What's Mine Returned.

[Darth Caedes]

Chommel Sector;
Naboo - Nemarik City;
[member="Torin Varik"].

Eleven Standard Hours Earlier...




"I suggest you remain at distance, officer."

Although it didn't completely halt the Naboo guard and his wingmen's approach, Nejaa's tone was enough to send a shivering second of hesitation. So much so that he could actually experience them understand who it was they might be facing and altogether discard the hope of surviving this encounter. It wasn't irregular for reports to surface wherein the details of another's faction war were discussed. The presence of the Jedi and Sith alike were known throughout most of the galaxy. Feared by most, hated by the rest. When they were hostile, they were far beyond the collective power of three pistol wielding Nubian royal guards.

Nejaa, adorned in the thickly layered black robes of the Sith, came ever forward in a rapid descent. Two hoods of thin bssk-silk and a third of heavier cotton meant his face was always out of reach. Shrouded by the darkness of a shadow he had created. And under this his face was... moving. Colors changing, all muddled colors of black and grey never one feature remaining for more than a second's time. Before him, finely dressed and handsome human personnel rushed forward, suspicious already of the false information he had fed aerial patron on his entry to Naboo. By the slight color variations, the way he held himself, and the rank insignia on the blonde man's chest, Nejaa could tell he was in charge while the remaining two were of far lesser a breed.

"Identify yourself, sir."
"I needn't announce my presence to you."

Like someone, somewhere, had just pressed a button, each guard raised their gun arm with pistols already in hand. Their fingers itched to pull the trigger, but training taught them to first attempt peaceful enforcement with Jedi... but that was Jedi. This felt different. It didn't break Nejaa's composure, only gave him permission to do the unthinkable. "Move," he demanded, but they insisted on standing like relics before him. Fools sacrificing themselves for literally nothing. No reason. In second protest, the man in charge raised his gun and took aim-- that was enough to invoke violence.

Like a snake striking an unsuspecting rat, Nejaa flew forward and activated the emerald green of his lightsaber, unleashing a blindingly quick swipe. The first sweep took the blonde man's hands, the second his arms just above the elbows, and the third to cut his legs from him and cast him aside with a gust of the force. In matching green bolts, both guard opened fire, fanning out in opposite directions. The officer had fallen to the ground in pieces, Nejaa's blade not enough to cauterize such horrific lacerations. His scream made each guard drop their offensive and hang there in shock. Their shots became sloppy. In one motion, Nejaa's feet whipped round one another and sent him leaping into the air to throw the green blade in simultaneous motion with a second red blade. Both forming colored discs to cut down the remaining two. While the green returned, the red continued its arc and ended only after putting the first out of his misery.

He didn't bother cleaning them up. No one would notice for a while, not here. Nemarik City was one of the leading industries in power. Plasma powered technology, huge generating plants, but surprisingly low security levels. At least, when he had been here last he had observed as much, but that had been years ago. Both blades fell back to his belt where they hooked in to plain sight. He hadn't wanted to kill them, but doing so had sent a thrilling run of adrenaline through his body. He had never feared grunts or gunmen- there were styles to defeat nearly every form of such a combatant. It was only when an opponent was simply stronger in the arts of lightsaber combat could the seven forms be truly exploited for its weaknesses.

Without changing his gate, Nejaa pushed past the entrance doors and into city limits- technically. The Sorin Gate power plant, one of the largest on Naboo, was far from any relevant population; in fact, most of the workers even faced a decent commute from out of city limits. There weren't anymore security personnel inside the humming factory, in fact the interior was nearly entirely composed of service droid employment. Around him, intense stacks of rippling electricity rose in columns, com arrays and telemetry systems lining the back walls. He had a message to send. No one had been given the chance to raise alarm or trigger any kind of chaos, his presence had gone relatively unannounced. He intended to use those terminals to make contact with the Jedi, whichever master yet lived. Each of them asking for one thing: Torin Varik. And each of them expressive desperation, as well as a location marked by coordinates.

Currently...

He had only to wait, now. Perched atop one of the large mechanical obstructions in a sarcastic position near the room's back, Nejaa's eyes remained closed. Attempting to pull on the force, tug on Torin's mind, bolster himself on his padawan's confusion. A padawan who drew ever closer, as indicated by a low whirr of 'approaching vessel' effects a few of the stretched terminals behind him. Nejaa's property was almost here.

Approaching Sorin Gate Plant;
Naboo - Nemarik City;
Freighter Hull.

NPC.

Even in such smooth air, their shuttle kicked and bounced as if under fire. Jedi Master Masaac Keraal, a thick iktochi man with orange to red skin and thick cranial horns attached to either side of his head, stirred silently with the shaking cargo rattling off behind him. He wore the more traditional robes of a Jedi Master, adorned in earthy colors of green and grey-browns. His gaze was marred the disappearance of Naboo's gorgeous landscape and the substituted view of Sorin Gate's less aesthetic plasma plants. One hand held above his head, Masaac clutched a ceiling mounted hold, eyeing his surroundings with a passive sigh. Torin Varik, padawan learner to the order, stood across from him, positioned similarly. Conversation over the roaring boom of engines entering their landing procedures was often impossible, but Masaac tried nevertheless, raising his voice to meet the challenge.

"You look nervous."

Coming from a Jedi, a statement or observation was never just that. There was always another meaning, or a test waiting just around the corner. Masaac's voice was strangely gruesome, rough and without pitch. More so caught in an eternal whisper though somehow always audible. Despite the alien's primary focus in historical rhetoric and Jedi philosophy he had proven himself time and time again as quite the ferocious warrior. A master of the order is a master in all regards.

The previously engaged auto-piloting systems began to turn and position their transport as the whole ship was sucked up and into the power plant's indoor landing rings. Tunnels carved into the ground, large enough to easily fit the cargo fashioned freighter led to under-the-crust landing bays. Coming into Omega Protectorate space hadn't been all too hard even with the potent requirement of secrecy. Masaac's contacts were apparently in plenty as the man had swiftly assembled many numerous methods of entering Naboo unannounced and unseen.

Nejaa's beacon had come from around this location, but the master had long since abandoned the use of technology to seek his quarry. He could feel Nejaa through the force, even without exerting much effort in doing so. The boy's was a wild whirlwind of the force, a tempest of what Masaac naively misunderstood as desperation. The landing craft set down and the wall behind Torin began to slide aside in order to reveal a near empty landing bay. A few central lights lit the underground storage bay, small droids the only signs of movement among the shadows. Parked in spacious corners were the vehicles of those who worked here, in most cases rather luxurious speeder class craft designed for inner planetary travel.

Masaac disembarked quietly, holding a finger over his lip in Torin's direction. In truth, the master had felt torn about his part in this mission. As a lover of history and lore he had quickly taken to the idea of Nejaa's involvement with Jedi prophecy, felt invigorated by it. But he had seen the savage onslaught of Coruscant, Nejaa's fierce battle against the horrid Sith Lord [member="Matsu Xiangu"]. He knew, as each other Jedi knew, that Nejaa's actions could not be made without proper consequence. What anger he had displayed already drove a knife's edge into the Jedi's reputation, showing that they were dangerous and unpredictable. He knew, as more than implied by the council, what his duties were should Nejaa resist a swift redemption. Though no one had said anything in like manner to Torin. To him, this was a rescue mission, an offering of safe haven. His master had finally be found. Surely Nejaa would just return with open arms, thankful to finally be welcomed back into his loving Order.

 

[Torin Varik]

Torin had his eyes fixed forward but not on anything in particular. It was unusual for the Ace to be flying in a ship without piloting it and often invoked anxiety. But it didn't bother him now. His focus was entirely on his thoughts. Surrounding distractions faded to muffled noise as he replayed the horrific scene in his mind over and over again - the whir of a red lightsaber slaughtering the Coruscant crowd. He still could not believe his master was the one wielding it, that Nejaa was capable of such mindless murder. He fought torrents of guilt and frustration at the thought of what they had done to him, what tortures the Sith had force him to endure - tortures Torin could have experienced as well if it weren't for him. Now, he was reaching out the Order for help. The padawan clenched his grip on the metal bar above his head. It had been presented by the Council as a rescue mission. But what were they rescuing him from? What fate would await him on the other side of this? Torin trusted the Order but he wondered how far they would go to send a message.

Master Masaac's deep voice boomed over the white noise, pulling Torin from his thoughts. He shifted, straightening his posture to meet the height of the large iktochi, and looked at him apologetically. "I'm... just not sure what to expect, Master." He paused and looked out as the doors opened to the landing pad of the Nubian power plant. There was solemnity in his tone and in his eyes.

Torin followed close behind the Jedi Master, allowing his eyes to travel the room. There was no sign of the rogue Jedi - no form of transport or SOS message. He called on the force, inquiring if Nejaa was nearby. The answer was delayed but it rocketed back with a darkened and powerful momentum. It was a sickening sensation filled with anger and sadness, guilt and regret. I have a bad feeling about this... Torin thought to himself. He remained silent, awaiting any further developments on the situation from Masaac.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Naboo;
Nemarik City;
Sorin Gate Plasma Plant;
[member="Torin Varik"].

Masaac recognized the man's tone, it was a common one among Jedi. Or, in this case, Jedi in training. To it he gave no answer, only nodded in a brief moment of mutual understanding. For the short remainder of the flight he left his gaze to panorama their smooth metallic surroundings. A hiss sent the shuttle's doors swinging open, shaking both men from their silence and prompting them to move. Despite his almost devilish appearance, the Master always managed social elegance and poise. Even in dropping from the small step to duracrete ground he managed a pleasant smile and bounce. It wouldn't be hard to imagine that very same buoyancy translated into something terrifying in combat. In fact, the charming demeanor was so usual a routine that he no longer had to think about what it was he did. In the time he had sent an almost excited glinting eye round the landing bay he had surveyed every corner for cams, and even most of the parked vehicles- knowing some to be more secure than others, carrying their own video material. It almost came as a surprise to Masaac when his search came up empty, allowing himself to fall back half a step into something more casual. It was not out of concern for Nejaa that he provided this caution, instead, it would wise to know just who it was catching proof of possibly hostile Jedi in Omega space. Nejaa, just as he himself, would use a far more advanced system. Even now, Masaac could nearly feel the beating heart of the youthful Jedi- but what he felt was dark. Angered, vengeful, in a state of unstilted deprivation.

Almost out of unconscious thought the master's hand patted the front of his robes in a somewhat blatant effort to locate his lightsaber. Then, halting, he let his gaze slowly take in Torin's form. Until now he had quickly ushered the idea of Torin's involvement, now he wasn't so sure. He hadn't predicted the burnt welcome which awaited them, Nejaa's fowl odor of twisted black. Or was that Nejaa? It could have just as easily been the woman, Matsu, the victor of a match he hadn't been capable of fully witnessing. "Remain on your guard, I sense there's something... amiss here." With that he began a tireless march forward, moving quickly through shadows and the circularly lit patches dotting them. Even the insides were composed of that same cold, dark metal, a far off but obviously present ticking buzz of large engines. A constant hammer, recoil, and thud atop which rested an erratic, everlasting pulse. Separately, once inside, Masaac added "there's something dark here." Under his breath, almost out of an ear's range he added something about "or someone..." These hallways all looked nearly the same, and as they dove deeper into the interior regions that surrounding noise only became increasingly difficult to ignore. Without sacrificing his swift economy of movement, Masaac turned to Nejaa and spoke as if without the constraint of secrecy- an ordinary tone and volume.

"Torin... what've they told you of Nejaa?"

 

[Torin Varik]

Torin tried to remain focused on the task at hand but his thoughts were heavy - heavy with emotions, memories and questions. The guilt of their presence didn't stop him from analyzing them. He reflected on the dialogue he and Nejaa had shared before their mission on Mygeeto. During their introduction as master and student, Nejaa spoke of his previous master's teachings - how they included the dark side of the force. He recalled the immense flames that Nejaa had called forth on Kashyyyk - a technique Torin had never seen a Jedi perform. All the pieces of his memories were falling together, trying to make sense of who Nejaa really was. But there were too many components missing to conclude that his master had simply fallen to the dark side as the Council suspected. Nejaa may have be unorthodox, brash, and suspicious but he was a Jedi and a good one at that. He saved Torin's life on Kashyyyk and had the courage to stand against such powerful Sith as Matsu and Asterion. Was he so in the wrong for his actions on Coruscant? The force only knows what sort of tortures that dreadful woman had put him through following his capture. The padawan wanted nothing more than to hear an explanation from his master - the whole story, the truth. It was the only way to put his mind at ease. Masaac's sudden movement in search of his light saber caused Torin to do the same. Quickly, he slid his hand to the hilt and watched the iktochi's every move. When no further action ensued, Torin continued, following close behind him, cautious and alert.

The question came from nowhere and held much meaning. He hesitated, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "Admittedly, I know little about him, other what I've observed during our time together." He paused and looked down at his feet. "However, after seeing the footage of Coruscant, I'm beginning to understand what he's capable of... In the beginning of our training, the Council advised that I should exercise caution in his presence, that his recklessness and uncanny power required... control. They alluded that I could offer him something as his student. Something important enough to forego Jedi tradition." His confusion directed at the Jedi Council was transparent. He peered down one of the long hallways they passed by. It seemed to continue forever without end. He continued, almost to himself. "I still fail to see what that something is..." Solemn guilt weighed on his tone. "...I have failed him at every turn."

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Naboo;
Nemarik City;
Sorin Gate Plasma Plant;
[member="Torin Varik"].

It couldn't ever be easy to watch a Jedi Master ripple in caution enough to be mistaken as fear. Though, if Torin did notice the added stiffness, he did little to acknowledge it in his own being. The padawan was strong, physically and mentally, and trained through the militaristic branches of the Jedi Order. Torin's gate was formal out of practice, not concern, his wide shoulders swinging in gradual leaps as he progressed in forward movement. "You're not the first to undergo such a parting of tradition, Torin, though it is a rare scenario." Masaac tilted his head in the padawan's direction, not needing his vision to guide him through the winding hallways and up short flights of stairs or turbolifts. The force told him where to move, and how, brought him closer to Nejaa through the mechanic of fate. "Others before you have been assigned their masters instead of being taken on," he seemed to finish, pitching a sharp left turn. Silence lasted, but only long enough for Masaac to gather his thoughts for another round. His voice never left neutrality, his eyes their regretful glint. It seemed he had no intention of confirming or denying Torin's submitted defeat.

"Nejaa Niynx has parted with tradition in many ways. He has a darkness to him which sets him apart from the others, a power which comes at great cost. But he's always sought shelter under the tutelage of our order, always obeyed our teachings even when forced to struggle. In many ways, the council had believed you might polarize that darkness, balance it with your own connection to the light..."

Masaac trailed off, that diminished timbre betraying the end of his story. In short, it hadn't worked. After seeing the results of Coruscant, what Nejaa had done and the way he had done it. "He's important," Masaac started again, his own feelings pushing themselves to the surface whether or not he gave such permission. "The council believes him to be a part of something ancient, a prophecy, rumored stories of ages past, speaking of an unconventional balance between both light and dark." Masaac, for the first time during his tellings, smiled. "I'm sure he believed himself well concealed, but the council has always been privy to his difference. Always tried to supplement it as best we could, aiding in the natural progression of the light in combat of the ever consuming dark." I'm not sure we've succeeded.

"I fear that darkness has taken him now, perhaps we are what's left standing between him and the precipice to which he glides ever nearer."

 

[Torin Varik]

It was difficult for the padawan to believe what Masaac had disclosed to him. Not because Torin doubted its truth, but because the world of lore and prophecy was never one he was familiar with. His focus, from his youngest years, had been on bettering his skills as a pilot and a bladesman. The teachings he had received as a Jedi up until now were much more tangible and military based. However difficult to believe, the pieces that Masaac had provided fit perfectly into the puzzle that was [member="Nejaa Niynx"].

"I had... no idea," he remarked quietly.

At a loss of words, Torin remained silent for a moment. He took the time to completely digest the information he had just received and concoct more of the right questions to quench his craving curiosity.

"Does Nejaa know about this prophecy?"

 

[Darth Caedes]

Naboo;
Nemarik City;
Sorin Gate Plasma Plant;
[member="Torin Varik"].

The Jedi Master didn't answer quickly, instead taking the full time of three breaths before looking back at Torin. When he did Masaac's eyes carried something just behind their obtrusive shade, the unmistakable mark of conflict. "We believed," then he stopped and corrected himself. "The Council believed it the better option to raise him like any other Jedi, without the burden of a prophecy." Masaac looked hesitant to continue, though for some reason divulged further as if his reservations were more those of orders he hadn't wished to follow. "They didn't trust the prophecy's origin, as it's older than Jedi and Sith both. At least as we know them. It's legend which predates any known oracle, any remnants of the legend itself are found only on the oldest Jedi and Sith artifacts. We of course cannot support anything so openly derived of the dark side, any method of doing so would surely end in Nejaa's alienation." The Master pulled to a stop even in their rush to rescue a fallen friend, holding out a hand as if to give Torin pause as well. When he spoke next it was in mere whispers, as if the walls themselves might report his words to some higher authority.

"Torin, it's important that you know. Every attempt we made, the Order made, seemed only to feed the boy's thirst for darkness and the and the quick answers which could be found there. Definite solutions and the tools to get there. For years I petitioned that The Council at least tell the boy of his origins, his potential, then guide him through it. I was the one who convinced the Council to allow the boy to Knighthood, in an effort to let him teach another, to teach you. To reinforce the structure of the light, to take gratitude in what he had around him. And to give Nejaa the sense of accomplishment."

Masaac's head lifted and swung to one side as if he had heard his name in amidst the silence. The conflict in his eyes hadn't moved from where it was first made visible. The hollow call of everything which Massac had wished to shelter Nejaa from came sweeping through the force. A taunting, insulting belch of syrupy deterrent.

"He's close, I can feel him, this way."




Sorin Gate Plasma Plant;
Fission Chambers;
Nejaa Niynx.

The Jedi carried a stink Nejaa hadn't noticed before, fowl of nature and ruthlessly oppressive. Torin's a musky, dirty smell, overshadowed by the far more seasoned drape of something else. Another, someone far more powerful in the force than Torin and with a certain recognizable pressure. The growing anger which bubbled low along his insides began to disrupt Nejaa's grasp of the force, instead focusing on the cackle of plasma crafted lightning all around him. Thinly whining coils rupturing with raw energy, casting moving light everywhere in the room and lighting Nejaa's face like fire. Over and over his fingers tensed, clenching the cap of his knee or the side of his thigh, anxiety and a growing fury removing comfort and stillness. Time seemed to move as if mocking him, allowing him to feel the proximity of his enemies without cutting into them. Until he could even hear the incoherent chatter of their voices under the grumble of static and just beyond the large doors set to the wall opposite Nejaa. Like a caged Nexu the muscles in his body clawed and raised high, back arched and eyes feral in their intent to end life.

In an instant the doors opened by sliding in on themselves and the shadowy figures of two slid inside. Nejaa was already in the air, animated by a gruesome scream meant to shatter both Jedi at once with a power made frenetic by the force. The crimson red of Nejaa's blade snapped to life just before he threw it with enough momentum to knock his balance from him. The blade whirled in its pursuit of the larger body, the stolen blade shrieking with its new master. Masaac's blade lit and fit to a guard quicker than either Nejaa or Torin had the eyes for, slapping the red blade aside and sending it sputtering to the ground. Blade deactivated and the noise of metal on metal clinked once, twice, then not at all. Gravity payed no mind to the weapon as invisible hands pulled and yanked giving it rise and sending it back to Nejaa. Lining the back end of the room were stretched bulk heads wherein resided the central stabilizing machinery for the plasma plants main engines. Pillars lined like chess pieces which almost touched the ceiling but for a few honest feet, hairy with wires and protruding nobs and tabs.

"Nejaa stop! We wish you no harm!"

Nejaa didn't respond other than to once again send the crimson blade crackling to life. He had landed on one such tech-pillar, mercilessly taking hold of the surely expensive industrial machinery and letting it serve as a hand hold so that he might lean off the pillar at an angle. The glowing weapon hung at his side, a roughness in him exposed by the blood stain of a Sith's lightsaber.

"Masaac."

 

[Torin Varik]

There was a sense of desperation in the iktotchi's voice and his alien eyes bore through Torin as he spoke. He needed the padawan to know that the council's intention for Nejaa was righteous, that his intention was righteous. It was as if he were apologizing for a result that had not yet happened. It was true that what Nejaa displayed on Coruscant was not in the best interest of the Council. But there was no proof yet that they had failed him or that he had fallen from the light. Torin almost felt flattered that the Council held his connection to the light side of the force in such high esteem as to trust him with such a task. But why didn't they tell him the nature of his task instead of hiding the truth from both of them? Why didn't they tell Nejaa? How did they not foresee that their secrecy would backfire on them in such a way? Before Torin could respond, something perked the master's attention and they continued.

They moved hastily in concentrated silence. The tight corridors they had been traveling through convened to a set of doors which opened to a grand room lined with dozens of power couplets and machinery. Huge tendrils of coiling electricity twitched on either side of the walkway that lead to the core. However, there was little time for observation before a furious but familiar cry, so loud it could be heard over the roar of machines and sparks, rang out from above. A crimson blade followed suite flying through the air and spinning wildly in their direction. Before Torin could even activate his own light saber, Masaac had deflected the oncoming attack with ease.

It wasn't until the hilt of the wayward blade twitched to life and shot back into its owners hand did Torin realize who the attacker was. The unsteady blue glow of the electricity in combination with the red glow of the blade cast a purple light onto the familiar face of his master. Like a creature, he clung to the tech-pillar, sneering at the jedi pair below. It was all wrong. All of it. The way he looked at Torin, at Masaac. The way he held this new crimson blade. The tone of his voice as he said the jedi master's name. This wasn't suppose to be who Nejaa was, this wasn't suppose to be how they found him. Relief and delight were suppose to be felt at the sight of his master alive and well. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps Nejaa hadn't recognized them. Perhaps he had thought that they were the Sith hunting him and had attacked out of fear. The padawan's mind clung to these thoughts, fiercely searching for reasons for them to be true. He dropped from his fighting stance and lowered his blade, de-activating his lightsaber.

"We are not your enemy, Master! We've come to help you!"

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Sorin Gate Plasma Plant;
Fission Chambers;
Nejaa Niynx.

Nejaa thought to smile, wanted to laugh and point. He had to fight the urge, wrinkling into a hideous gesture of ill faith. As if re-evaluating and coming to the decision that these before him, these Jedi, weren't worth is caution. He relaxed his muscles and let his body sag in relaxation, enunciating his seething words with flippant whips from the crimson, humming blur. "Do you think it's cute?" Torin fell from his vision and instead he spoke to Masaac. Apparently Nejaa had regained full control of his hatred and directed a glare lethal enough to puncture those more feint of heart. Flecks of dark gold, bloodshot reds and a glazed over pain glowed from within expanded irises. The dark side made manifest, the Jedi were taught, a Sith's eyes- the eyes of the sick. "Look how weak minded you've made him, he practically begs for death." Realizing that he couldn't properly embody the physically expressed hatred he felt in his current position, Nejaa dropped haphazardly. The thud of his landing was made silent by the thick coils of plasma generated lightning. "Alllways wanting to help--" His tone spiked, and Nejaa broke into silence, instead lifting his fingers in a clawed grip, calling, screaming to the force to crush Torin's airways. Close everything, completely, absolutely.

"Well I don't need your help!! I don't want your help, Jedi--!!"

Hissing and hollering, Nejaa raised his blade in challenge of the already moving Masaac. His green blade weaving arcs round his thick body, the clear beginnings of a powerful suresu technique. Even so, Masaac's approach was too fast ignore, forcing Nejaa to drop Torin from the incorporeal albeit somewhat temporary fist-clench assaulting his ability to breath. "Weak, you're all weak! Can't you see it?" An idea, an obvious revelation "I'll make you see it-" No sooner had Nejaa spoken than chirping, sizzling blast of lightning ripped and coursed in the air around him. Massac's blade rose to block an onslaught it had no hope in defeating, and the master was sent hurtling backwards, lightsaber ripped from his grasp and from any attempts he made at reclaiming it through the force. Nejaa had claimed it already, prematurely yet indefinitely. Masaac's body slammed hard into the blackened metal of closed blast doors, thick four chambered, crude machinations. For a second the attack looked like it might have killed the master, the man's figure limp and without life, but he eventually twitched and from there rose shakily.

"Hello Torin."

Masaac was no longer worth Nejaa's concern, broken for the moment, and he longed to tear holes through his former padawan with but words. Raising the blade towards Torin and waiting for him to recover an attack Nejaa could easily repeat. The other hand gripped for the second handle, Masaac's, activating it once more as his possession and pressing green to red in a hissing, squealing X, moving in on his prey.

"Nejaa, stop this! Think of--"
"Silence old man, your presence here is irrelevant."




"Tell me Torin... how will you help me?" "Torin--" "Let the boy speak,"
Nejaa made a motion to Masaac as if he had any say in the matter, spitting as he spoke and letting his skin move and writhe. Letting the pure beige-tan of his human's flesh grate away to reveal the grey, dead, scarred and melted flesh of something else. "Look at me, all the damage is already done. There's nothing you can help with, there's nothing you could ever help with. While you watched and ignored... I helped myself." Nejaa's body wound and unwound, spinning round like a blender and unleashing a blindingly precise volley of strikes and slashes at Torin, lethal if not defended against for sure. He would tear down Torin and Masaac both without mercy provided they displayed weakness enough to allow it. No student bond dulled the loathing in Nejaa's attacks, to either Jedi present.

 

[Torin Varik]

It should have been so clear that Nejaa was not on their side anymore. His emanating rage and aggressive arrogance should have been obvious. But Torin didn't want it to be so. He didn't want to hear the hate, so he only heard the pain, the desperate pleas that hid behind his master's words. He didn't want to believe that yet another Jedi, another friend, had fallen to the dark side. He want to help him, to save him from his twisted intensions. He had the words to answer but they would not reach him.

Because his breath was gone.

Suddenly, invasively, horrifically, his esophagus clamped shut. Denying him breath, let alone words. There were not words for this. This was wrong. No one should ever have to experience this. Instinctually, the padawan's hands dropped the light saber in their grasp and grappled around his throat with great difficulty. Adrenaline fattened the veins that framed Torin's face and neck. His eyelids pulled back in fear and his month hung slightly askew, unable even to gasp. The room around him began to close in on his from the edges of his vision. He couldn't even feel his feet lift from the ground. Then a rush of air filled his lungs and he dropped, a couple feet further than he would have if he were just standing. The electricity that screamed around him suddenly became overexposed and he squinted. He buried his face in his arm as Masaac was struck with a blast so tremendous, it created a deep rumble.

The padawan pulled himself from the ground and onto one knee. All the while wheezing in heavy gasps, taking comfort in the feeling of air in his lungs.

"Hello Torin."​

​

"N-ja..." A cracked voice struggled through swollen vocal chords. Heavy eyes glanced up at the approaching figure. Everything was still blurry, almost nauseating.

"Tell me Torin... how will you help me?"​

​

Torin steadied his vision and glared up, this time into the boy's eyes, piercing them with his own. A pained scowl contorting his handsome features. He tried to respond again but doubled over and coughed instead. Nejaa drew nearer, and as he did, the unbelievable fluctuation of his skin became more and more real. In an instant, the face Torin recognized as Nejaa's was not what stood before him. What stood in his place was an alien, a Changeling. Barely recognizable due to the devastating texture of the scared skin. Torin's eyes remained fixed on Nejaa's. They were still the same, they were recognizable. They may have looked different. But they held the same spark.

"Look at me, all the damage is already done. There's nothing you can help with, there's nothing you could ever help with. While you watched and ignored... I helped myself."​

​

"You're wrong..." His response was rough but definite. With the help of the force, he pulled his light saber hilt to his hand and activated the blade milliseconds before Nejaa's red and green sabers crashed down on him. He skillfully redirected the attack to the ground and maneuvered away at an angle. The padwan barely deflected the remaining strikes before their blades locked together.
"You're not damaged. You're not ignored." He pushed back, leveraging his weight for a quick swipe before retreating. "You're... just a victim of your fate." The last words trailed off in a melancholy tone as the truth of Masaac's warning, the Council's warning, set in.
"Are you really ready to throw away everything you've fought to protect? And for what? Power?" He pressed the questions on his master, demanding an answer. He kept his blade long across his body, the best defense Ataru could provide with just a touch of Nejaa's own Soresu style.

"There's good in you, [member="Nejaa Niynx"]. The Sith can't take that from you..." He still wanted to help his fallen master. And he would try, until he couldn't.

 

[Darth Caedes]

Sorin Gate Plasma Plant;
Fission Chambers;
Nejaa Niynx.

"What do you know of power, padawan."

It was so like the Jedi to assume they knew what was best. That they were doing the right thing, their version of some justice. Nejaa loved the artful play of sabers, the way he kept his inferior opponent alive and in so doing proved that he was still the master. Nothing had changed. "What do you know of anything? The ways of the force, it's calls and demands--" "You're not fooling anyone, Niynx." In an instant, Nejaa gaze fell past Nejaa. There, against the back wall and amidst a thick score of charred duracrete, was Masaac. The master moved with a surprising spring, achieving an easy standing posture and reactivating his lightsaber's green blade. Nejaa could feel his insides curdling, boiling and fuming. He could feel his fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade, that insatiable twitch in his wrist. "You were never ignored, at no point was the Order unconcerned with your disappearance. For months we've been searching, scouting for any realistic method of--" "Realistic!?" Oh, Nejaa loved that, yet he was unable to gloat. Masaac was quickly regaining his composure, brushing his uniform back out and assuming another combative stance.

"You know nothing of the dark side, what it's capable of, the terrible things I've seen and felt. I can't... no one can come back from that and not want to destroy it. I have seen it, I've seen what awaits the Republic... you have no idea, Torin."

"We have always found a way Nejaa."

"And while you soul search on that, I've found the answer... I no longer require your... wise words. Alone I can kill dozens. I've met their swarms by myself and cut through them without fail. I've managed a power no Jedi can achieve, don't try and stop me, or tell me it's wrong. I can do what the Jedi have been failing to do for years, you have no right to oppose me."

It was clear Nejaa was done talking. Already he had taken a few steps forward, dropping his posture back into an aggressive neutral. Both lightsabers began to spin, then levitate, the second blade reactivating, wielded by the force like drunken defensive disks of light. Each swung in the air without severing their master, waving in a strobing, whirring daze behind him and to his side. He had given Torin time to catch up but Masaac needed to die now. Only then could he play with his new toy. Lead by a winding foot fall, Nejaa leapt into the air and spun round on himself, arms extending into fists which let loose a twisting combination of lightning and fire both, slithering and blasting towards Torin's barren defensive stance. He could feel Masaac's energy spike, the force within him welling to a fine point then projecting outwards, his arm raising and-- "thuhh." Nejaa's gut crushed in concavity just before his body was cast wildly backwards, thrown backwards and down the narrow corridor of plasma conductor towers. Nejaa didn't land well, though he tried as best he could to augment his fall with the force, calling on its manifestation of agility to come hard down on his hip instead of his head. The blades which had whirled round him only a second ago fell and scuttled to the ground, their blades once again deactivating to become the lifeless object.

Only after the attack was landed did Masaac allow the first signs of fatigue to show, letting his breath finally release into a massive bellow and relaxing his lightsaber guard so that his arm may lay at his side. He hadn't the time to both defend against the padawan and make the attack, so he had chosen only one-- Torin would have to defend himself, as was the case with many Jedi learners accompanying their masters in the Order. A moment of conflict ran across Masaac's face, then he chose to aid his companion rather than press the offensive, moving quickly to Torin's aid and setting up another defensive stance in front of the young human. It would be a battle better fought with friendship than alone, if such terms were to be forcibly struck.

 

[Torin Varik]

There was no place for Torin to participate in the argument at hand. He could only struggle to catch his breath and prepare for the inevitable next attack. Even if he could contend, he wouldn't know what to say. In fact, he wasn't even sure what to do at this point. From this moment forward, if he hoped to survive, every decision and action had to go against everything the padawan believed in. His own master was forcing him to fight for his life. The grief of his failure, the Order's failure, weighed heavy on him. What worth did he have as a Jedi if he could not even save one friend from the dark side? As Masaac distracted the changeling, Torin forced himself to push aside his emotions and focus on the situation at hand. He took advantage of the opportunity and stole a quick look around. With the new development of Nejaa's lightning sorcery, he and Masaac were at an obvious disadvantage being surrounded by giant power converters. Neither Jedi would last long against that kind of power. They would either need to find a way to shut down the power source, move to a different location, or deal with Nejaa quickly.

Nejaa's apparent premeditation of the location made Torin sick to his stomach. It became obvious as soon as they walked through the door that he was planning all this from the start. It was a brilliant place for the fallen Jedi to set a trap for his prey. However, if they could lure Nejaa to a more advantageous position, perhaps they could gain the upper hand. If Torin could use his master's ramped emotions to further cloud his judgement, perhaps the Jedi could set their own trap.

As Nejaa leapt into the air once again a bright flurry of blue and red - flames and electricity - raged toward the padawan. Torin leaped forward and tucked into a roll to avoid getting burnt to a crisp. The blast struck the ground where he once stood with a loud burst. Using the momentum from his roll, Torin gracefully rose to his feet directly into a fighting stance. To his surprise, Nejaa was not continuing his attack but, rather, he was on the ground sloppily struggling to collect himself several meters away. Only a moment later, Masaac was at his side. The sight of the Jedi master was both comforting and impressive after he had taken such a hefty blow. Torin hadn't been allowed the luxury of being concerned about the iktochi but he was certainly glad to see that he was alright. "I... I understand now..." His melancholy tone reflected on his handsome features. His attention was promptly drawn back to the battle at hand as Nejaa stirred and he raised his saber. "Our position is far from opportune, master. I suggest we re-evaluate." The padawan spoke loud enough only to reach his close range companion over the scream of electricity and machinery that surrounded them.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Sorin Gate Plasma Plant;
Fission Chambers;
Nejaa Niynx.
[member="Torin Varik"]

It felt like pounds of bricks hitting him at once, everywhere, through his body. Masaac's mastery of the telekinetic force had always been talked about, though he had never seen it, or felt it. Until now, despite Nejaa's many interactions with the strange alien he hadn't stood across from the man with in the ring of combat. Never once had they expressed hostilities, Nejaa had always sought the master out for his refreshing attitude. Always pleasant and complimentary, reminding Nejaa of his pertinent power in pair with the ungodly responsibility it tolled. He spoke words Nejaa didn't expect to find coming from a Jedi's mouth, and now he was crushing him in desperate attempts. Nejaa tried to scream, the only outlet he could think of for the spite he felt now, though all that came out was a weakened groan. Then, rapidly after, a more desperate groan. Already Nejaa had the master's weapon, soon too would he have his life. "Ffff--" He tried, grasping for anything he could use to help in once again standing. "Fffiltthy Jedi," he finished, his voice changed, unaltered by any changeling trait, but by the darkness itself. Dual tones, a common twin note signature of the clawdite species, became now deeply distorted. Cracked down the middle, so that rang higher than the other, a boy's voice and that of something so much more evil. A low, gravel tone.

Nejaa leveled his stare towards the Masaac, the thick man was breathing hard!? All that power, everything he had felt, all unleashed at once and at one target. Nejaa had to wonder if many other masters carried with them this much power. Even if it only protected him, a meager attempt to just stay alive. Nejaa's knuckles cracked as each hand bound tighter and tighter into fists, the force running from him in fowl hordes. Permeating the air and distorting it like heat against desert sand, a gas leak of negative energy. Both lightsabers were left behind him as if they no longer mattered. Some of the injuries he had sustained from Kashyyyk's new vong inhabitants had re-opened, wounds he had received only weeks earlier, though which now drew fresh blood. Blue green, murky blood. And then in an instant, his skin stopped moving, stopped gyrating along the color scope and took one, far more familiar image. Human, Nejaa Niynx, but the blood remained the same.

"You have nothing, old man. Your weapon is gone, your order is fading. You may try to stay with us, to stay alive, but you're only prolonging the inevitable."

"I don't think so."

Masaac's cool civility stoked the fire which cooked Nejaa's very bones, the soul of all his anger. What confidence could he draw upon, what hope did he even delude himself with. If Nejaa's opponents would but die when set against his blade, Nejaa would prove that the force through him made manifest powers neither before him could mimic. "You don't think so?" It sounded like Nejaa was accepting a challenge, though one made out of the irrationality of boiling insanity. "I know so, and I'll show you." Finally unclamping his bawled up fingers, the boy raised his arms to reach out at the pillars, gathering their energy. Bolts of crackling lightning reached forth from the plasma conductors, untapped energy in unregulated amounts, calling it was like calling another kind force in and of itself. Confidence grew Nejaa, the arrogance of his sneer giving away just how unafraid he was, and Masaac used this as his weapon. Another wall of stone, invisible yet felt, smashed against Nejaa's front side, kicking him hard in the gut and sending him backwards once more. Static energy dispersed around him as his concentration broke and he bent forward in pain, even while the burst didn't break him from standing.

Filthy animal. How dare you. How fething dare you. Landscape itself bent, the panels of metal began to cripple and bend in on themselves. Sparks dashed about as machinery was ruined. Alarms sounded only long enough to debut, their systems and hardware crushed seconds later. Even the plasma which coiled in their surroundings began to sputter and belch. Purple lengths of electric wire snapped out in lethal attempt to disintegrate the human and iktochi prisoners. Some shattered, gaped then exploded into purple-green fire only to dissipate in a breath's time, the metal workings underneath burnt and covered in black soot.

"YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME!"

In one wild motion, Nejaa kicked his arms back up and grabbed at the lightsabers through the force, hurling them both at Masaac. Rage controlled them, activated their blades and transformed them into predatory, buzzing disks. He screamed a scorching heat and let fire sing from his kicks, waves of blue, then bright red and orange, then a cool, ghostly white. Enough to tear apart the room, sink teeth into the walls and rip holes through them so as to permit vision into other plasma bays. Other rooms wherein it appeared the same chaos roamed, electrical fires, and broken machinery. The dark side's omnipotent corruption proving that not only mortal life was subject to its terms-- those who wielded the dark side of the force with enough power could accomplish anything. It was the pathway to power and possibilities, a step towards evolution: destruction, burn to ashes, rebuild. The padawan was to live, to remain Nejaa's, and his alone, to suffer where he wanted to make all Jedi suffer. To tear apart in all the ways he had ever wanted, a perfect exploitation of such a controlled mind.

 

[Torin Varik]

The voice that emerged from the changling was horrifically unrecognizable and drenched in hatred. Raw emotion, made manifest by the force, flooded from his existence and saturated the room. His power, the power of the dark side, was daunting. It was overwhelming and all-consuming. It made Torin's skin crawl and his stomach churn. It twisted his mind and taunted his thoughts, finding any doubt lying within them and exploiting it.

You may try to stay with us...

What did he mean by that? It almost seemed to imply that he was planning on killing Masaac, or at least trying, but perhaps not Torin? At least, not yet. Or, by "us," was he referring to someone else entirely? A hidden adversary awaiting the opportune time to ambush them. There was little time to read any further into it as Nejaa's attacks came hurling in the direction of the Jedi. They may have been directed at the Jedi master but their area of effect nearly enveloped the large room. When faced with a bombardment of flames, what was a padawan to do but get burned? There was nothing he could do, no way he could help Masaac. Or Nejaa. He was helpless, out of control, and overwhelmed. In an instant, memories of that very same feeling in Coruscant space stabbed at him.

You are weak...
Your Order is fading...
Your master has turned against you...
You have failed...
You have nothing...

Torin gripped the hilt of his saber so tightly, his knuckles turned white. His brow furrowed into an intense line atop his hazel eyes. They blazed with purpose and strong will. He would not fall victim to this death as he had not so many times in the past. He would not give up and give in to the darkness that rapped on door of his mind. He would fight for what he knew was right. He would fight for the Republic and for the Order as long as it stood. Although it pained him that his master did not see things the same way any longer, he held hope that the truth of the light would find him again as it did with all those who have been touched by it.

In a violent burst of movement, Nejaa's light sabers were flung forward and toward Masaac. His rage set ablaze room after room after room, ravaging the environment with hot flames until there was nothing but chaos. Masaac's efforts were impressive. But Torin could tell he was growing weak. And when pitted against power like this, he would need all the support he could get from the padawan. Torin may not be able to bring himself to fight Nejaa to the death nor was he powerful enough to try. But he could do his best to defend. Moving swiftly forward, Torin hurled his own light saber and guided it with the force so that the blade would boomerang around Masaac and into the red blade which in turn flew into the green one. He risked loosing all three blades but it was worth it. Then, stopping beside Masaac, he channeled all the strength he could possibly muster and fired a blast toward the brunt of the flames hoping to disperse them enough to avoid serious damage to the two Jedi.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]