The Forger

Karok had completely countered him. He'd fully intended to cut up the worm for parts, even if he wasn't able to kill the Gen'dai, but Firrerreo had been outplayed. A Sith Sword was supposed to be able to cut anything, much like a lightsaber. But only on the edge. Turning the lighting the Firrerreo had put in his blade into a trap to capture the sword was genius, pure and simple. If the Provost hadn't interrupted, hadn't cut the raid short, the boy knew it was going to end up his loss.
His lightning and his sword were the only things he could've used to win, and he certainly didn't know how to use those sparks properly yet.
So he needed to learn more. He stood in the training hall, dressed mostly in the finery of the First Cohort. Even the mask was worn, if only because it wasn't hard for people to know he was the one behind the raid. Notoriety was important, but so was anonymity. Looking back, it would've been smarter to hide his face. Ah well. Again he raised his hand, unleashing a spark of lightning for his target. And again his fingers blacked.
Firrerreo didn't wince, but he did lift his hand as he started to flex the now charred digits. They healed fairly quick, practically shedding the singed parts. It was worse before, where it'd taken a whole day for his fingers to heal. But he was getting better at not burning himself. Sort of. He let out a sigh before he lowered his hand to let it heal, and raised the other to send another shock. Again his fingertips blackened, but it wasn't as bad. He was getting the hang of it.
For now.
