Ascension

[Darth Prazutis]

​Iron Mountainshttp://th09.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2013/239/5/a/misty_mountains_by_tavenerscholar-d5opl3e.jpg, Panatha
​Fort Zambranohttps://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-medi...l_progressive,q_80,w_800/18j1x1fnb84jljpg.jpg...

​​Gelezis Dotsa they called it.

​In the tongue of the Sith the words meant "Iron Curtain", to the common people it was called Kaine's Wall. Fort Zambrano descended like an iron curtain right over the mouth of the only safe passage into the harsh and unforgiving Iron Mountains wide enough to send an sized force of troops through. Furthermore it was the only known safe passageway that one needed to take in order to reach the towering mountainous citadel of of Vain Hollow, the monolith peak occasionally visible through the misty mountains on a good day even from the outskirts of the chain. To those ignorant of the truth who approached Kaine's Wall the great structure was quite deceiving. They could only see the many turrets that sat on its peak aimed toward the sky to bring down fighters, the auto grid of defense turrets that trailed all newcomers. But there was one sight that gave insight through the walls deception.

​The guards.

​There was only one united force of warriors who stood guard, patrolled the battlements and moved about the area in pristine formations. These were a core of elite warriors whose names were spoken in hushed whispers across the galaxy. They were barbarous butchers who carved a name for themselves as some of the most well known jedi and mandalorian killers across the galaxy, the sight of their familiar black armor striking fear into the hearts of those who opposed them: the Blackblade Guard. Fort Zambrano stood as the demonic legions headquarters and the bulwark from which they would fight until their last dying breath in defense of their masters. From the hidden sprawling compound both behind and within the mountains around it, carved deep into the earth. These soldiers lived, trained, and fought together.

​Darth Prazutis, Arch-Prince of the Panathan Empire strolled right through these sacred, restricted halls. The Sith Lord wore a set of ornate black and gold robes its hood pulled down. The familiar sight of the dark crystal sat in an amulet around his neck and the unique house signet ring signifying the Arch-Prince sat on his finger. The goliath walked unchallenged through the normally busy halls now quickly cleared as these butchers swept to the edges, providing salutes and gestures in fealty to one of their lords approaching. But at his side strode another individual whose size eclipsed even the Destroyer: @Malok. The great ma'alkerrite stood every bit the savage he represented clad in armor powerful muscle concealed by thick fur visible only in certain areas.

But Malok didn't carry himself like the goon, the savage ape that others in ApeX might have. The ApeX walked tall an radiating aura around him, a menacing intellect visible through the gleam in his amber eyes. In the aftermath of Kaeshana and the test he set for ApeX Braxus liked what he saw, in fact Malok impressed him in some areas for his creative thinking and adapting on the fly. In its aftermath Malok even revealed his knowledge of the test the Sith Lord set up. So the Destroyer extended his hand to the great ape giving him the chance of a lifetime, and a gift greater than anything of monetary value: Ascension. Malok would fulfill his potential under the Sith Lords careful guidance, shaping the savage and undisciplined ape into a reaver of death, a master of the dark void of the force.

In return Malok pledged his loyalty but there was something different to it all. The roles of master and apprentice were understood but Malok would not be required to bow and scrape at the feet of his master. Malok would respect and defer to his master in all matters except those in relation to his ApeX company. It was a complex and understood relationship between the two, and just the kind that the Destroyer would need for him to truly succeed. The beginning of a long journey started here at Fort Zambrano. In its beginning he brought Malok here quite early in the morning to train with the elite Blackblade Guardsman, but it served a dual purpose.

​Braxus led his apprentice through the bright metallic halls gesturing with his hand, a brief application of the force pulling a door barring them aside. Inside the pair found a smaller somewhat intimate, and Spartan sparring chamber unlike the various large ones designed for groups. A pair of soldiers stood in the center facing one another, briefly turning to pound fists to their chests in a show of fealty to the Arch-Prince before beginning to fight. "Do you know why I've brought you here?" ​Braxus asked watching the two soldiers fight with such poise, a careful precision and discipline in their honed and wholly unique techniques. "You might learn the techniques of the Blackblade this is true, but that is not the purpose." He pointed as one of the guards overreached in his punch, just a smidge too far.

The other man immediately countered connecting his forearm to the inside of the overstretched fist tossing it aside, a crushing knee came in to his stomach before he hooked him and dropped him swiftly to the floor. The whole sequence as if they were two poised snakes ready to strike none too eager, waiting for the killing blow and holding the discipline to see the light. "Discipline. The Force is complex and not easily understood. As you learn the force you will need both discipline and patience in order to learn and achieve success particularly in the dark side. Much of the powers you will learn require the perfect execution, and the correct technique to do so, failure to do so is often...tragic."

 

[Darth Metus]

Even the Ma'alkerrite knew of the Blackblade Guard.

Amidst the damp stones and musty air, a younger Malok sat prisoner. His brother, the elder, had seen fit to deprive his sibling of everything. His comforts. His happiness. The very light of day were torn away in an instant. In those days, Malok could not even regard the passing of time - for there was no sun. There was...no sound. All that stood between the Behemoth and utter madness were precious moments. The coming and going of footsteps outside his door...the gossip of guards...those little things kept Malok Malok.

And amongst the whispers he clung to so tightly were tales of the Blackblade Butchers.

You see, Ma'alkerr was a world situated a stone's throw away from Mandalore. And as such, any plight of the warrior race echoed into the Ma'alkerrite daily life. With every clash against the Sith Empire...with every casualty scored by the Blackblades, a new tale was told. With every tale, Malok clung ever-tightly to his sanity...And now, he was going to witness them firsthand. Years and years in the future - the present - the Behemoth had emerged fresh from the battle over Kaeshana.

He and his band of warriors, ApeX, had stood alongside the First Order in their battle against the Galactic Alliance. And although the political outcome hung in the balance, there was one certain result. Malok had passed an unspoken test. [member="Darth Prazutis"], a literal Destroyer of men and world alike, had seen fit to accompany ApeX into battle. Malok, at the time, was perceptive enough to know one thing: a man of such Magnitude did not accompany mercenaries without a good reason. Therefore, he deduced that the battle was an examination.

And Malok had passed.

Perhaps it was his brief battle against the Remnant's "emperor".

Perhaps it was his mind for tactics.

Whatever the case was, an accord was struck between Behemoth and Destroyer. An understanding through which knowledge...and power...would be gained through submission. Malok would find his ever-growing appetite sated by the teachings of the Zambrano noble, and in return Prazutis would begin cultivating a very fine weapon. A weapon loyal to the banner of Panatha. Thus had the men journeyed from the aftermath of Kaeshana to the fabled depths of the Iron Curtain. And, with monstrous strides, Malok kept pace with his newfound mentor.

He led him deep into the Fortress, only stopping once they arrived before two men. Blackblades. They were embroiled in combat, exchanging vicious blows in the name of training. Yet Malok's gaze did not fail him...he could ascertain the intensity of each blow. Training may have been the word used to describe this display, but if one man slipped...he would die. This was more than a mere workout. This was the shedding of weakness. Of hesitation. This...was exactly what Malok needed.

And then his Mentor spoke, prying amber eyes away from the battle at hand. The question hung in the air, rhetorical in nature, before being elaborated upon near instantly. Discipline. While Malok considered himself to be quite disciplined, as the commander of a mercenary group no less, he did not possess the refinement Prazutis spoke of. Furthermore, the Behemoth was not stupid enough to think himself ready to sling the Force around. Kaeshana had proven one thing about the it: the Force was a titanic power in the right hands.

And tragic outcomes from misuse was something that Malok wanted to avoid. At all costs.

"I would much rather take my time than surrender my life." rumbled the Ma'alkerrite. His amber gaze then settled upon the combatants once more.

"Iam ready."

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​"Leave us." ​Braxus ordered.

​Immediately the two legionnaires stopped in their tracks once the words of their Arch-Prince reached their ears. Each man turned and slammed fists to their chests in fealty to their lord and master before exiting the room on the edge so as to not disrupt him and his apprentice. There was quite a lot for [member="Malok"] to learn about the force and especially the dark side. In the force Malok was the equivalent of a newborn babe, unrefined potential ready to bloom and develop under the Destroyer's guiding hand. "You are ready...now come sit." ​The Dark Lord said sweeping forward into the sparring circle where two warriors once stood. In order to tap into the force Malok needed to understand it, to feel the vast power of the force surge around him. Control was something the Behemoth needed when it came to the force, and the ability to channel certain emotions that would begin his use of the dark side of the force.

​Darth Prazutis sat down cross legged on the floor his hands resting calmly on his legs as he waited for his apprentice to approach. "When using the dark side control over yourself, your emotions is key. A trained and experienced Sith can invoke his emotions to turn them into raw power. These emotions of anger, hatred, fear all fuel the dark side of the force." ​Braxus said pausing to take a deep breath, he exhaled before speaking once more. "Calm yourself and clear your mind of all thoughts, concerns, distractions. The ability to drum up anger and hatred begins with a spark to ignite a raging fire, once you find that spark focus on it, let your anger flow." ​Braxus said standing up he walked around behind Malok.

The Sith Lord called upon the force as he stood behind Malok reaching out to the ma'alkerrite's mind. While he was a strong willed creature the Sith Lords intrusion wasn't overly obvious creeping through the defenses of a mind unprepared for a master of the dark sides intrusion. Quickly he searched the mans surface thoughts for objects of his hated. Brother. "Let us talk about your brother...the blood of your blood."

 

[Darth Metus]

The utter submission of the Blackblades surprised Malok immensely.

They did not utter a single word. They did not...act...as anything other than warriors. Those who flew the banner of ApeX were vastly different. They were comrades, they were...equals. Yet these men did not consider themselves thus - for they were not. They were but ants in the presence of a god: and this was the truth under which they lived. The Behemoth's nostrils flared at the thoughts as they went by, yet his attention was put forward as his mentor beckoned him. His strides bore him into the sweat-soaked sand of the circle, where [member="Darth Prazutis"] stood waiting. His godly form then descended to the dirt where his legs were promptly folded cross-legged.

Malok joined him without a word, descending all the same. He sat in the same manner as Prazutis and hearkened to each word the man uttered. Emotion was Key. It explained so much...the battle over Kaeshana was the first example that came to the Behemoth's mind. As he quarreled with the Remnant's liege, it was his fury that bore him forward. It was not a strategic mind that commanded the Force or added power to his limbs. It was emotion: the foundation of the Dark Side. Malok clung to every word uttered by his mentor...

Until he felt something prick at his mind.

Never before had his psyche been invaded, and thus the Behemoth truly did not know what the weight in his skull was. However...when Prazutis spoke again, his words caused Malok's hands to tighten. Sylok. King Sylok. The elder brother who had torn Malok's home and life away in an instant. The man who had sold his own flesh and blood into the bonds of slavery. Typically speaking, the Behemoth did his best to push his sibling out of his thoughts. To dwell on the past often soured the man's mood or muddied his decisions, resulting in risks on the field of battle. However, now was not the time to surpress what came from thinking of Sylok. Now was the time to cultivate the spark of hatred into an inferno.

"His majesty...Sylok..."

The words came forth as a hiss.

"He threw me into a cell. He sold me into bondage...I was the bullet sponge and plaything to a got damned Mandalorian for years. I risked my hide, I lost everything...He threw me away. Me. His own brother. His own flesh and BLOOD!"

The final word was a shriek - his tone peaked horrifically as he slammed his fist upon the dirt.

"What more is there to say? I hate him!"

"I'll KILL him!

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Excellent.

​The Sith Lord grinned as the hatred within [member="Malok"] burned, his anger boiling beneath the surface of his rough hide at the mention of his brother Sylok. As an acolyte beginning his journey into the dark side Malok would struggle with grasping his control of the powerful anger and hatred that fueled these blackened powers. Most often an instrument of such emotions could be found in those around you in order to engulf oneself in the inferno of the dark side. Sylok would be the tool he would use to drill these lessons into the young acolytes brain, to fuel his power. Sylok would be how his apprentice would ignite that spark, the ember for the flames.

​"Yes good...can you feel it? The embers igniting?" ​Braxus said as he returned to stand in front of Malok.

​If it were anyone else teaching the Behemoth they might've been given cause to hesitate when drawing the anger of such a massive, powerful creature. But this wasn't just any ordinary man standing before him this was a titan and experienced master of the dark side of the force. If the ma'alkerrite became out of control than he could swiftly deal with it and in doing so teach him another lesson on anger. "Everything was in the palm of your hand...family, a home, a brotherhood. In one fell swoop your own flesh and blood threw you to the wolves, stripped you of everything you once held dear...remember his face that day he threw you away like garbage..."​ Braxus said, pausing as he watched his apprentice. "Do not seek to forget Sylok but remember him. Focus on him and let your hatred grow, let your anger boil and ignite the inferno within you. Anger, hatred, fear are all a Siths tools."

 

[Darth Metus]

Focus on him.

The words of the Destroyer slithered into Malok's mind, stoking the flames of his animosity. While yet still seated, he complied - albeit without a single word. [member="Darth Prazutis"] would be able to sense this with ease; to feel Malok glaring at the memories of his sibling. He took himself back to that day when he had been dragged forth from the belly of a cell. He had once been regal...once appeared as noble as the mentor before him. Yet that day...his fur was ragged, his body was frail. The guards treated him like a dog. Nay. Worse.

And his brother sold him. Put the collar on himself.

There was a moment amidst the fury...a sensation which rose in the pit of Malok's stomach. T'was the very same that lead enraged men to topple tables or hurtle possessions - a feeling of raw power. He wanted to act...He needed to act...His body craved to do something. His eyes creaked open and looked up to the Destroyer inquisitively. This feeling...he remembered it. He felt the very same over Kaeshana whilst dueling the decrepit Remnant Liege. It allowed him to hurtle a shield telekinetically - to fight at his prime...

"Show me what to do with this."

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​Excellent.

​The anger of [member="Malok"] came crashing down like a falling mountain, an avalanche of anger unleashed into an inferno in his mind. The hatred now unleashed emanated from his form in great clouds that the Sith Lord knew well. The power poured through the mans midichlorian cells vibrating with the negative emotions strength, now it was time to fuel that power into something. In the beginning of their training it was crucial for every apprentice of the Sith to create their own lightsaber, to pour the negative power of the dark side into the creation of a personalized weapon. ​"The symbol of Sith alike are their weaponry: the lightsaber." ​Prazutis said reaching into the folds of his robes to reveal his own lightsaber, its ornate hilt holding intricate Sith runes and symbols.

​The Dark Lord ignited the saber with a snap hiss a deep crimson blade emerging from within casting a red glow over the immediate area around them. "Not nearly as crude as a blaster, requiring more skill to wield than a vibroblade. A lightsaber is unique to its creator, over time it will become part of you." ​Prazutis said deactivating the blade he folding it into his robes once more. He pulled from his robes then a small crystal its color a deep white he held out the crystal to Malok. "The power of a lightsaber comes from its crystal, without it a saber is nothing. The Jedi use natural crystals found in caves for their blades. The Sith create crystals far superior. The Sith forge their own crystals and upon its completion empower it with their own emotions. Use all of your anger your hatred and pour it into this vessel. Unleash the storm into this vessel the dark side will empower your blade with a strength beyond any natural crystal."

 

[Darth Metus]

Use all of your anger...

The words of the Destroyer hissed into the Behemoth's ears. His mammoth hand reached out, gingerly ensnaring the crystal within its grasp. Drawing it close, amber eyes inspected its form. At a glance, it was...underwhelming. It did not radiate power as [member="Darth Prazutis"] did. It did not whisper to his essence like the Dark Side. No. It was silent. A quiet as a chalice awaiting fulfillment by a sliver of wine. Pour it into this vessel... Malok, in earnest, did not know the first thing about directing his hatred one way or another. The transition of innate powers eluded him as a concept. As such, he gave it his best "guess." His nostrils flared as a deep breath was sucked into his lungs...his eyes lulled to a close...

And Malok focused upon the crystal.

His grip tightened upon its tiny, insignificant form.

He imagined Sylok...He imagined robbing the bastard of his dying breath. He imagined that the shard within his hand was the King himself...A Scream. Once silent, the crystal uttered a silent shriek of protest. It was alarming at first, but the flood of animosity would not be denied. The hatred of a brother would not be stalled by the whimpering of a crystal. Slowly. Surely. The Crystal bled. Crimson leaked into its form and crept upward - as if an infection had begun to spread within. Seconds rolled by, yet Malok did not pay any attention to the passage of time. Sweat beaded upon his brow, yet Malok did not pay any attention to his body. All that mattered was Sylok...and bringing silence to the crystal once more.

When last the shard uttered its final shriek, there was no more white.

Rather, a Bloodshine Crystal had been born.