GBA: Zambrano the Hutt vs. Krest

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=9pt]Participants: [member="Krest"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"][/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Location: Hoth, ruins of an ancient Rebel Base[/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Time: Mid-Afternoon[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Rules: Master-Level duel – no power restrictions, go crazy.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Zambrano has access to: 1 neuronic whip & 6 starblades & .....1 sith lanvarok (one use)[/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]Krest has access to: 1 electrosword (one-handed, 30 in. blade, electricity can be turned on/off - keep that in mind against a neuronic whip), 1 chainsickle, 1 lightsaber (in his cybernetic arm)[/SIZE]
You are not required to use the weapons, but they are all you have use of besides the environment.

[SIZE=9pt]Canon: No.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Location: Hoth. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]It’s summer on Hoth, and you know what that means: temperatures are still well below freezing, but you can go outside without immediately getting frostbite. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]The ruins of some old Rebel base loom all around: old power facilities jutting out of the ice and snow, hangers with their ceilings open to the sky after hundreds of years of neglect, the skeletons of Tauntauns scattered all over. In the center of all the abandoned buildings is a good amount of clear space, about 60 meters long by 20 meters wide, where the snow is only a few inches deep thanks to the cover provided by the surrounding ruins. Overall it’s a still day, the worst of the occasional gust of wind blocked by the old hangers and power plants. The sun has just passed its greatest height in the sky, reflecting somewhat blindingly if one catches its rays at the wrong angle off the snow.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]But danger lurks below.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt]Below the playing field where our opponents meet, miles of tunnels made by the Rebels of old wind through snow and ice. The maze branches in to dozens of passages, some wide and tall and others a claustrophobic squeeze, all interconnecting in a dizzying array of possibilities. Old control rooms and command centers littered with the wreckage of ancient technology are dotted throughout the maze. Between ‘summer’ temperatures and some strange seismic activity caused by the ongoing Rapture elsewhere in the galaxy, it’s possible that the ground might open up to swallow our brave adventurers at any moment, plunging them in to the maze.[/SIZE]

 

[Darth Ferus]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bbuBubZ1yE​

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Hoth​

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It was the coldest section within the galaxy. Yet walking along it's snow filled surface was none other than a Red Zabrak wearing rather odd armor. It was clearly made for desert regions, it with loose thick garb for the dry heat and protection from a sand storm. So how was this man even surviving in the frigid temperatures? Fire. The man's skin seemed to literally be on fire, flickering with what seemed to be a purple flame. What should be burning him wasn't however, and it seemed to be a part of him. And in truth, it was. A very long time ago now he was shown how to not only make fire out of seemingly nothing, but how to control and make it a part of him.

But now it was the question of why he was even here. Hiding, amazingly enough. Here in the snowy wasteland he was hiding from one massive bounty placed on his head. He wasn't even sure how much it was at this point, but it was more than enough for him to go hiding. He had made a home, if you can call it that, within the old rebel base. The red man had no idea about the tunnels just below his feet, but he was at home here, constantly heating himself with his own flame. His food? What ever he could find, be it Wampa, Tauntauns, or even Ice Cats. His only weapons was a lightsaber built into his wrist, an electrosword, and a chain sickle. He was rare to use the electrosword, finding the chain sickle much more effective against the wild beasts with it's superior range to keep him from getting eaten himself.

"Just another day huh? Can't say I'm a fan of all this cold, makes me feel tired when I actually have to heat myself." There was no one around. He had been alone for years after what he had done, and the only conversations he could have was when he was complaining to himself. A fire would form within the small tent he had made, it heatproof and made to keep him warm. The flame itself would burn on the snow itself. Odd, but he had, after the first month of being here, changed the snow itself. Art of the Small was a skill in which a trained person could change the molecular structure of almost anything. He had done so before to change his tear ducts to a healing solution, and now he had changed the snow so it actually burned slowly, giving him a food source for a flame that would of otherwise died without any food.

For now, he was alone, mumbling to himself by the fire. Krest, as his name was, had grown a full beard, it shaggy and covering down to his upper chest. He was crazed, paranoid. Those to come for him would find nothing but a madman. And within the two years of seclusion, he had met several new people. Their skulls made good ornaments in his otherwise crap shelter. And good cups. He sipped from one, once a male Twi'liek, savoring the flavored water he had made from snow. He had a lot of time here to learn how to manipulate the snow after all, and flavoring it was a lot easier than making it burn.

"Maybe we should leave eh? I mean, why not at this point, I'm sure the bounty was forgotten, right? Heh." He wouldn't answer himself.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

When a man goes mad, and finds himself in hiding, who's to find him? If a sane man tries to find a madman by a means of the most logical place for one to hide, they shall find nothing but the smoke of misery. Should they attempt to find a madman, by means of logically attempting to step into the perspective of a psychopath, they will fail to understand them by having an ulterior motive that spoils the perspective they take. The mind of a true madman is of a labyrinthine texture, a texture that only other madmen could be familiar with...

So who's to find a madman in hiding? You hire madman crazier than the first, and there were few quite as mad as Zambrano the Hutt. A ruthless Lord of the Sith who had not only a knack for bloodshed, but such a perverse love of it that it often earned the gawking of other (arguably lesser) Sith. The rituals that the Hutt performed on a daily basis required oceans of blood, an island of dismembered limbs, and a sky of beating hearts. His rituals required a dedication to the blood so comprehensive, none could hope to match his perverse wisdom.

But he was no bounty hunter though, who or what could have convinced him to find this so called "madman"? All simply because he wanted to. The monetary value of his target was meaningless to him, as many mortal concepts were to him, such silly things as death or the fear of it, the meaning of pain or suffering. He was beyond such things, or perhaps, so low below them it did not matter how he perceived the matter in how it applied to him. No, Zambrano was not after the Zabrak for any logical reason, as such a notion is antithetic to the very essence of the Hutts spiritual conscious; he was a sufferer of clinical psychopathy, sociopathy, and general insanity. He lost any notion of logical thought when he spent adrift through the void of space for decades before losing himself in the identity of hundreds, possibly thousands of students on Korriban... only Durablis seemed to have a sound enough mind to ascend through the ranks on a tactical level, though that didn't make him any less of a sociopath, it merely meant he was dedicated to acquire power for himself.

All this then, lead him to Hoth. The explanation as to how he might know this is long, complicated, and entirely brutal, but so as to not to distract from his exploits, these profane events shall be omitted. Over the dunes of snow, the ashen colored slug sped across the whiteness with a speeder fit for his physiology, strewn of course, with the mutilated bodies of all those he carried with him. The might be the ones who gave him the information he needed... and they were still giving him information, each time he felt the desire to touch them. His psychometry was adept enough that even the dead would tell their secrets to him; this was especially useful for one who had difficulty understanding the meaning of death, and desired the company of everyone, even the dead... or more likely perhaps, especially the dead.

As Zambrano made planetfall, and came closer and closer to the long abandoned rebel base, Darth Ferus may be capable of sensing the resounding shadow of the force that sapped at the purity of the whiteness of the snow, the behemoth labyrinthine miasma of the twisted, deadened, and ancient soul that was Zambrano. The darkside weighed so heavily upon the Hutts shoulders, that even the golden glint of the Hutts enormous eyes were sapped of its color... it literally drained the environment of its purities, and twisted it into a dull grey gloom.

He arrived at the foot of the base that was opened to the environment, descending from the speeders ramp into the abodes of his newest...

"Frieeeeend...."

[member="Darth Ferus"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

"Frieeeeend...."



There was much to be said about what went through the mind of the red man as the voice sounded off. Midway through his drink, it was the first voice he had heard other than his own in a very, very long time. So long, in fact, that he actually thought the skull he was drinking from finally answered his calls.

This was, of course, false, and while he lifted up the skull to look into it's empty eye holes, he could feel something much darker here with him. He felt [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] on his way here, and it wasn't exactly something he could of missed. Such a barren place left no place to hide. Unless, of course, you knew how.

And Ferus certainly knew how. What ever signature he gave off faded almost in an instant as he sat crouched down in his little home. This little home, as it should be noted, was half his own height. He didn't like standing for too long, so making the place small would help remind him of that. But today..

Quickly standing up, the red man would burst right through the roof of his snowy home, both arms up in the air. For an added effect, he would roar, then pound a fist on his chest. "ThErE iS nO wAy BaCk~!" These theatrics, while completely useless, was a cover for his gaze. Focusing on the ground beneath the hutt, he would quickly change the snows composition as he had countless times in the past.

To something far more explosive. A snap of his fingers by the end of his little rant, and the snow would react like a small bomb. There was no shrapnel of course (It's snow) but the sheer explosive power was still there.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

A shock wave rippled through the gelatinous body of the Hutt, as flames enveloped his slimy body. Organ damage was likely, and a bipedal being would likely see his legs fly off, though the fires dissipated fairly easily against his slimy and durable skin, leaving no noticeable change to his already ash colored flesh. Yet even as the snow exploded to the full extent of Darth Ferus's intention, the Sith Lord did not falter in his everlasting creeping. At his customary snails pace, his presence exuded the carelessness of its owner, dulling any color that surrounded him in a very real sense. The explosion, as mighty or as meek as it may have been, did nothing to disrupt his apathetic gaze. No sign of pain even so much as escaped his breathe slightly, even as the blood began to trickle out of his nose or mouth. He had long since gotten over the trivial aspect of pain, when he regained his full reign over his capabilities in the force. The diseases and pains that once plagued his focus were not cured, but rather... ignored. The dull throb was now a constant state of being, to a point where his focus could not be bothered by it. He had long since compensated, and then transcended the notion that he needed to pay attention to the biological state of his body. For all anyone knew, Zambrano the Hutt's body could be quite literally, dead, yet remained at his influence even still. Durablis continued within him now, leading this new identity that once had been Titus Zambrano.

"There is always a way back, friend. There is never a way back, pateesssa." The sibilant voice slithered through the air, and drilled its biting voice into the ears of Krest, echoing. A hazy gaze fell upon the risen body of the one he sought, and his bloody grin stretched upon his face, as his eyes flared with sudden amusement. It changed from the dull apathy of his eyes, and flecks of gold began to speckle the grayness his presence exuded. A look of carnal desire washed over his whole body, tensing, flexing, a jitteriness that needed something to satiate it. The bleakness that surrounded him began to glow with his rising emotion, and it had a pleased feeling to it... yet it was twisted... perverted... corrupted to the furthest extent to the point it was no longer recognizable to outsiders as a pleasing looking thing. It appeared, that everything began to crack, though nothing was broken. Bright colors would accentuate anything that had color prior to the grayness, and anything that had been dark became black as night. Slowly as he approached, the golden eyes were orbs of pure desire, as the black tattoos of his ashen body became a shade of darkest delight. The two events clashed together to create a frightening image, that represented everything the Hutt had become in the present moment.

A whip appeared in his outstretched hand from his speeder, unfoiling and cackling with its electricity. The Hutt had long since lost his "favorite" whip, given his tendency to face lightsaber wielding opponents, and the fact that it was all too effective at apprehending his targets made it gradually out of favor with him despite its gruesome damage. Along with a few other trinkets, he had then acquired a most apt weapon in the Neuronic Whip, an effective torture device supposedly unlikely to kill the intended target, whilst generating massive damage and pain, that was apparently resistant to lightsabers. It was a most advantageous combination that he happened to come across, and possibly not entirely an active choice on his part, though he did choose to continue its use.

Outstretching his left hand (which held the Sith Lanvarok), the Hutt unleashed a simple barrage of sickening, thick, green lightning; a trait he shared with his Grandson, Darth Voracitos.

[member="Darth Ferus"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

A slow tilt of the red mans head would be the only response to the slugs resilience. Frank, as he had named his skull cup, had a similar thing done to him. As it turns out, the skull was the only thing left. And yet, here was the Hutt. Disturbed to his core, the Zabrak showed it outwards as he continued to tilt his head up until the side of it became parallel to the ground. His body even moved with it, causing him to lean to the left to accent his confusion.

Of course, he couldn't be baffled forever. Noting the whip with a quick glance, he would bring up both of his own hands not to deflect the green lightning but absorb it into his body. Tutaminus had always been a good defense for the red man, especially given that people seemed to love to try and zap him. Or burn him for that matter.

Speaking of burning. After the barrage of lightning his own form would begin to take on the same fire that was there to keep him warm. Except, it was purple this time. As a mark of his manipulation, fire would turn purple as he fed his own force into it. This fire, however, was fueled by [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] as much as himself, and the faint flickers of green could be seen. Bursting to the left, he would go to get out of the gaze of the Hutt if only for a moment by using one of the old support beams as cover. There, he would call forth his chainsickle, slowly twirling the blade.

The blade itself would become enveloped within the flame. While this would provide little for the cutting power, the fire was something used to inflict massive amounts of pain. Pain, it seemed, that the hutt could ignore. This would prove difficult. Unless.. Stepping back around the corner, he would swing the chain blade upwards, with his left hand on the more forward part and his right on the base. As he did however, the snow on the ground stirred, and with a small amount of the Force he would create a small blizzard between Zambrano and himself, all for the purpose of hiding the red man. With his signature non existent and the snow, he could be considered unseen. If only for a moment however.

But a moment was all he needed as he burst forward, the force fueling his legs as he ran right for the space slug. With a quick twist of the wrist, he would send the front blade of the sickle right for the giant chest of the beast, intent on tearing it open. Sure, he couldn't feel the pain, but his body would certainly react to it.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Zambrano watched as lightning was dissipated and absorbed, with no change in his mood or expression. He was undaunted by the force parry, not everything could be expected to work immediately of course. However, if you endured long enough, inevitably they must succumb. From time to time, even the Hutt had to scumb... in fact he did it quite frequently over the decades. However, in the past few incarnations, he had gotten better at not succumbing as frequently, by bolstering his abilities to a point where he hardly had to think to remain alive. Not that maintaining a living status was a problem for him... Quickly, the zabrak man sped away behind a pillar and paused a moment. The grinning Hutt chuckled softly.

"Hide and seek, hide and seek, friend." Moments later, a flurry of snow seemed to stir of its volition, and his bright, golden eyes, metaphorically melted through the snow with his intense gaze, completely fixated upon the prospect of nature. As he was fixated, the Zabrak choose to charge and strike, the sickle lurching forward at the distracted Hutt, coming round and slicing open a fairly good gash, though nothing incredibly impressive due to his toughened hide. It was enough to see into it, however... enough to watch it... pull itself together. The flesh literally formed stitches, that pierced through itself, as the wound was closed almost immediately. The Hutt didn't so much as flinch.

With the Zabrak in visual range, the uncoiled whip was sent through the air with unnatural speed, augmented by biological adrenaline and through the sheer will of the Hutt. The electrified cord in the hands of one unaugmented had the potentiality to break bones... now was the time to test that on an augmented scale.

Blood leaked slightly out of the forcibly "healed" wound, generating a bright red aura around the substance as it dried upon the black void of his tattoos and heat-death grey skin. Golden orbs nearly glowing white, as a bluish tint washed over the environment through his use of the Neuronic Whip. It was a simple action, but an effective action. Zambrano had once been named Darth Durablis, the Lord of Pride, and for good reason: Pride was very durable, and would not back down for anything, often times even if it meant death. Zambrano now embodied that prospect... the only difference being that death did not naturally apply to him. If the Zabrak managed to best the Hutt, he'd wake up in a different body, and continue his life as normal...

Maybe next time he'll be a wookie...

[member="Darth Ferus"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OFKUnfwBPTU​

Krest or Ferus, which ever suits best, had always been fascinated by the concept of self healing. So much so, that he made it so his own body could produce fast acting and powerful medication, if in limited quantities. Truth be told, however, he had never, ever, seen what [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] just pulled off. He was so fascinated by it he almost missed the fact there was a spine cracking whip coming in his direction. Quick as he could he brought around his chainsickle, trying to use it to knock away the whip.

Which didn't work. The most he did was cause the whip to be torn from his hands and flung away. And speaking of hands, the thick electrical cord tore across his flesh at the same time. Layers of skin on his left flesh arm was torn off, causing the snow below him to turn from it's pristine white to a crimson. And then the shocks. As soon as the whip came in contact he froze. Within the back of his neck was a MCS, specifically made to help against lightning.

When it was fully charged. While he did what he could to charge it so his limbs kept moving, Darth Ferus couldn't charge it to the point it was suppose to be. Meaning it's defense against lightning was far fetched at best. The pain from the cord was enough to set all of the red mans nerves on fire. But as quick as it started, it went away. All of this happened in an instant, his chain getting caught and tossed away, the whip ripping across the flesh of his right arm, and the pain of the shocks. Now, angrier than ever, the crazed man would leap at the large chest of the Hutt, not bothering with any weapon as he brought his fists around. Launching his hands for the grotesque face of the slug, the Force would act in such away that his limbs moved at a blur. Upon impact a force push of sorts would blast outwards, meant to only further increase the strength of his blows.

All the while he seemed to be singing a song, probably one of his preferred as a sickening grin once more reformed on his face. His blood dripping from his arm would splatter around for a moment or two, but like the hutt it wouldn't last long. Unlike the Hutt however, a film would form over the gash. His form of self healing was similar to Bacta, but much, much stronger.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Krest charged at the Hutt, whose intensely bright eyes penetrated through the Zabrak's features with incredulous delight. He saw the flowing blood, and fluids, the beating heart, the fluctuating muscles... but also the savage technical implants. Despite their arguably invasive presence, his homeostasis was for the most part, intact. He was losing a fair amount of blood from his arm, but to his surprise his opponent had a recovering time comparable to a ferraro. Odd, considering he was obviously Zabrak, but it was clear this was a master of molecular manipulation on a level he didn't really understand or care about. Krest could change the environment all day long... but he could not stop his Mastery of the Flesh.

Soon, the Darth might regret being made of flesh and bone with such a powerful system. Malacia was a nauseating thing to experience, one's one perfectly healthy body being used to overwhelm the senses. People were known to vomit with this strange influence over their body, experiencing their own flesh in explicit detail was more than most could handle. However, Zambrano decided to take it a step further in this execution of vileness, by attempting to enter the mind of the Sith to slow and weigh down on his consciousness, adding a level of exhaustion, to have the feeling of physical atrophy... to force him into a slowness that would gradually build into stronger more poisonous effects the longer the Hutt concentrated on the feeling. He longed to see what little fluids were within the alien spilled out as he faced overwhelming stimuli and sickness.

The Hutt's hypnotic eyes glared at his target, unwavering as he moved to tear at his face with the force. The outcome would land, unless suddenly Krest were met with the wave of sickness, approaching his naturally produced Aura of Uneasiness. The whip that damaged his armed as it passed, now made a return stroke, to wrap around the waist of the speeding mass that had become of the enraged Iridonian...

[member="Darth Ferus"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

A rather unique feeling would suddenly take over the red man as he charged for his foe, [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] , stopping him dead in his tracks. The stop was so sudden that he flew to the ground in front of him on his hands and knees. His body felt heavy, and something stirred deep within him. Without warning his mostly empty stomach would void itself, spilling from his mouth onto the snow. Bits of meat and mucus covered the ground as the red man hacked and hacked.

He did not stay still for long, however. His drop had spared him from being wrapped by the whip, but it did not spare him the whips sting. With his back exposed the steel cords would tear into his flesh, and the pain would once more return. This would not be enough to majorly injure Ferus physically, but his form would more or less spasm as the shocks once more tore through his form. Pain was all the man could see. Pain, and anger.

His chain sickle was gone at this point, and his sword was buried somewhere within the home he had made. He did not have anymore tools like the Hutt did, and yet it didn't seem to matter. In fact, nothing seemed to matter. Pain and anger filled Ferus's body, to the point where it was visible on his skin. Within his time in the One Sith, he had gotten himself a tattoo like any of the members should. Unlike them, however, he had changed the structure of it to be invisible to the naked eye. Part of his wandering in the galaxy had taken him places he would have been attacked on sight, and he could not deal with that.

These tattoos however, would begin to show themselves as he channeled the darkside. Swirls formed on his arms after the whip passed over his back, and the Zambrano would find himself suddenly shut out of the Darths mind. It wasn't that Ferus had closed him out, but there was simply no mind to enter. The darth's form would suddenly take off from his all four position, moving far faster than he had before to close the distance between Zabrak and Hutt. Once red skin was now stained black, and the overwhelming urge to spill blood blanketed the room like a carpet.

Dark Rage was not something new to Darth Ferus. He had, in his time before, created and mastered a state similar, only the mind was still usable. But to do so, he had to go into the purest rage he could. A rage he would had to get himself out of on his own. He had succeeded, but not before breaking most of the bones within his arms. Yet this rage was far darker than the one Ferus used to create his own talent. It was pure, raw bestial instinct. An instinct to kill.

Without a mind to be affected, the now pitch black man soared forward, going in a slight circle to the right side of the Hutt. He would pounce forward in a blink of an eye, almost like a cat, aiming to bring his metal and flesh fists down upon the grotesque face of the space slug. Filled with a pure rage beyond anything Ferus had done in the past, they were more than enough to shatter bone, be it his own or the hutts.

Now close to the Hutt however, Zambrano would be able to see that there was no more intelligence within the eyes of the outcast Sith. They were almost gold, similar to the Hutt's own, but the purest form of primitive. Yet there also seemed to be no way to sway Ferus's mindset. One of them was going to die, and nothing was going to change that now.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

Purity. A fickle thing. Many thought it was an achievable goal... they thought it was a condition that could be gained... that it could be made permanent. Had they ever thought however, of why things were not naturally pure? Had they ever thought, that purity was the most malleable substance in the universe? Had they ever thought, how easily controllable and corruptible purity truly was? An absence of mind, did not make one immune to the foreground of reality... primal instinct did nothing to override what the body could be told to do through outside stimulus, because reaction itself was what primal instinct was for all forms of life. This is what separated Zambrano from mortals like the midnight colored Zabrak. He did not need to react, because he did not need to survive... but he took greater pleasure, in reminding the others that did.

Powerful blows hammered down onto the Hutts face, cracking his massive cranium, dislodging one of his golden eyes, unhinging part of his jaw, crushing segments of his spinal column under the force, causing internal hemorrhaging. He didn't even so much as flinch, as he outstretched his hand and reached into the Zabraks chest, inflicting debilitating pain merely through touch alone... and then he fired his lavanrok directly in his chest at point blank range, which would lodge five metallic objects into his flesh in unavoidable moments. The Hutts grip however, upon the Zabrak, would pull him in with the force, preventing him from trying to get away as much as he dared to... though if the Zabrak decided to counter it, Zambrano wouldn't care. He had already desolated his pure state of mind from primal aggression, to add primal pain. With two figures to work with, it was more than enough mind to work with... not that even hesitated to stop working through the mind. Lack of mind protected no one from the force, and so he would grow upon the mental atrophy he had caused through his previous usage of Force Slow.

Focused upon the Zabraks body, inflicting it pain through the force and through his weapons, as well as destroying its stamina, and causing it a slow acting sickness from within, he held no focus to stitch up his battered face. Thus it remained that his head was severely wounded... but it would take more than that to destroy this insanity.

[member="Darth Ferus"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

There would be no dodging. Ferus was too primal for that. There would be no countering, Ferus was too far gone. The beast was out, clinging to the chest of [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] as he beat him. But not all was well for the monster. As the hand pressed against his chest, pain beyond anything he had experienced filled his body. His pounding would stop, it was too much pain.

A howl would escape the black lips of the semi burning man. A primal, agony filled roar. A roar that shattered the room around him. The darkside fueled beast released all of his energy in a single moment, his Force Scream tearing apart the roof, ground, walls, all of the bunker in a matter of seconds. A scream that could harm and destroy the Hutt without a defense.

The scream would be cut short however, as the metal disks slammed into the Zabraks chest. Unable to dodge, unable to act, the metal would tear into his upper chest area, shattering bone and puncturing organs. He would fall back onto the ground, quivering as his body would slowly begin to die. Black would be replaced by red. If the scream didn't kill the other Sith, Ferus was going to die. Otherwise, he may be able to stitch himself up, and even that was a stretch.

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

In a moment, there was a flash to accompany the scream. The symbolic colors that had been amplified within the Hutt's presence began to shine brightly from the intensity of the attack. The face of the Hutt remained in its constant state of glee... eye ball hanging out, half collapsed face, and all. There was not a moment this entire time that the Hutt's body even seriously reacted. It was if the flesh itself was merely going through motions, a puppet to some higher power from within it. The Zabrak writhed beneath his grip, and as he screamed... bits of flesh began to tear itself off from the rotten muscle tissue beneath the Hutt.

He began to disintegrate all at once as the mortal coiled around his hand in agony. This figure was done, there was nothing left to fight back against the cretin that was the Hutt. His one good eye stared deeply into the face of the damned, even as it was quickly being disintegrated to reveal his massive skull beneath, fractured and broken on one side, revealing the rotten corpse beneath all the lard. His skin was practically in flames as it was forced away from its place, desolating the muscle beneath and revealing the bleeding organs beneath. The frame of the beast however, remained as the Lanvarok silenced the Red Assassin.

Once black and ashen skin was now brilliant red, leaking fluids from every pore, his revealed skull in a rotten mess of crimson muscles and blood stained bone. That singular Golden Eye however, remained staring... intact for the most part. One could see the blackened mind beneath, and the charcoal like organs hiding away behind a corrupted brown rib cage. The brilliance that surrounded the Hutt now began to fade once more, sapping away the colorful red textures around the room... bleeding all color to mix and mingle into a monotonous brown, grey, and black. He dropped the Zabrak on the ground with a muffled thud, watching as the light dimmed within him.

"SsSsleeeeeeeeep." The Golden Eye commanded the dimming primitive mind of the Zabrak, dilating as it sent out its hypnotic signals... before something far more sinister began to conjure within the skeletal remains of the Hutt. Serpentine words began to pour out of the his mangled maw, echoing with Arcane magics, as the incantation began. His hands moved in contorted rhythmic motions, as dark energies seemed to wrap around the space between his hands like spider webs, cackling with the dark side.

"Akula khetsaram damen a Odojinya!" The remains of his hands shot out, as strands of the dark side formed a lattice of dark energy to envelope his body in force severing pain. The net of the dark side would ensnare him like the wounded animal he was, and cocoon him in the unbreakable vice of the force as it sapped away at his strength like a spider saps the blood of a cockroach caught in its silk strands. Pain, pain would be his existence now... just how Zambrano liked it. His body was rigid as the arcane ritual was passed, that single Golden Eye peering down upon the Zabrak anticipating that the energy would slowly but surely cut away at his flesh to reveal the deliciousness beneath...

The Soul within the broken body lingered there a while... not wanting to leave the corpse behind... not at least until it saw its prey writhe a while longer. To facilitate this need to linger, what remained of the bodies flesh turned into stitches and held themselves together as long as they could until the eventual passing of the body was finalized. The Hutt had been dying for a long time... and was probably dead upon arriving here. The Soul within though... it liked this body... it was fun... and it ended in a fun way. Perhaps now being so powerful, he would remember this life upon inhabiting its latest body. After all, Titus had remember Durablis, and Zambrano had remembered Titus... maybe a wookie will remember Zambrano.

He doubted however, that [member="Darth Ferus"] would be so memorable to him...

 

[Darth Ferus]

There was little the writhing man could do. Within silence he would be shrouded, but as a final insult to [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] there would be no more pain from the red man for the fellow Sith to enjoy. His mind, after such a brutal rage as he had, was fragile. And with a sickening grin as the cocoon of pain went around him, he broke it. Now a mindless dying husk, he would have earned himself a final blow to the Hutt.

Ferus would die drooling.