Tag:
Renji
Arris Windrun
Calyx Sundrift
Seris Velmora
Vulcan Zambrano
Veyla Tass
Astra Sadow
Darth Strosius
Isobel Serraris
Varin was an easy one to read, his passion betrayed him readily. His muscles tensed in ways only an apex predator's did before a kill, his eyes narrowed slightly in contempt.
Varin was a muscle, and the
Sith Covenant was the arm, when they moved,
Varin moved. Muscles were easy, they were predictable. They didn't have the freedom of some of the more uncontrollable facets of the body, or the Sith in this case.
Like the
Neti Sith Master who had thrown the parasol in an attempt to catch the Sith Acolyte off guard.
Madrona A’Mia
was the type of chaos that was
deadly, introduced at the right time to cause a rift in everything around it. Exactly like
Arris had said.
The same cybernetic eyes refused to look away from
Varin Mortifer
as he spoke.
Drakul prepared himself for the defense. He figured the
vain attempt at a monologue would give way to action soon enough. What he
hadn't prepared for was the parasol. Not because it was hidden, not because it was fast, but because he was looking at the wrong threat.
The realization came a fraction of a second too late. The threat entered the edge of his vision, and instinctively,
Drakul shot out a hand to stop the projectile with the Force. However, that moment was the exact moment
Varin decided to launch his attack. The first push of the Force was easy enough to dodge, he had been preparing, but in that moment,
Drakul lowered his guard and the parasol made contact, the tip going
cleanly through the flesh of his palm.
Varin's kick landed next, and the impact sent
Drakul reeling into the collection of discarded droids behind him. Blood streamed from his face, the unblinking cybernetic eyes still staring at the other Acolyte.
"Demoralize." The Sith growled under his breath as he reached for the embedded foreign object in his palm. With a wet slip, the sunshade slipped out,
dark blood immediately followed, pulsing between his fingers.
Pain was secondary, it always was when dealing with Sith. They were pack animals, and the first to show weakness was the first to get
slaughtered. Not even a wince betrayed
Drakul's expression, though internally he was screaming in agony.
First, was assessment. The Sith only broke his gaze on
Varin to briefly look at his hand. The point had entered through the palm between the third and fourth metacarpals.
Fortunate. A centimeter to either side and the damage would have been considerably more irritating.
He flexed his fingers experimentally.
Index finger.
Middle finger.
Ring finger.
Little finger.
Delayed response, intact sensation.
Good, tendons remained functional. The nerve had survived.
Realizing he would be fine, the Sith took his attention back to
Varin. He wasn't angry at the Acolyte, he was simply a muscle, and muscles had reflexes.
Drakul would have done worse if he thought it benefited him in the slightest. No,
Varin was of no concern to
Drakul in the long run. The rage that burned through his veins and now spilled on the ground below was focused at himself. At the sinew that betrayed him, at the blood vessels that were wasted, at the bones that could snap and break easily.
He hated himself- more than
Varin, more than the
Neti.
Himself.
The imperfect version of him that still broke. He would rectify that in time, but for now, he needed to get up.
"Demoralize." He whispered to himself again.
As he had removed the object from his hand, he had felt the heat radiating from the droid
Varin had so eloquently destroyed moments ago. The fire still burned inside it, wires and circuits creating black smoke.
Drakul took a deep breath in, focusing on the
Dark Side and the power that it gave him, and in the next second, he put his weight down on the droid with his bloodied hand.
The immediate sizzle of flesh and blood sounded over the battle around them. The same smile adorned
Drakul's face, this time it had blood dripping down his yellowed teeth. His mechanical jaw whirring as the wound finished cauterizing.
When the Sith stood again, the lesson
Varin wanted to teach him was finally learned.
"Demoralize." Drakul said louder this time, the disdain tangible in his tone.
The Arkanian stood to his whole height, still short of
Varin, but he refused to slouch for a half-blooded
Epicanthix. If
Drakul still believed flesh was strength, he would have felt
demoralized, he would have felt like giving up against the Sith.
Unfortunately for
Varin,
Drakul was impressed, but not afraid.
He took two steps forward, his palm still twitching from the wounds, or so it would seem, but
Varin was not the only one able to beguile an enemy. In truth,
Drakul was planning his riposte, sharp pieces of shrapnel moving silently from the heap behind the other Acolyte.
"Interesting, you speak of butchers and surgeons, but you haven't the qualifications to be either." Animosity and blood coated each word like poison.
Drakul spit to the ground, part of a tooth hitting the floor as his palm twitched once more, this time into a fist.
The Arkanian bit through the pain, his fist shooting the shrapnel toward the
overcompensated muscles in Varin's shoulders.
His other hand extended, sending the same droid he had used to cauterize his wound hurtling toward the
Sith's weakened leg.
Bodies adapted, bodies compensated, bodies lied.
But never
perfectly.
They never truly forgot.
Drakul intended to remind it.
Drakul
