While Azrael did not understand the power hatred could bring to those devoted to the dark side - at least not in an experiential manner, he did recognize the pain, and the rage that flowed through young Sabik. He'd been there, he'd seen the life he had tried to build come crumbling down in front of his eyes. Left to die by a group of scrapyard thugs, while he had to witness the betrothal of his Arkanian love be pledged to a man who had stolen his own hard work and monetary gain as a dowry for the hand of the daughter he had planned to abscond with. It had been years since he really looked back on that day, on what it had meant. In what was one of his darkest hours, Azrael had found the strength to push through the pain, a strength he found in the Mandalorians, even before even meeting one. Now, years later he stood watching the exhausted and desperate youth attempting to push through his own pain, in confronting an enemy of his own making. He wasn't the source of the youth's problems, that much he knew, but it didn't mean either that the consequences of Sabik's actions would be ignored either.
His careful gaze watched the boy scramble in the alley, attempting to right himself after being struck down. Azrael had just gone toe to toe with a Sith Lord, and was standing still. An acolyte was out of his league, challenging the Mand'alor without a proper plan, or adequate training. Yes, he seemed to have some instruction in the Mandalorian's preferred fighting style, but it seemed he was to rely on his own usage of the Force. It was a mistake. Slow clipped steps drew the besk'ar clad warrior towards the scrambling Sabik, keeping the blade at the ready, hovering inches above the street. Azrael had no issue with death, and with killing his opponents - and while he could offer mercy on occasion, when it was spit back in his face, those thoughts were dashed and broken on the rocks of ungratefulness.
"Your allegiance to a Master who cares not whether you live or die is foolishness." Azrael commented, knowing that in a blind rage the boy probably wouldn't process a word he said, and would only further fuel his anger.
"However, if you will serve no worthy cause, than let this be a lesson to you." Footsteps paused in his stride as the saber hilt flew into the youth's hand and his other hand reached out to grasp the raw power of the Force. Fingers clenched on the E'tad Kal, keeping it bay for the next assault. At least for this one he'd be facing it, understanding and prepared that Sabik was about to call on his connection to that mystic energy for some sort of opposition to the Mand'alor. The hues of white and pale blue connecting to his fingertips in arcs that bounced back and forth within the air was a sure sign that he was putting his all into this particular assault, as well understanding that control was far from the boy's grasp.
"So be it."
As the bolt of force lightning came directly at him, Azrael moved not but his left arm, drawing it in the path of the bolt. It curved in air, slamming into the bionic implant and illuminating the metallic structure. Each tendril travelling up and down the appendage, and yet there was no cry of pain. No gritting of teeth or even a hint of the energy going anywhere but that arm. Furthermore, the energy began to dampen and dim before it was fully absorbed into the appendage. An alchemization process done half a year ago, for just such an occasion. Metallic fingertips clenched and unfurled before drawing back down to his side. By that time, Sabik had already fallen unconscious, spent and exhausted by not only his earlier duel, and his current rage induced bout. Once he blacked out, the weapon in Azrael's hand was sheathed once more in it's staff configuration before approaching the body.
"You've forgotten your heritage, adiik - forgotten the honor of the Resol'nare. It's time you remember that the Manda's call is a privilege and a responsibility." Azrael commented, whether or not Sabik could hear the words was irrelevant at this point. The lightsaber once fiercely clenched in Sabik's right hand was slid from the digits and into the Mand'alor's gun belt. This making the second saber he'd taken from a Sith - though this one was less as a trophy, and more of a penance for Sabik to pay. Where he was going, he'd have to learn the hard way what true combat was about. There was so much of himself he saw in this youth, he wasn't about to waste his life on the fact that he couldn't understand that he was being played. It was not honorable to kill a man when he couldn't defend himself - and the Mand'alor sought no reason to end his existence without giving him a proper to chance to learn the lesson he was trying to teach. Rising from the youth, a quick communication was given, and soon two Rally Masters approached the scene.
:: Put him on a bulk transport to Reuss Eight, it's an outer rim system. :: Azrael had
been there before, and he had learned a great deal in his time on that arid rock. Perhaps Sabik might benefit from such an education. He knew it'd be a hard road, but at least he'd be alive. That was more mercy than a
Dar'Manda deserved, but sometimes it was what was needed to get through to someone who was still struggling with his own identity.
[member="Sabik Dhami"]
