[member="Tashkut"]
The sand stirred, shifting. Shiftless. Without purpose, it moved simply to show it could. Rain sought not trajectory, not to ease feet blistered under the scorching surface. He sought nothing at all, but a return of harmony to this place. The bass of slaughter’s pulsing backbeat.
Could this land get dark? With seven moons, the Fanged God’s awful gaze would never stop surveying this dirt, his subordinates.
Night was never true here, never black as pitch. Just a glowing imposter, reflecting the light of day off a myriad of surfaces, defining everything in their stupid roles ad infinitum. It kept his reign alive, with everything beneath Him.
These Sith were not creatures of darkness.
How could they be? They were terrified of it. They raged against Light, like sons against fathers, fathers against sons – because they were of it.
It was its blood in their mouths.
All of this modern lie was Lightside. It named all things, written and carved out by their glowing phallic wands. A history, commemorating and validating one another, even in their mutual hatred.
Gaze upon this “Valley of Sith Lords.” Rain actually laughed when he beheld it, the massive statues ugly and dumb, their likenesses worn and sad. Countless tombs baring anchored spirits, too constipated by their confusion that death, too, would happen to them despite so many years of worming their heads up their own asses.
There could be satisfaction, maybe, that as ruined and male as he was, it could be enough to be a mere Brother of Night, than to not know Night at all.
Like this thing. This piteous, fearful
thing. The Alpha Hssiss, so much larger and terrified than any of the others. So scared was he that he thought Rain could find him wherever he lay. That no hiding place could keep him --his family, all he had built -- safe. Desperate, he charged across loose sand, betraying his natural evolutionary advantage in broadcasts of kicked up dirt and hoarsened breathing.
Perhaps under the influence of this place and its vanity, Rain, too, misplaced his own advantage, bracing himself for the charge, arrogantly clutching his knife as though he were a match for something so large.
You ugly thing. What impresses you so about feats of strength, the brief stupidity with which it colors your life?
The Witchboy was immediately dispatched, caught in the creature’s mouth with teeth puncturing his midsection. Rain thrashed, skewering the Alpha’s face with his dagger, extending its eyeholes by noticeable inches. It thrashed and stomped, clipping Rain’s shoulder against the entryway in an agonizing display of brunt impact. As it tripped, stumbling down the stairs of the tomb, Rain let out a violent yaulp, plunging his dagger once more upon the hssiss’ eyes.
For he was the bringer of darkness here. Come, Let him teach you of its ways – never born, but always; before the first tick of time.
With his dagger of tooth, he plucked from the beast its eye.
These old ways.
It howled and it bucked and it threw Rain through the mausoleum, brutally tumbling against the stone tomb of a fallen Sith, long-pillaged, its haunting ghost devoured.
The Witchboy lay in shadow, pulling his broken and bloodied mass together. The monster was returning. He could hear the hard, sloppy steps…the whimper in its breath. It hunted him in blind rage.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax, to conceal his own breathing.
The monster paced. It stomped two steps toward him. As if confused, it turned and went the other direction, only to almost immediately return. It was afraid, indecisive. It let out a loud roar to scare the boy from his hiding place.
Stomp, stomp.
And then another. Auditory centers painting for the Nightbrother the beast’s exact location.
Rain’s grip tightened around his dagger, his spear.
And then a partial step, followed by a much more terrified roar which died in its mouth, replaced by the faint sound of scraping. Flashes flooded Rain’s mind, confusing imagery of impossible circumstances.
The monster hung in mid-air, wrapped in something, as a half-dozen humanoids descended upon the nothing – their joints bending at right angles, inhuman, but human, like scarecrows – some with too many arms. They made weird gestures about the beast, as if performing corrective stitching.
“*click*”
Rain clicked his tongue, searching for better feedback. It seemed to echo, for it was every bit the horror he anticipated.
“klikliklik,” the devilhunter responded, a pair of vestigial mandibles flexing at the edges of his mouth, as he lowered from the ceiling. Rain opened his eyes to face the antagonist, his brows lowered in a scowl.
The Savage stood, bold and wounded, blood seeping from a mouthful of holes in his side. Adrenaline his only friend in the world.
“klikliklik,” sounded the others as they took notice, preparing for an ambush.
Rain glanced about, but knew not fear – only a pulse wanting glorious battle.
He was male, after all.
There was something wrong with him.
The
Anan'sai Devilhunter ignited his lightsaber in a flash of orange
*snap-hiss*
