was a mentalist. So he had trained his will to be strong, stronger than iron, steel, beskar or whatever you want. Maybe even diamond.. probably not diamonds. At any rate. Mikhail would have had a hard time holding him in one place. Now if he had just tried to push him, or pull him? Other story entirely.

What -had- succeeded was the fact that the damn bridge was collapsing, while he had been trying to escape from that damn trap. It was a good thing Jared stood at the -beginning- of said bridge, so the only real thing he had to do was take a Force-enhanced Jump and get back on the safe side.

So.. with that behind his back, Jared continued to draw upon the Force. In a few post-- couple of minutes, he would be able to start barraging Mikhail's mind with the Force. For now, to keep the lad occupied...

Jared looked around, and found a proper bolder. It was a pretty big thing, all round and it seemed heavy enough for the work he was trying to accomplish. So what he did was the following, he heaved the thing up with the Force, extended his hand and threw the damn thing in the general direct of the Chair-Breaker. Or was it a stool? Anyway, that was not relevant.

While the boulder was being thrown, something else was created behind it. A couple of little kinetite balls, hidden by the large obstacle.. maybe just maybe... Mikhail would allow himself to get hit? Please?

Oh yeah.. almost forgot. Jared probably had a few Lightsabres somewhere.

@[member="Mikhail Shorn"]

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Mikhail scowled at his heads up display. Sweat from his exertion dripped irritatingly down his forehead. That was the worst part about helmets. You couldn't wipe away the sweat when it got somewhere you didn't want. He blinked rapidly as it trickled into his eye, stinging slightly with salt. He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes.

Thermal vision showed Jared - an orange-red blob in the midst of a sea of blue - jumping away from the collapsing section of the bridge, and out of Mikhail's telekinetic pull. Anger flared up like seeds of hot embers sprouting into flame. The guy shouldn't have been able to break his pull that easily. The wind howled around Shorn. Even insulated inside his armor, Mikhail could almost feel the outside of his armor began to frost over, but he didn't care. Hot rage twisted inside his chest, a roiling inferno that shrugged off the cold. Oh, he still shivered with the chill of the weather, but he'd found something else to preoccupy himself with. Anger-induced visions flashed through his head of tearing Glory-Song in half, literally grabbing him in the Force and tearing his body in two different directions until something gave. The images made him practically giddy. He shivered, but it was not from the cold.

The Dark Side coursed through his body. He felt so close to losing control of all that power. He stood at the edge of the abyss, staring down into the fires below, and he felt the urge to jump. A hand squeezed his heart, twisting it into knots of hot anger that made him sick to his stomach. Why did it have to make him sick? Why couldn't he.... why couldn't he just enjoy it? Shorn breathed out heavily and jumped.

He felt as though he rode atop a convergence of avalanche and lava, hot as magma and cold as deepest winter. The sickly-sweet, bitter tang of the energy left him drunk on power. Shorn didn't try to control that miasma of untamable strength. He just acted, loosing all of his pent up fury.

Glory-Song launched a boulder at him. Precognitive senses set his spine tingling. Mikhail sneered, lips twisting into an expression of utter loathing. When would they learn? You couldn't chuck things at him and expect to win. Nobody could. He was Mikhail kriffing Shorn. He'd beaten Emperors and made whole nations tremble. With what? With frakking telekinesis. That's what. Idiot. Mikhail features became a mask of revile. He raised a hand. Telekinetic energy rippled from his palm and blasted the boulder apart.

Rock fragments peppered him, bouncing off his phrik armor. He gritted his teeth against the horrendous noise. Worst hailstorm ever. Then something else happened. A series of kinetite orbs, glowing with terrible energy shrieked in. Blue eyes widened. Too late, he attempted to gather more energy for a second blast. The balls slammed into him.

Woooomp, woooomp, woooomp!

The phrik chestplate thumped again and again as the kinetite smashed in, denting the armor in several places. Mikhail heard a crack and felt a hot flash of pain. One of his ribs had broken. The rest of his chest was a mass of bruises as the kinetic energy transferred from balls of what was essentially compressed Force Lightning. The pain rolled through him. Unshed water stood in his eyes. The rage subsumed pain. The wrath that rolled through him now was unparalleled to that which he had felt before. He wanted to play games?

Fine.

The red-orange blob of @[member="Jared Ovmar"] stood in the distance. Between them was the new gap in the bridge that fell away into the murky abyss beneath. Mikhail narrowed his eyes. Black, arching, evil eyebrows furrowed into a scowl of concentration. Forget breaking bridges and rocks. He was going to go straight for the man himself. Mikhail started to think of a particularly vicious nickname to call him, but with a name like Glory-Song the guy had already done Shorn's job.

Line of sight meant that Shorn could still wield telekinesis in all its terrible power. The fingers of his outstretched hand curled around Glory-Warbler. Force Aura prevented the man from getting his innards crushed. The guy had that right. Sort of. Mikhail would be able to break through Jared's Force Aura with Force Crush, given enough time and uninterrupted concentration. But he was not using Force Crush. He simply wrapped a gigantic telekinetic hand around Glory-Song that would feel like a durasteel docking-clamp had suddenly grabbed him. Force Aura prevented Jared from getting his insides squished. But it did not stop effects like having his arms squeezed together as if in hug from a wookiee, rendering them immovable. Nor did it stop his legs from being pinned together as if they'd been bound with a chain of phrik. All Force Aura meant was that Mikhail couldn't break Jared's arms and legs, then crush his brain. Nothing more. Nothing less.

With this gigantic, telekinetic hand wrapped around Jared, Mikhail attempted to lift Jared high into the air, then slam him back down into the ground with tremendous force. Beskar'gam was tough, sure, but beskar'gam just stopped pesky things like bullets, knives, and laser swords from getting through. It did not stop kinetic energy. For example, if an artillery round slammed into Jared's chest the beskar'gam would be fine. But the guy behind it? Blunt trauma could do a lot of nasty, nasty things. The speed with which Shorn was attempting to pick up and throw down Jared would be equivalent to a speeder collision. Wearing phrik armor, Jared would be protected more so than without, but the transference of kinetic energy and the rapid deceleration of his body hitting the ground would be likely to cause massive internal trauma. His bowels could detach from his insides due to the rapid deceleration and collision, leading to internal bleeding. If he landed particularly hard on his head that could obviously cause a concussion, or worse, intracranial hematoma, where a blood vessel ruptured in the head, pooling blood around the brain. Such an injury would require immediate attention. These came along with the plethora of other possible injuries, like fractures and really bad bruises.

In any case, Glory-Song would be hard pressed to continue collecting the Force for an impending assault. Between Force-jumping away from telekinetic grips, chucking boulders, throwing kinetite balls, and now the added threat of being body slammed into the ground, focusing on a mental attack would extremely difficult. Even more so if he suffered injury, particularly a concussion, from the body-slam maneuver. If Jared did manage to use enough Force Power to turn the body-slam into a merely bruising affair, his focus and energy would be sapped even more.

 

[Arage Bao]

​

A long time ago, Jared had realized that the Force held no limits int itself. It was the wielder of the power who limited its potential. Your view on the world, your fundamental perception life itself; it all had an effect on how the Force behaved. Of course this was just a theory Jared had thought of, but it held merit. He had met dozens upon dozens of Force Users, and when he had asked of them to describe the Force to him... each one of them had a different analogy. A different explanation on how it felt to them, how it behaved and how they could manipulate it for their own purpose.

Some called the Force a gigantic river of pure power, which could be tapped on or guided; but never controlled. Some said it was a net or a web, that connected every living being to each other. Others called it a pool of fire and storm, that you could draw in and unleash it against your foes. Different people, different stories and different applications.

Men and women of power had been able to use the Force to make planets go supernova, drain their inhabitants of their lives or make them the worlds disappear. Some could call forth a Storm of the Force, that would rip open the fabric of space and time, creating a wormhole that could suck everything into its grasp. Of course, those capable of these kind of tremendous feats were far and few. Lost in time, or not flaunting their rare power.

But it made a person stop and think. If such things were possible.. what else could be done with the Force? Throughout his life Jared had seen with his own eyes how the Force changed itself for him, his perception shaped the Force. For in its enormity, the human mind could not hope to understand it all. Such was the fact that the Force had to fabricate itself into something else, something that fit your frame of mind and could comprehend.

Essay about the workings of the Force aside.

It seemed the kinetite balls had gotten the intended effect and.. one slightly less intended effect. Sometimes he forgot those Sith were all about anger and more anger. The balls had pissed him off, and seemingly did not do -a lot- of damage. Then again, might be he had broken a bone or two. Good riddance, at least he had gotten one hit in. His smug feeling disappeared, when the lad did something else.

As Mikhail grabbed him with his big ass mental hand, Jared almost asked what he had been doing with it that it was so strong. But he was too mature for that, or maybe he had trouble concentrating on multiple things at the same time. Seeing as he was going to be crushed against the ground in a few seconds, if he didn't do something.

For a while Jared considered breaking the connection between them, because as was explained in the elaborate essay. Some people had a different way upon looking the Force like.. a web that connected everyone. And through that connection, they were able to influence each other. But then he decided against it, Shorn was angry enough as is. No need to twist his panties even more, he might even bring a Dragon into this game. Jared was not sure if he wanted to be eaten by one just yet.

So there he was, an invisible hand grabbing hold of him and pulling him up. It was pretty obvious what was going to happen next, damn Shorn. Always going for the crushing part, though Jared was not really interested in getting his inside turned inside out. Not really the plan, no.


The key was to stay relaxed, not worry about.. what could happen. He reached out with his mind, and grabbed hold of the earth surrounding them, throwing it up in the air. Effectively creating a curtain of sand, which should obfuscate Mikhail's line of sight and make it for the moment impossible to take hold of him and actually release his grip.

With that out of the way, Jar decided to start attacking him with his mind. Everything that has been happening... well he did not have any chance to power his mojo, so it would not be a full-frontal barrage. But it should keep Mikhail on his toes, make it harder to use his telekinesis.

"Hello Mikhail. I want to play a game."​

​

@[member="Mikhail Shorn"]​

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Thermal vision meant Shorn still had a line of sight, which meant that Jared was still rocketing toward the ground at a truly terrifying speed. First mistake. A thought burst into Shorn's mind, but it was not his own. Glory-Song. The roaring fire of rage inside Shorn's chest grew taller, so powerful it actually hurt. The guy was trying to break into his mind while hurtling toward the ground? Idiot. His words just made Mikhail more angry. The guy was not trying to assault Mikhail's mind yet, just... talking to him. So Shorn didn't waste any energy shoving him out of his mind. He wanted to play a game?

"Is it called Glory-Song's last words?" Mikhail shot back.

Because really, that was what it ought to be titled. Shorn's broken rib and bruised chest hurt, but it would be nothing compared to what Glory-Song was about to feel. His little curtain of sand from ripped up dirt would have worked nicely, but the thermal imaging system in the Hydra gear was mil-spec and would be functional even in a sandstorm so long as the sand was not heated. What his use of alter environment had done was use more of that precious concentration that Glory-Song needed to invade his mind.

Force-jumping, throwing boulders, hurling kinetite balls, ripping up the ground with alter environment? These were all different skill trees. Force-jumping was from the art of enhancement and reinforcement. One would have to draw in the Force to infuse their muscles with increased strength and resilience. Throwing boulders was telekinesis, duh. Meanwhile, kinetite ball hurling was a form of energy manipulation, similar to Force Lightning and Pyrokinesis. And alter environment was completely different than any of the previous abilities. Such a wide range of powers meant that this Glory-Song held a lot of power and skill with the Force, but even he could not focus on one sort of usage of the Force while performing the other. Each of those different abilities took a certain amount of focus.

So either he had compartmentalized his mind into a half-dozen separate boxes each working their own separate tasks, which Shorn had heard of people doing but thought it pretty absurd - Mikhail had a hard enough time concentrating on watching the holonews and listening to a woman talk -, or Glory-Song was concentrating on each of the tasks individually, which meant that by the time the actual assault happened it was more like throwing a stick at Shorn than a spear.

That said, even a stick could be dangerous, but the man was only using it to speak to him. Unless Glory-Song was planning on talking him to death, Shorn was not too worried. This fight was about to be over.

Sweat matted his raven hair inside his helmet and continued to dribble down his face. The roaring blizzard outside chilled his skin. The phrik armor he wore bore a collection of frost crystals and snow on its exterior, giving the dull, gunmetal gray armor a blue-white hue. His broken rib throbbed, but the mass of bruises on his chest felt a little numb. He wondered if that should worry him. Grimacing, Shorn pulled, heaving downward in a violent gesture with both hands as though ripping down a cabinet.

His power throughout the entire fight had been usage of telekinesis. He had expended a lot of energy, particularly with ripping out the bridge's support structures, but unlike Glory-Song - who was throwing around a half-dozen different abilities - Shorn had been focusing this whole time on just one power. One simple ability. An ability that could do so very, very much. Mikhail reveled in the brutality and simplicity of telekinesis. Sometimes it made him wonder if he was truly a Makashi student. But even students of Makashi went for the swift, ruthless killing blow on occasion.

His pull was more swift now and bore the strength of a terentatek. This wasn't going to feel like a speeder crash anymore. Oooohohohoho, no. This would be Mr. Glory-Song the Talkative Asteroid hurtling into the ground with enough strength to make one big freaking crater. The beskar'gam would be fine. The dude inside would resemble jello. Squishy and lifeless. Shorn wondered if the guy would scream, or if he would go out quietly. Personally, he was hoping for a scream.

@[member="Jared Ovmar"]

 

[Arage Bao]

Panic entered his system as he realized that Mikhail's grip over him was not loosening, instead Jared's velocity was increasing. For some reason the sand had not helped, maybe the man had some kind of heat-vision goggles or something. Jared did not know, he had never bothered looking at Mikhail's fights, and had solely gone off the accounts of the Throne-Breaker's previous fights.

Seemingly the man had decided to freshen up his game, or maybe Jared's intel was off. Regardless, the situation stayed the same. He was still being pulled up, but he assumed that would quickly change into a smashing motion to the ground. And Jared was not Ashin, once he had considered learning Force Weapon from her. But his strengths did not lie in being a full-on Tank. Mentalism was his vocal point, and he had not trusted in his own apex power in this battle.

This would prove to be his undoing. As he closed his eyes, his mind went out to his loved ones. Today he would die, and probably not see them again. Spencer, Ashin, Andra..

His velocity increased, as Mikhail attempted to smash him against the ground beneath him. Jared stopped fighting, no use in that. Instead.. he wagered a bet, one last cast of the dice. A few seconds before his legs hit the ground, he employed Crucitorn to shut his mind off from the incoming pain and sent some of his strength into his body. It would not save his legs, but it might just keep him alive for what he would do next.

As impact reached him, his legs shattered beneath him. Knees turned into pulp, and bones splintered. The Beskar held strangely enough, but did nothing else besides holding everything together. A part of Jared screamed, deep inside of him in the back of his head. But the pain did not reach him yet, that would come later. If he survived this.

While he laid there, his legs in ruins and blood seeping out of the suit, Jared started drawing on the Force. Drawing on the hate, that had festered his soul for so long. Drawing on the pain, that had driven him since the day he was born and the pain that was now embedded into the back of his head.

There was only one chance, only one more thing to do.

The dice has been cast.

Let's see what comes out of it.

@[member="Mikhail Shorn"]​

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Even with the howl of the blizzard, the insulating of his helmet, and the intervening distance between them Shorn could hear the muffled, sickening crunch of Glory-Song's body slamming oh so satisfyingly into the ground with all the force of a Corellian tram wreck. He didn't hear a scream and for some reason he felt far less pain emanating from the man than he had expected. Something was wrong. He could still feel a tendril of foreign thought inside his head. Glory-Song was still alive, still preparing to assault his mind? Maybe.

Mikhail narrowed his icy blues and stared at the thermal imaging of his helmet's display. The red-orange blob lay on the ground, motionless, but he still felt Force power gathering like a growing hurricane. Shorn pursed his lips. He didn't plan on letting Glory-Warbler finish whatever he was planning. Mikhail sucked in a breath, wincing at the pain in his chest. Ow, ow, ow. Broken rib. He wasn't sure, but he thought it might've punctured a lung. Or at least it felt that way. Every breath he drew in was ragged and pained, adding to the sweat that now streamed down his face. He could feel sweat trapped in the skintight, black thermal he wore beneath his armor. The hot perspiration gathered along his back and trickled down from under his armpits irritatingly. Yet the warmth of his own perspiration was quickly chilling from the cold outside. The heating systems in his armor were working overtime just to make sure he didn't get frostbite.

As he took a step forward his armor cracked, shedding sheets of ice. Mikhail gritted his teeth. His armor was starting to freeze, making the joints almost immovable. Not good. He needed to end this fight and end it now. Blue eyes locked onto @[member="Jared Ovmar"]'s prone figure. They held no hint of mercy. Shorn exhaled, wincing at the pain in his chest, and focused. Clarity came to him as the Dark Side fed off his pain, anger, and general irritability. He had a brief image enter his mind. It involved ripping the man's spinal column out. But no, Shorn had a better idea.

He would not be beaten by some masked man with a ridiculous name. He also wouldn't play the role of the mustache-twirling villain who attempted to reveal the defeated hero's identity. He wasn't going to try and find out who Glory-Song really was, because he didn't give a damn. As far as he was concerned, Glory-Song would be remembered as the guy who got smashed to death by Mikhail Shorn in Semis.

Mikhail stretched out a hand and his fingers curled inward. He attempted to grab Glory-Song's prone figure by the throat. He squeezed as hard as he could, trying to cut off the blood flow to Glory-Song's brain. At the same time, he tried to pull the man toward him and attempted to toss the man, screaming, into the abyss. Sparks danced around the fingers of his left hand as he launched Chain Force Lightning in after the guy.

Shorn's lips twisted into a smirk of satisfaction. The sound of Glory-Song's body breaking against the ground had been sickly-sweet to his ears. But even better would be the joy of silence as the man fell down, down, down for eternity.

​

"I looove this game."​

 

[Arage Bao]

The Throne-Breaker was a powerful Force User, nobody could contest this fact. But his usage of the Force throughout the competition could be described as wasteful at the least. Breaking down bridges, trying to hold a Master of the Force with telekinesis, destroying boulders launched at him, yet again holding a Force Master with telekinesis and actually moving him up and then smashing him against the ground. These were all big feats in terms of Force Expenditure, then again Jared was no calculator, and furthermore he had no direct access to Mikhail's source of power. So he would not really know how much fight there was still left in the man, but he -could- guess. And his guess was.. not a lot.

Not that it mattered to our legless Hero of Songs. At this point he was gone to far to give a feth about what was going to happen. The only thing on his mind was to destroy Mikhail. To end him, turn him into a vegetable. Preferably a potato, Spencer would probably laugh at the irony. Jared gathered all the strength he had left in him, all the anger, and fury, and hate. All the pain and suffering, that he had been through in his life. All the pain that the Throne-Breaker had just caused him.

Everything he collected, and then he searched for his target with his mental eye. Mikhail was not hard to find, a burning sun of Force Energy in the empty void of ice and snow. Linking to him would not be as hard, he had previously made a connection to the Sith Lord. It was only a message, but with it he had established a baseline. A firm path which he could use to strike hard, and strike fast.

But once he was ready to move.. something stopped him. It was hard to gain control over the anger, and hate. The fury in him was slipping him, and he knew not why. Would this form of vengeance be denied to him, as every other form had been denied to him? Jared had learned the hard way that life was never fair, and that it was always unyielding. But this.. this ma-- and then he saw.

Saw and knew what the problem was. The love he felt, the love he had for everything that was dear to him. Spencer, and Ashin. The Fringe, and its citizens. Andra. That and more.. dozens upon dozens of little threads that were linked to his heart, and forced him to feel. To feel and care. They were holding him back. They knew what he had not yet realized. If he died now.. he could still be saved, be brought back into the Force and die in peace. But if he gave into this, into this petty vengeance.. he would be lost forever. Burning in the pits of hellfire of the Dark side.

Part of him screamed at him, “Let go.. Forgive and Forget..” and he was about to give into that hypocrisy, but then... then a voice rang out. Mocking him.

A man should never result to petty words when already winning. It showed immaturity, and it was a sign of weakness. Such a man did not deserve to win, at least in the mind of Jared. His heart hardened itself, and.. he let go. He cut deeply and cut fast, releasing him from all that he had loved. He was free now.

As the Glory-Song opened his eyes, they were filled with hatred and a.. sense of peace. Red, the color of blood, would have been seen if one looked into those soulless eyes. He did not waste his time, as he felt the grasp of Mikhail tighten itself around him.. he lashed out.

With everything he had.
Jared cared not if he lived or died, won or lost.. his only thoughts were destruction. To take that man, and rip his mind to shreds. Reduce him to a mere shadow of his former self, a potato if you will.

He poured everything he had into it, all the power that was given to him and everything else. Nothing was held back. The Lord of the Fringe would make him feel the pain and suffering that he caused.

Finally... Mikhail Shorn would feel. His mind would crumble and break under the assault as the throne of Emperor Ardik once had.


…


At least that was the idea.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Tired? No. Mikhail was not tired. Tossing walkers and breaking through permacrete walls... that would make him tired. He gritted his teeth. Sweat matted his hair and trickled down his face inside the phrik helm. No. He'd only ripped apart a few support structures from an already decrepit bridge, broken a boulder to pebbles, and body-slammed a man. That was just the warm up act. Mikhail licked his lips. His breath came ragged and pained due to his broken rib. It was nothing compared to his fight with Diana. She'd stuck a sword in him. This? This was only winding.

Blue eyes filled with a cold fury more terrible than the blizzard around them watched with dark satisfaction as Glory-Song floated rapidly through the air. Suddenly, a mental spear drove into Shorn's mind, relentless as a vornskr as it clawed into his thoughts. Blue eyes widened in sudden shock. Then he felt as though a thousand spears struck as one, driving into his mind, probing and stabbing. Purposeful in their attempts to cause pain. His blood ran cold. He no longer felt. He no longer saw. The blizzard outside faded into a haze of pain. The howl of the winds turned into the howls of his tortured thoughts.

He no longer stood on some bridge at Rattatak's pole. He stood in the living room of the Shorn mansion. He heard his father's voice, dispassionate and casual. "Go to see Alexis? I think not. I saw to it that that peasant girl of yours and her mother were evicted. They have left the planet. I doubt you will ever see or hear from her again. Now, about your acceptance into the officer training academy..." The galaxy shifted sights and sounds, resolving into a display of horror. Soldiers assaulted fortified positions on some unremarkable asteroid. The soldiers fought bravely. The soldiers died. Mikhail stretched out a hand. Those were his soldiers, dying like cornered womp rats. He couldn't do anything to save them. Any of them. They died because Senators had ordered them to fight a fight they could not win. They fought anyway. The galaxy distorted again. A bar. Anger, he felt so much anger. An officer made a remark at the bar. "That's the one. The coward, got his whole company killed and didn't have the honor to die with them." He remembered feeling uncontrollable rage... surge of power... the officer flying through a window and falling four stories to his death. Shift. Sith initiate camp, a special kind of hell. Introduction to pain. Shift. Alexis dying with his lightsaber blade through her chest. Loss of sanity. Shift.

The cycle repeated, replaying the worst events in Mikhail's life. The pain felt fresh, as if the events had just occurred. He had survived this, he told himself. He had survived and he would keep surviving. All that agony merged to form a torrent of torment that threatened to drown Shorn. He had never experienced so much pain all at once. He did not know how the body was capable of feeling such incredible pain.

He heard a distant, muffled scream. Was that his voice? Were those his screams? Mikhail fell to his hands and knees on the bridge. His legs ground into the inch or more of snow that coated the ground, but he no longer felt the cold, nor the pain of his rib. All of that paled in comparison to the agony of his mind. The blizzard raged around his nearly prone form, but he did not hear. His fingers curled into the snow, gripping sanity. A series of songs played in his mind. Songs of horror and dread. Songs of a madman.

Pain, Pain, PAIN!

As he sank to his hands and knees, something else happened. He let go of @[member="Jared Ovmar"]. Jared, who had hung suspended above a chasm. A chasm with a drop that seemed to stretch away into eternity. How far was that fall? Ten stories? Fifty stories? A hundred? Jared would fall, reaching maximum velocity around 125-200 miles per hour as he did. The fall would last ten seconds at the most and likely end with a body-breaking collision. After expending all his energy on attacking Shorn's mind, Jared Ovmar's survival did not seem likely. He had ten seconds left to him yet. Ten seconds of unimaginable pain for Mikhail Shorn. And after that....

Nothing.

 

[Arage Bao]

As the Throne-Breaker set him free from his grasp, the Glory-Song fell or maybe he was flying. In the end it mattered not, for the Breaker of Minds was busy performing his art upon his enemy and the last thing that was on his mind was something as trivial as the distinction between falling and flying. He fell and fell, but his mind was not there to witness his fall. Instead it was busying itself wreaking havoc on Shorn’s mind, and it seemed as if it was working.

The stress and weight of Mikhail’s emotion wore him down, forced him on the ground and Jared was there. Jared Ovmar saw everything, and experienced the memories. No secrets were there between them in that one moment of truth. It was a silly notion that the time in the real world mattered when one was considering the art of the mind.

A mere second in the real world, could mean years upon years upon years of agony and torture. This was a truth Jared had experienced himself, and it was a truth he had already exercised upon one of the Sister Queens that was looking at the spectacle just now. So it was that in the realm of the mind millennia could pass in a blink of an eye.

And so… ten seconds passed, while his body was falling and his mind was punishing Mikhail Shorn. How quick did it all pass in Mikhail’s mind? Only he could truly say, the one thing that could be said with certainty… was this.

As ten seconds passed, and Jared’s body hit the bottom of the chasm. It was as if the world itself silenced itself, scared of the repercussion if it would even produce a single tone. The connection between the two opponents faded, and Mikhail’s pain ceased to exist. It fluffed out, almost as if it had never been there to begin with. A curious nature… the mind was, and still something was not quite right. Something… had stayed.

Jared Ovmar, Lord of the Fringe, blinked once and saw the black sky of Rattatak above him. He wanted to stand up, but somehow he could not. It was then that he remembered that his legs were useless to him, his strength was fading away into the nothingness; the void of the Force. Still.. a part lingered and lingered, not yet wishing to let go of the sweet existence that was called Life.

Then he blinked again, and the world changed to him. Instead of the black sky and the cold of Rattatak, it was hot and flames burned him. Where was he? Could it be? The Netherworld… the place where the Sith came, when they finally died.

Did he just see Palpetine being roasted alive? Exar Kun maybe? He was not sure, and neither did he want to know. He wanted to break free from the lies. They were all so self-satisfied, he did not need this. He had to break free. God knows, that he had to break free.
Something tugged at him, at first he was not sure what it was. The Fire it burned him, it wished him to let go of his sanity. Jared blinked again and found him… back at Rattatak?

What was this madness. Had Shorn been a secret mentalist, was this some kind— no. His legs were fine, he could feel them move as he crouched in the snow. Had he not fallen just moments ago? Where was the Netherworld. As he tried to move his hands, and stand up he came upon resistance.

His body did not want to obey him… His body? No, something was off about it. He had never been this short… Then he realized what had happened. Jared laughed, and laughed, and laughed in the mind of Mikhail Shorn. For during the mental assault that he had given the lad, well… it seemed part of his essence had been trapped inside of him. Linked to his mind.

And when his mortal body died, and his essence tried to enter the Netherworld? It seemed it had served as an anchor, to bring him back. Curious.

“Shorny, you there? I think we need to have a little chat about this… situation.”​

​

Then he laughed again. This was going to be fun.​

​

[member="Mikhail Shorn"]​

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Shorn swayed as the mental assault suddenly stopped, leaving him reeling. His mind thought sluggishly and his whole body trembled. He got to his knees and stared up into the white-flecked sky. Exhaustion crept through him. He reached out and could not feel Jared's force presence below. A sudden buzzer sounded over the howl of the blizzards. A camera pod raced toward him. Words appeared on the screen.

"MIKHAIL SHORN IS DECLARED THE VICTOR!"

The Thronebreaker ripped off his helmet and dry-heaved, then he collapsed face-first into the snow. He couldn't move, but EMTs would be on site soon. They would patch him off and get him out of here. Suddenly, Mikhail heard a voice in his head and his stomach dropped out.

"No," he rasped, throat parched and dry. "I killed you."

[member="Jared Ovmar"]