Private Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina had not moved.

She did not need to.

She stood with her hands folded behind her back, her expression unreadable as Sable tore through the phantoms like she had been born for it. And perhaps, in a way, she had.

The air in the tomb still pulsed with energy, thick with the remnants of battle, but Serina felt none of it. The flickering torches cast long, jagged shadows against the walls, and in the dying light, she saw it—the truth.

Sable had not struggled. Had not hesitated.

She had thrived.

Serina had never doubted that she was a weapon—she had simply questioned whether or not Sable understood it herself.

And now, watching her cut through death as if it had no claim over her, Serina knew the answer.

Oh, my darling, you are exquisite.

A slow, deliberate clap broke the silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

Measured, mocking, indulgent.

Serina tilted her head, her blue eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight as she took a slow step forward, her boots clicking softly against the stone.

"Oh, Sable," she sighed, almost wistful. "And here I thought this would be difficult for you."

She reached out, brushing her fingertips over Sable's cheek—no longer searching for a reaction, no longer testing. Just indulging.

"But look at you," Serina murmured, voice thick with something that wasn't quite admiration, wasn't quite hunger—something in between, something more. "Perfect."

Her fingers trailed lower, just barely ghosting against Sable's throat before she withdrew, stepping back as if to admire a piece of art she had just finished sculpting.

"And yet… it is not enough."

The words came soft, almost affectionate. But the meaning behind them was a blade hidden in silk.

Serina took another slow step forward, and the air shifted.

Not with power. Not with anger.

With expectation.

She reached for Sable's warblade, her fingers wrapping gently around the hilt, guiding it downward, lowering Sable's arms with it.

Not a command. A gesture. A reminder.

"Tell me, little shadow," Serina purred, leaning in, her breath warm against Sable's ear. "Was that instinct?"

A pause. A beat. A whisper of something deeper beneath her words.

"Or was that… freedom?"

Serina pulled back, her gaze locking onto Sable's, searching, demanding.

Sable had fought flawlessly. She had executed every motion, every attack, without a single wasted step. It had been beautiful. Precise. Expected.

But what Serina wanted—what she needed—was more than execution. More than skill. More than obedience.

She needed Sable.

Not the soldier. Not the tool. Not the survivor.

She needed the choice.

To wield, not to be wielded.

And she would break her a thousand times over until she found the answer she wanted.

Serina's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

"Again."

And with a flick of her wrist, the torches snuffed out.

The phantoms rose anew.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable's chest heaved, the grip on her warblade still firm, the burn of battle still sharp in her limbs. Her gaze didn't waver from Serina's as the last phantom crumbled to dust, its form dissipating into the thick air.

Serina's clap rang out like a death toll, a mocking rhythm in the silence that followed the chaos. It didn't rattle her, though; not anymore. Not after what she had just done. The feeling of the warblade in her hands was like an extension of herself, a part of her that had always existed but had only just now come into focus.

She hadn't hesitated. She hadn't faltered. She hadn't struggled.

She had thrived.

As Serina moved, the air seemed to shift. Her words were soft, almost loving, but Sable knew the weight they carried. They were not words of praise—those came with hidden edges. Sable knew them all too well.

The touch against her cheek caught her off guard, though she didn't flinch. Serina's fingers barely brushed against her skin, sending a ripple of something unfamiliar coursing through her. It was like being studied, but in a way that went beyond the physical.

Sable's eyes stayed locked on Serina's, every part of her still alert, still calculating. The question hung in the air, insidious. Instinct or freedom? Serina was no fool. She knew what she had seen—what Sable had done. But to Serina, it was never about what Sable had done; it was about what she could make Sable do.

Her blade lowered, her arms guided down, and Sable didn't resist. She had already proved her worth in this moment. Resistance would be wasted. The touch at her throat, a reminder of who controlled the space between them, made her blood hum in an unfamiliar way. Her jaw clenched, but her posture remained composed, steady. She would not break. Not yet.

The phantoms rose again, and Serina's smile was a slow curve, the promise of something more in the pull of her lips.

"Again."

The command was a whisper, but its weight was felt across Sable's entire being.

Sable didn't need to be told twice. The storm, the fury, the instinct, all of it—she was ready for it again. The blade in her hands surged to life, and with a single, fluid motion, Sable swept into action. There was no hesitation this time. Only the rush of combat, the satisfaction of knowing the art of it all, the beauty of every movement.

But this time... she would do more than just fight. She would choose.

Her eyes, cold and intent, never left Serina's as she struck once more, her body moving like it was born for this—graceful, deadly, relentless. She would not be the tool. She would not be the weapon.

She would be the one who wielded it.

The phantoms had no idea what was coming.

Sable's grip on the warblade tightened, the cold metal humming in her hands as she steadied herself. The shadows surrounding her thickened, coiling around the edges of the chamber like something alive. The phantoms, those twisted remnants of Sith warriors, advanced again—silent, predatory, their warblades gleaming with an unnatural light.

This time, there was no hesitation. There was no waiting. Sable felt the dark power in the air, the pulse of the Force as it surged around her, and her blood ignited in response. With a snarl that echoed off the stone walls, she launched herself forward.

She moved like a blur—fluid, controlled, but with a sudden, brutal savagery. Her body twisted mid-air, an acrobatic spin that brought the warblade down in a vicious arc, slicing through one of the phantoms. It flickered, an eerie distortion in the air, but it did not fall. No, it was not that simple.

The phantom's blade swung at her with terrifying speed, but Sable was already in motion. She ducked low, feeling the wind from its strike against her skin. A flick of her wrist, and her warblade cut through the phantom's form once more. This time, it dissolved into mist, its essence scattered.

But there were more. Another phantom lunged from the shadows, its movements unnatural, like something pulled from the depths of the void. Sable's eyes narrowed. She didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. The air was heavy with anticipation, and she could feel the pull of the dark side urging her onward, pushing her to greater extremes.

She met the phantom's blade with her own, the impact sending a shockwave of energy through her body, but she held firm. With a fluid twist, she slipped around its guard, driving the point of her warblade into its chest. It screamed, a horrible, guttural sound, before disintegrating into a cloud of smoke.

Sable's breath was steady, but her heart beat with an intensity that burned like fire in her chest. The battle was far from over. The phantoms were relentless, their forms multiplying like shadows in the dark. They came at her from all angles, their warblades slashing through the air with precision, but Sable was a force unto herself.

Her feet carried her forward again, a graceful, deadly dance as she weaved through the shadows. Each movement was deliberate, calculated. She was not just reacting to the phantoms—she was controlling them. Her warblade moved with a deadly rhythm, cutting through the air, leaving no room for mercy.

The phantoms fell one by one, but there was always another. They kept coming, relentless in their pursuit. Sable's fury was a storm, and she was its eye. She attacked with everything—her body, her training, her rage. Her strikes were powerful, but her movements were fluid, an elegant blend of acrobatics and deadly precision.

Every strike was an extension of her will, every leap and spin a testament to the strength she had learned over the years. She was more than a weapon—she was a force of nature, unstoppable in her pursuit of victory.

And as the last phantom dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the echo of its twisted form, Sable stood tall in the center of the chamber, her breath heavy but controlled. Her warblade glinted in the dim light, her form steadies as she gathers herself.

In her mind, it was instinct, but again, it didn’t matter what she thought.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina had watched in silence, her arms folded behind her back, her blue eyes fixed on Sable as she tore through the phantoms with an unrelenting, almost poetic brutality. The flickering torches barely held their flame in the presence of such raw motion, casting jagged shadows along the stone walls of the tomb. The echoes of combat reverberated long after the last phantom had dissolved, and now only one sound remained.

Sable's breath.

Measured. Controlled.

But not unaffected.

Serina took a step forward, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor, each motion deliberate, each pause calculated. The warblade in Sable's hand still pulsed with energy, as if it, too, had tasted the thrill of battle. The dark side was thick in the air, feeding on the violence, whispering its praise, its hunger.

Yet Serina's expression did not shift to satisfaction. Not yet. Instead, she let the silence stretch, let the weight of expectation settle in the space between them.

Sable had fought brilliantly.

But had she learned?

The smirk that curled Serina's lips was slow, indulgent, predatory. "Again." The word was a whisper, a taunt, an inevitability.

But this time, no new phantoms rose.

Serina continued toward Sable, her steps careful, measured, closing the space between them. She stopped just close enough for the heat of her presence to press against the coolness of Sable's skin, just close enough that Sable had no choice but to acknowledge that she was watching.

Her fingers lifted, slow, deliberate, brushing against the hilt of Sable's warblade—but not taking it, not forcing it away. Just touching. Feeling. A silent claim.

Serina's voice came softer this time, a murmur that wove itself into the very air between them. "You have skill, little shadow. But skill is not what I desire."

Her fingers curled over Sable's hand, the one still gripping the weapon, tightening just enough to feel the tension, to remind her that she was still holding onto something. Still gripping a piece of control.

"You fought because I commanded it." Serina's lips were close to her ear now, her voice a satin threat wrapped in silk. "But did you fight because you wanted to?"

She pulled back, just enough for her blue eyes to bore into crimson, searching, demanding. The question lingered, heavy and unspoken.

Sable had not hesitated. She had not faltered.

But had she chosen?

Serina released her hand, letting the warblade remain, letting Sable hold onto it. Letting her feel the weight of it.

Then, a shift.

Serina tilted her head, smiling, something softer—something crueler.

"Again," she said, but this time, it was not an order. It was not a command.

It was an invitation.

And this time, it was not phantoms that Sable would fight.

It was herself.

With a flick of Serina's fingers, the torches lining the walls dimmed, their flames struggling against the sudden wave of darkness that flooded the chamber. The air grew thick, suffocating, and then—it began.

The shadows around them shifted, twisted, pulling together until a single form emerged before Sable.

Not a phantom.

Not a mindless shade.

But her.

The figure standing before her was identical. Same face. Same stance. Same warblade, held in the same ready position. But the eyes—they burned.

Not with emptiness. Not with obedience.

But with something alive.

Serina stepped back, her smile widening as she gestured between them, between Sable and the mirrored specter that now awaited. "Fight, Sable. But this time, do not fight because I told you to."

Her voice was a caress, a promise, a trap.

"Fight because you have something worth fighting for."

And then, she simply watched.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable stood still, the weight of the warblade still pulsing in her hand, the energy from her last strikes still crackling in the air. The mirrored figure before her, an exact replica of herself, didn't move. It only watched—its eyes glowing with a strange intensity, burning with something alive, something dangerous.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, the room thick with shadows, the weight of Serina's challenge still hanging in the air.

Fight because you have something worth fighting for.

The words whispered in her mind again. They were simple. They were sharp. And they dug deep into her, poking at something she had never quite acknowledged. The fight was never really about impressing Serina. It wasn't about proving anything to anyone. It wasn't about winning.

The truth was something Sable had known all along, buried beneath the violence and bloodshed, under layers of training and instinct.

She wasn't fighting because Serina told her to.

She was fighting because she had to.

Because she wanted to.

But again, she kept this to herself.

The mirrored Sable's eyes never left her. A reflection, yes, but also a mirror to everything Sable had been, everything she feared she could still be. It wasn't just the fight. It was what she was willing to lose—or what she was willing to save.

Her breath came in steady, controlled inhales, the coolness of the room brushing against her skin, but inside her, there was a storm. There always had been. A hunger, a thirst for violence and mastery, a need to fight until nothing else mattered. But today, in this moment, that need was different. It wasn't about conquering something outside of herself. It was about understanding what lay within her.

She raised her blade.

The mirrored Sable mirrored her movements, silent, cold. Every strike she made, the specter made in kind. But Sable wasn't just striking anymore. She wasn't just going through the motions, following a pattern or a command.

She was fighting because she had no choice.

Each movement was sharp, precise, controlled. Each blow was not just a strike to defeat the specter, but a strike to understand her own limits, to face the parts of herself she had tried so hard to bury. The darkness within her was not something to be eradicated—it was something to be faced.

Her warblade danced through the air, cutting through the oppressive silence of the chamber. There was no hesitation. No doubt. Only the steady rhythm of combat, a rhythm she had known for years.

Fight because you have to.

The mirrored Sable's strikes were exact, like a perfect reflection of her own moves. But there was something missing. The shadow before her was not her. It couldn't be.

With a swift movement, Sable struck, sending the mirrored figure's weapon flying from its grip. The figure staggered back, its form flickering like a dying flame, but it didn't fall. It stood there, unyielding.

Sable didn't pause, didn't give it a chance to recover. She moved in again, faster this time, more fluid. The warblade cut through the air with devastating force, and with one final strike, she sent the specter crumpling to the ground.

She remained in her fighting pose, awaiting what was to come.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina did not speak. Not at first.

She let the silence stretch, thick and suffocating, wrapping around them like a shroud. The only sound in the chamber was the slow, steady breath of the woman standing before her—the real Sable—blade still raised, body still tensed, as if waiting for something else. Another enemy. Another command.

Another reason to keep fighting.

Serina smiled. A slow, pleased curve of her lips, equal parts indulgence and something far darker. She stepped forward, her movements deliberate, slow, like a predator sizing up its kill. She made no sound as she approached the place where the shadow had fallen. There was nothing left of it now—just a lingering echo of something that had never truly existed. A reflection broken. A fragment discarded.

And yet, Serina's eyes stayed fixed on Sable. Not on the shadow. Never on the shadow.

Only on the woman who remained.

"Do you understand now?" she murmured, voice a breath against the still air.

Her steps carried her closer, closing the space between them in a slow, inevitable pull.

She didn't stop until she was close enough to touch. Close enough that the dying embers of battle still clung to Sable's skin, radiating from her in waves, a heat that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with realization.

Sable had fought.

But for the first time, she had chosen to.

Serina's fingers lifted, and without hesitation, she touched Sable's wrist—the one still gripping the warblade. Her touch was feather-light, just a whisper of pressure against tense muscles. Not forcing. Not taking.

Just feeling.

She could feel the pulse beneath the skin, steady but alive. So very alive. A stark contrast to the cold, calculated silence that had once defined her.

Serina's touch drifted, up along Sable's arm, tracing the edge of muscle and sinew, following the path of tension and willpower until it rested against her shoulder.

"You broke it," she whispered, her thumb brushing absently against fabric, against flesh. "Your shadow. Your reflection."

A pause. A beat. The silence between them was intentional.

"You fought something that was supposed to be perfect—supposed to be you—and yet, it fell." A slight tilt of her head, as if savoring the thought. "Because it was never you, was it?"

Serina let her fingers drift lower now, down Sable's arm, before finally closing over her hand—the one still gripping the warblade. Her grip was not harsh. It was warm. Commanding. Claiming.

Her blue eyes burned as they locked onto crimson.

"You are no one's shadow, little one." Her voice was softer now, almost reverent. "You never have been."

Sable remained still, but the weight of Serina's words pressed against her like an iron brand, sinking into the marrow of her bones. No one's shadow. No one's tool. No one's reflection.

Only her.

Serina's grip tightened. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind.

"You were made to follow. To take orders. To be wielded like a blade in someone else's hands." A slow inhale, like she was drinking in the air between them. "But I will not wield you."

Her thumb brushed against Sable's knuckles, where the warblade remained. Still clenched. Still hers.

"You will wield yourself. And that…" A smile. Dark. Knowing. "That is what will make you stronger than all of them."

Serina leaned in, her lips barely brushing against Sable's ear as she whispered the final truth.

"That is what will make you mine."

She stepped back, releasing her grip.

And just like that, the air shifted.

The moment—the weight of it, the intimacy of it—dissolved into something else. Something calculated. Because Serina never allowed something so profound to linger unchallenged.

She took a step back, letting the cool air rush between them.

Then—without warning—she flicked her wrist, and a second warblade flew from the shadows, landing at her feet. A challenge.

No more phantoms. No more illusions.

Serina's smirk sharpened, eyes gleaming.

"Again."

This time, it was Serina that Sable would fight.

And this time, Sable would have to choose what that meant.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable remained motionless, her warblade still clutched in her grip, the lingering heat of battle thrumming through her veins. The air was thick with the weight of what had just transpired, of what she had just done.

She had fought. She had won. And she had not done it because Serina had commanded her to.

She had done it because she wanted to.

Serina's presence loomed closer, deliberate, predatory. Her touch came next, light against Sable's wrist, a whisper of pressure that traced up her arm as if she could carve her words into flesh.

Feeling. Claiming.

Sable's breath remained steady, but the moment Serina's fingers brushed higher, she moved.

A step back. Controlled, measured.

Not a recoil. Not submission.

A reluctance.

Serina's fingers hovered where Sable had been, empty now, the space between them cool once more. Sable said nothing. She loosened her grip on the warblade, her crimson eyes unwavering as they met Serina's. She expected an outburst now.

She was not something to be held. Not like this. Serina had said as much.

Serina's smirk curled at the edges, her blue eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, the warblade clattered to the ground between them. A challenge. An inevitability.

Sable let the silence stretch a moment longer. Then, without hesitation, she tightened the hold on her blade, and raised it.

Not because she was commanded.

Because she chose to.

She prepared for Serina’s next move, her face placid behind her helmet.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina's smile widened—not a smirk, not a look of amusement, but something far deeper. Something darker. Sable had chosen.

That was what mattered.

That was what Serina had been waiting for.

The moment stretched between them, the air heavy with the scent of ancient stone, of lingering death, of something far older than either of them. The tomb watched, silent and patient, as Serina extended her hand into the empty space before her.

The dark answered.

With a whisper of displaced air and a crackle of unseen energy, Ebon Requiem appeared in her grasp.

The halberd was a thing of beauty and terror alike—massive, intricate, lethal. The phrik blade shimmered, its edge catching what little light the chamber offered, while the etched inlays along its haft pulsed with an eerie glow, subtle, but undeniable. It was a weapon of presence. A weapon that demanded attention.

Much like its wielder.

Serina did not immediately take a stance. She savored the weight of the moment, the anticipation that curled at the edges of reality like a coiled predator ready to strike.

Then, she moved.

Not an attack. Not yet. But a slow, deliberate rotation of her weapon—a dance, a promise, a declaration. The halberd's head carved lazy circles through the air, whispering against the stillness like a blade through silk.

Her grip was effortless, fluid. The weapon did not command her; she commanded it.

Her blue eyes gleamed beneath the torchlight, flickering between shadow and fire as she drank in the sight before her—Sable, standing firm, blade raised, waiting.

Waiting for her.

For a moment, Serina was pleased.

Then, she acted.

The shift was instant, merciless, beautiful.

One moment she stood, poised like a queen surveying her domain. The next, she surged forward, her movements impossibly fast for a weapon of such size. The heavy phrik edge of Ebon Requiem came downward in a sweeping arc, not to kill, not even to wound—but to test.

To see.

To make Sable prove again that she had not simply chosen to fight, but had chosen to fight Serina.

The first strike was met with resistance—expected, anticipated. Serina did not relent. The second followed with the brutal efficiency of someone who had long since abandoned wasted movement.

Each step, each motion, was calculated to control.

Serina advanced, not with recklessness, but with mastery, forcing the rhythm of the battle into her tempo. She did not give Sable the luxury of dictating the flow.

The halberd's reach was devastating—where a sword required proximity, Ebon Requiem demanded distance. A flick of the haft redirected the angle of attack, the curve of the blade carving space where none should have existed. Control. Always control.

She was not trying to win. Not yet.

She was shaping Sable's movements, bending her, forcing her to adapt.

To think. To struggle. To prove.

"Better," Serina purred between strikes, voice as smooth as silk even as her weapon sought to carve through the air. "Much better."

The test had begun.

Would Sable endure it?

Serina wanted to find out.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable’s eyes flickered over Serina’s form, parsing every shift of muscle, every slight change in weight distribution, every breath that hinted at intention. Combat wasn’t just about the blade—it was about the body behind it, the mind directing it. And Serina? Serina was a predator in motion.

Her stance was deliberate, weight centered, movements honed with experience. She did not hesitate. That was telling. She wasn’t just a warrior; she was a master of her weapon. Every motion of Ebon Requiem was precise, wasting nothing, every step part of a larger picture. Sable could see it now—the framework of the fight Serina was constructing. A web of control, forcing her opponent to dance along the edges of its threads until they tangled and fell.

She’s testing, not committing. The halberd’s sweeping reach was a cage meant to restrict movement, to corner Sable into reacting rather than dictating. The attacks weren’t reckless or wild; they were shaping the battlefield. Shaping me.

Sable let her mind map out the possibilities—angles of attack, the natural follow-throughs Serina might take. A downward arc leaves the lower quadrant exposed for half a breath. A pivot to reset her footing will shift her weight to the back leg. The haft sweep extends her reach but momentarily sacrifices precision. It was a puzzle with moving pieces, one that Serina assumed she controlled.

But assumptions could be dangerous.

Sable adjusted, not just to evade, but to infiltrate that framework. She wouldn’t be corralled into predictable responses. She wouldn’t let Serina guide the tempo unchallenged.

A feint—just a flicker of motion, a suggestion of retreat. Let Serina believe she had seized the advantage. Let her commit to the next strike. Yes. There. The momentary shift in Serina’s stance, the expectation of control.

Sable struck.

A pivot, a calculated half-step forward, her blade twisting in a quicksilver arc—not to land a decisive blow, but to disrupt. To fracture the rhythm Serina sought to impose.

And as steel clashed, as energy crackled in the air between them, Sable met her opponent’s gaze with something cold. Something sharp.

Then fired the knee rockets from within her armor at Serina. Stun darts of course, but an attack all the same.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina felt the shift before she saw it.

Good.

Sable wasn't simply reacting anymore—she was thinking. Calculating. Looking beyond the obvious feints and control plays to create openings of her own.

The halberd sang through the air, cutting a path designed to dictate movement, to force Sable where Serina wanted her to be. But Sable had chosen not to be led.

And that choice? That was worthy.

Then the strike came. Unexpected. Calculated. Beautiful.

Sable's pivot was sharp, precise—a fracture in the pattern Serina had been weaving. The warblade twisted with speed, not to wound, not to overwhelm, but to disrupt. It was a crack in the foundation of Serina's design, a challenge against the control she had so meticulously crafted.

Serina adjusted instantly.

The downward arc of Ebon Requiem had been an invitation—one she was prepared to rescind the moment Sable reached for it.

The moment the knee rockets fired, Serina moved.

There was no hesitation, no moment of surprise—only the body reacting faster than conscious thought, honed through war, through slaughter, through an understanding of physics itself.

The first mistake people made when fighting someone who dictated combat like a battlefield strategist was assuming they would always be where they appeared to be.

Serina wasn't.

Her back leg, already subtly tensed for a shift in balance, twisted. The force of the rotation sent her into a perfectly measured backward spiral, her form tilting mid-air—just enough to let the stun darts pass beneath her, grazing the hem of her attire before slamming into the wall behind her in a violent burst of sparks.

Serina landed smoothly, elegantly, like she had planned the entire motion from the very start.

Sable had adapted.

And Serina? Serina was delighted.

Not just because Sable had tried, but because it meant she was worthy of being shaped further.

The flicker of a slow, dangerous smile pulled at the corners of Serina's lips as she twirled Ebon Requiem effortlessly in her grasp, the motion deceptively relaxed.

The subtle hum of the weapon's phrik blade cutting the air filled the chamber, a whispering echo of promise and control.

The sparks from the stun darts still flickered along the stonework, throwing erratic light between them. It illuminated the space just enough to highlight the shift in Serina's expression.

Her blue eyes locked onto Sable's crimson gaze with something more than approval.

Challenge. Curiosity. Possession.

She had seen fear in the eyes of many.
She had seen desperation.
She had seen rage.

But Sable?

There was clarity in her.
A clarity that Serina had given her.

"You are learning," Serina murmured, her voice like velvet dragged over steel. The way her head tilted slightly, the way her weapon twirled lazily in her hand, suggested she was far from done.

"But you still hesitate."

A statement, not a critique.

The halberd spun once more before coming to a dead stop in Serina's hands.

Then, in a single, explosive burst of motion, she closed the gap.

Faster. Harder. Sharper.

She had tested Sable's ability to react.

Now?

Now she was going to test her ability to endure.

Ebon Requiem struck first. A calculated feint, using the sheer momentum of its reach to draw the warblade into committing to a block. Not to hit. To control.

Serina already knew where Sable would move. She was forcing the rhythm back into her hands.

The halberd's head redirected mid-motion, the curved hook on its side angling toward Sable's warblade in an attempt to bind it. If it caught, Serina would rip the weapon from her grasp in one swift pull.

But she wasn't relying on that.

Her real attack came next.

Her left leg shot forward, pivoting at the last second into a sweeping kick aimed to take Sable's balance out from under her. It wasn't brute force—it was leverage, speed, and technique.

At the same time, her off-hand reached forward, fingers aiming for the nape of Sable's neck.

If she connected, she would twist—not to throw her, not to end her—but to break her center of gravity.

To see if Sable could adapt again.

Serina had no intention of winning.

She had every intention of making Sable fight for herself.

Not because she had to.

But because she chose to.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable's pulse quickened, the hum of Serina's blade cutting through the air a stark reminder of the deadly dance they were caught in. The calculated strike, the precision of it, left no room for doubt in Sable's mind—Serina wasn't playing at victory; she was crafting something else entirely. And that, in itself, was dangerous.

Her eyes locked onto the glint of Ebon Requiem, twirling lazily in Serina's grip. The challenge wasn't lost on her; it wasn't just about surviving anymore—it was about proving something. But there was a shift in Sable, a realization, something that pushed her forward, that moved her past hesitation.

The next strike came faster than Sable anticipated, but her body responded instinctively, the bounding boots in her armor already primed for rapid movement. She twisted, shifting her weight to avoid the feint, her warblade meeting Serina's in a sharp clash that vibrated up her arm. The hook on Serina's halberd was already in motion, and Sable's instincts screamed.

With a swift motion, Sable activated the whipcord launcher on her left wrist. The cord shot out, uncoiling with precision, and wrapped tightly around Serina's ankle before she could complete her sweeping kick. The unexpected resistance stopped Serina mid-motion, her foot momentarily caught, as Sable would pull hard, trying to throw Serina off balance and onto her back.

Leverage. Speed. Technique.

But it wasn't enough to avoid the hand aimed at her neck. She instead used her right hand and slammed the vibro knuckles along her gauntlet into the woman's oncoming hand.

She pulled with her left arm, tugging at Serina's ankle, before leaping, using the augmentation of her boots, and ideally the collapse of Serina's stance, to bound over the woman, driving her vibro-knuckler into the hand. Pushing off, Sable would flip up and over Serina at a rapid speed. The cord around the woman's ankle would go taunt for a moment, before disconnecting, Sable already engaging the laser cutter on her wrist as she would land across from Serina, and set into an Echani fighting stance.

Her senses burned, heart pumping, and the force funneling into her.

Sable wasn't just learning anymore. She was evolving.

Now it was her turn to test Serina.

If Serina thought she was hesitating, she was wrong.

Sable hadn't been using all her tools just yet.

Her wrist mounted dart launcher gave a faint whine, indicating it was ready to fire another burst.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina was laughing.

Not in mockery, not in disdain—but in sheer, unrestrained delight.

The moment Sable's whipcord wrapped around her ankle, Serina felt it. The sharp pull, the sudden shift in momentum. It was brilliant. Calculated. Audacious.

And for a fraction of a second, she let it happen.

Her leg was yanked from beneath her, her balance momentarily undone. But Serina did not fall.

Because Serina Calis did not fall.

Her body reacted faster than thought, the momentary loss of footing twisting into a motion of her own choosing. Rather than resisting the pull, she rolled with it, flipping her weight into an acrobatic spin, the force of her own movement ripping the whipcord from its locked state just as Sable disengaged it.

Tactical. Ruthless. Beautiful.

Then came the strike.

Sable's vibro-knuckler met Serina's hand mid-air, a crack of kinetic force jolting up her arm. Serina's fingers curled around the impact for half a breath, feeling the way the energy dispersed through her limbs. Not enough to break.

But enough to sting.

Exquisite.

Sable had thought ahead this time, hadn't she? The whipcord, the bound-boosted leap, the reversal of control—it was an attempt to shift the power dynamic. To make Serina react instead of dictate.

Serina landed lightly, her pivot controlled, but Sable had already moved.

The soft whine of a charged dart launcher filled the air.

Serina's smile deepened.

"Oh," she breathed, her blue eyes alight with something dangerous, something electric.

Not anger. Not disappointment.

Pride.

She twirled Ebon Requiem in her grip, its phrik edge humming with the weight of unseen energy. Her body had not tensed—it had relaxed, flowing effortlessly into a new rhythm.

This was no longer a test.

This was a game.

A duel between predator and prey—except, now, Sable was hunting, too.

Serina tilted her head, as if observing Sable from an entirely new perspective. The Echani stance was sharp, precise. Her gauntlet hummed, the faint red glow of the laser cutter illuminating the tension in her muscles.

Sable's stance was different now.

There was no hesitation.

There was choice.

Serina laughed again, stepping lightly to the side, the halberd in her hands moving with deceptive grace.

"You do know," she purred, voice as smooth as silk, "I designed this fight so I would win."

Her left foot slid back—a bait, a lure.

Her right hand flicked, sending Ebon Requiem into a flourishing spin. The light of the torches glinted off its phrik edge, its black obsidian inlay catching the flicker of Sable's dart launcher.

Serina's eyes narrowed.

"Fire it," she dared.

Then she struck.

Not like before—faster. Sharper.

The halberd came low first, an upward sweep designed to feint toward Sable's ribs.

A false opening.

The real attack followed instantly.

Serina's footwork changed in a blink, her entire stance shifting mid-motion. The upward feint suddenly stopped—twisting into a spinning, downward strike aimed at Sable's legs.

But it wasn't just that.

Her free hand moved, too.

A pulse of Force energy exploded outward—not to throw Sable, but to force her into a decision.

Dodge the halberd? Take the blast? Fire the dart? Counter the momentum?

It didn't matter.

Because no matter what choice Sable made—Serina was already two moves ahead.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable’s eyes locked onto Serina, reading her movements as though they were written in the air. The laugh—so pure, so unrestrained—pulsed through the space between them. It wasn’t mocking, but a recognition. Serina saw it. She saw the adjustment, the tactical shift, the moment where Sable tried to lead the fight. And now, Serina was already planning her response.

Sable’s hand shot up to the dart launcher, but Serina’s motion was already so fluid, so precise, that it was impossible to predict which move would come next. Serina’s halberd swept through the air like a whirlwind, her stance flowing with lethal purpose. Sable’s pulse quickened. She had a choice now, and it was clear: no matter what she did, Serina had already anticipated it.

The feint was too perfect. The upward sweep of the halberd was like a mirage, a trick designed to make Sable move the wrong way. And when it twisted downward, aiming for her legs, Sable knew she couldn’t dodge both. She had no time to fire the dart, to counter with her whipcord—there was only the Force pulse, already beginning to push against her.

Dodge the halberd? Take the blast? Fire the dart? Counter the momentum?

No, a forth option. Sable's wrist launcher on her right arm remained prepped.

She fired off her second set of darts from her remaining knee laucher, the laser cutter aimed towards Serina's ribs, her left arm ignites the energy buckler, slamming into the halberd of Serina, her wrist device gave a chime, and fired.

But not a dart, but an explosive dart; aimed at the ground between the two, aiming to create separation.

Serina could be as many steps ahead as she desired. When the foundation you walked on was unstable, it hardly mattered.

She would notice, if she even bothered to try, that Sable's mind no longer felt quiet. Something dark, alien, and yet familiar echoed from within her form.

If things went as intended, Sable would try to roll with the concussive blow back, and try to garner distance between herself and Serina.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina landed lightly, the faint impact of her boots against the stone drowned beneath the storm of her own laughter.

Oh, how exquisite this had become.

Sable wasn't hesitating anymore. She wasn't just enduring. She was fighting.

Not because she had been told to.

Not because she needed to survive.

But because she wanted to.

That was the true lesson, wasn't it? Choice. Power. The thrill of control.

Serina straightened, rolling her wrist as Ebon Requiem spun in her grasp, the weight of the halberd perfectly balanced, as though it had never been meant for any hands but her own.

Sable stood before her now—a warrior, not a student.

And Serina couldn't allow that.

She lifted her free hand, palm upward, fingers curling in a slow, deliberate beckoning motion. The air between them grew heavy, thick with the weight of unseen forces. The torchlight flickered, dimmed, as though the very chamber held its breath.

The hum of Sable's dart launcher whined softly in the silence. Serina's lips curled in delight.

"Oh, you are perfect," she whispered, and there was genuine pleasure in her voice.

Then she dropped Ebon Requiem.

The halberd clattered against the stone, its obsidian ornamentation catching the dim glow of the torches—but Serina never broke eye contact.

A choice.

A message.

She did not need it.

The tension coiled like a beast, waiting. Daring.

And then—lightning.

It did not crackle, did not explode like some raw, unfocused storm. No—Serina's command of the Dark Side was not a child's tantrum. It was art.

The first arc of violet lightning curled from her fingertips as gently as a lover's touch, coiling in the air before it shot forward, fast as thought, bending—twisting—not in a straight line, but in waves, unpredictable and deadly.

And more followed.

The air burned. The stone beneath them hissed. The chamber was alive with power.

Serina's fingers moved like a conductor weaving a symphony, controlling the arcs, shaping them, making them dance.

Her voice was barely above a murmur, a whisper woven into the very fabric of the storm.

"But you are nothing compared to the power of the Force."

The lightning lashed forward, but Serina was already moving, closing the space between them faster than expected.

Her left hand, the conduit of her storm, remained extended—but her right was already reaching.

Reaching for Sable's throat.

Not in haste.

Not in anger.

But in certainty.

Because this fight was over.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable's breath came steady, her every sense alive as she faced Serina. There was no panic in her chest, no fear. The tension of the battle was a familiar companion, one she had mastered. Her fingers flexed, ready to unleash her own deadly precision. Serina, with all her grace and power, had made one fatal mistake.

Underestimating Sable.

The moment Serina dropped her weapon, the challenge became clear. A shift in power, an invitation to something deeper. Sable was no longer the prey, not in this moment. She had made her choice, too.

Serina's lightning crashed forward with unrelenting precision, a sharp, violet arc that cut through the air like a whip. Sable's body was already in motion, her boots digging into the stone as she attempted to dodge, but the storm came faster than she could react. The first arc of lightning found its mark, striking her square in the chest.

Pain shot through her, searing hot and blinding. Sable's body seized, muscles locking under the pressure of the Dark Side's raw power. The ground beneath her feet seemed to vanish for a moment as the electricity coursed through her, throwing her off balance and sending her crashing to the cold stone floor.

Her armor, designed to absorb and deflect damage, groaned under the strain, but the force of the blast was too much. Her breath came in gasps, her head spinning as she struggled to regain control of her limbs. The storm continued to rage around her, arcs of violet lighting crackling above as Serina's control remained absolute.

Sable's eyes blurred, her body feeling as though it was being pulled apart from the inside out. It was all she could do to fight against the overwhelming surge of energy.

The last thing she saw was Serina's hand reaching toward her, fingers curling with calm certainty, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Sable's body contorted, her left arm raised to fire, before the pressure around her body exploded.

Her helmet, her wrist launcher, the devices within her suit, erupted as the lighting short circuited them.

A bright flash excluded from Sable's form, as her suit tried, and failed to fend off the energies of the force about her, and redirected them through to her electronics of her suit. The power supply detonated, and brought the rest of the systems along with it.

Serina had won in the end, as she throttled the battered and singed form of Sable, her armor smoldering, the eye-holes of her suit having burst, as smoke trickled out from the blow out holes in the helmet.

Sable didn't even scream. Nor could she, as she choked on both the force and the air that was currently burning at her lungs.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina exhaled slowly, savoring the scent of charred metal and ozone.

The fight was over. Of course it was.

Sable dangled in her grasp, her armor smoldering, ruined. Smoke curled from the exposed wiring, flickering embers catching along the jagged seams where the energy had torn through. Useless now. A pathetic shell that had once been something formidable.

Serina tilted her head, her expression caught between amusement and admiration.

"Oh, little shadow," she murmured, her fingers tightening just enough to force a ragged, shuddering gasp from Sable's lips. "Look at you now."

Her prize.

She had always known it would end like this. How could it not?

The Force crackled at her fingertips, a ghost of the storm she had just unleashed, the power still whispering along her veins. It would be easy—so easy—to end it here. To finish what had been started. A final burst of energy, one last act of dominance, and Sable would collapse into nothing but ashes on the cold stone floor.

But that was not what Serina wanted.

She had tested Sable. And Sable had made her so proud.

The lesson had seared itself into her very being. Submission was not just inevitable—it was survival, it was preferable.

Serina's grip loosened, just slightly. Not enough to be mercy. But enough to let Sable feel the moment she decided to let her live.

Her free hand lifted, brushing against what remained of Sable's helmet. Ruined. Shattered. It had protected her—for a time. But armor had limits. They would be fixed.

And now, so would Sable.

Serina's fingers found the edge of the ruined plating and ripped it away.

The helmet peeled back with a sickening crack of metal and fiber, exposing the face beneath. The smoke cleared, revealing what she had done.

Sable's skin was marred with burns, the edges of her features still raw from the heat. Her breathing was shallow, her lips trembling from the aftershocks of pain still racing through her system.

Serina cupped her chin, lifting her face gently—too gently.

Such a beautiful thing. Even broken. Especially broken.

She let the silence stretch between them, let Sable feel the weight of what had just happened. Let her understand how little she had ever truly controlled, but also how much Serina could let her control.

Then, Serina smiled.

"Shh," she whispered, thumb dragging lazily over Sable's split lip. True comfort. "I know it hurts. That's how you know it's real."

Her fingers trailed lower, along the bruises forming along Sable's throat, down to the scorched remains of her armor. A slow, possessive gesture, tracing over the damage, the evidence of who she belonged to now.

"I could have killed you," Serina continued, her voice soft as silk. "But I didn't."

A beat.

"Do you know why?"

Sable didn't answer. She couldn't. Not through the rasp of burned lungs, not through the lingering electricity still crackling in her bones.

Serina leaned closer, lips brushing just against the shell of her ear.

"Because you are mine."

Not a claim. A fact.

Serina finally released her, letting her collapse.

Sable crumpled to the cold stone floor, her limbs unresponsive, her body betraying her completely. She could do nothing but breathe—and even that, Serina allowed.

Serina crouched beside her, watching, waiting. Letting her feel it.

The weight of what she had become.

Then, ever so gently, she ran a hand through Sable's sweat-dampened hair, her tone slipping into something almost loving.

"Now," she whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Tell me, little shadow…what have you learned?"

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable lay motionless, every nerve in her body screaming in protest. Smoke curled from the ruined remains of her armor, the acrid scent of scorched metal mixing with the raw, iron-tinged taste of blood on her tongue. The world pulsed in and out of focus, every breath rattling through lungs that still burned from the energy Serina had unleashed.

She could feel the phantom imprint of Serina's hand against her throat, the ghost of her touch lingering like a brand, like a lesson carved into her flesh.

What had she learned?

That pain was inevitable? That resistance only delayed the outcome? That Serina—gods-damned, all-powerful Serina—could unmake her with a thought and remake her just as easily?

No.

She had always known that.

This was simply for Serina's ego.

Sable's body refused to move, her muscles trembling with exhaustion, but her mind remained sharp beneath the haze of pain. She had lost—this battle, this moment—but she had not broken. That was what mattered.

Her lips barely parted, her voice a whisper of scorched breath.

"....nothing...I didn't....already know."

It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to exist, and she was a bit blind at the moment. There was signs that her eyes suffered a low level of damage from the explosion, the noticeable amount of bleeding that trickled from her eye sockets made that rather clear.

She remained where she laid, unable to move at current, her exoskeleton of her armor having locked up after the power-pack exploded.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina tilted her head, watching Sable with undisguised amusement.

Blood trailed from her eyes, stark against the ruined remains of her face, her body wrecked and unresponsive. She lay there, caught between pain and understanding, yet she still had the audacity to whisper defiance.

Serina smiled.

"Oh, my sweet thing," she purred, dragging her fingers along Sable's exposed jawline. Light. Teasing. Mocking. "You truly are a stubborn little creature, aren't you?"

She pressed the pad of her thumb against Sable's split lip, tilting her face up. Not that Sable could resist. Not that she could even move.

Serina let her thumb trail lower, just barely brushing along the bruised column of her throat.

"You say you've learned nothing…" she murmured, her voice low, smooth, indulgent. "But I think that's not quite true."

Her hand slid lower. Over the ruined plating of Sable's armor, fingers tracing the charred edges of the damage. The places where the lightning had seared through, where the explosion had ripped away the last of her defenses.

Serina breathed her in.

The scent of ozone, of blood, of a body that had been pushed past its limits.

Her voice dropped into something almost soothing.

"Look at you…" she whispered, dragging her nails lightly over Sable's collarbone.

"You survived. You took everything I gave you and endured." A pause. A lingering caress. "That's something, isn't it?"

Her lips curled into a smirk, lazily pleased.

"But let's not pretend you walked away from this unmarked, my dear."

Her fingers slid lower, brushing just along the exposed lines of skin beneath ruined armor, the deliberate touch sending a clear message. A claim.

"You learned," Serina continued, softly.

"You learned what I wanted you to learn. That when you stand against me, when you fight me…"

She leaned in, her breath warm against the curve of Sable's bruised cheek.

"I will always win."

The words were not cruel, not sharp. Just a fact. A truth so deeply embedded in the reality between them that it didn't need to be argued.

Her lips barely grazed the shell of Sable's ear, a whispering breath, dangerously close.

"And, more importantly..." Her nails traced delicate patterns across torn armor, over scorched skin.

"You like it, don't you?"

Her tone was sweet venom, thick with satisfaction.

“Respond.”

Serina's hand tightened—just barely. A possessive touch. A reminder.

"You can lie to yourself, little shadow," she purred, lips just brushing the edge of Sable's jawline. "But you can't lie to me."

Her fingers drifted again, slower this time. Mapping the ruined edges of her armor, the places where the metal had cracked away to reveal flesh.

Serina exhaled, her blue eyes alight with something deep and dark and knowing.

"You belong to me," she whispered, a smile curling against Sable's skin.

"And while you belong to me, I will allow you to choose, I will allow you to control, but most importantly…"

Serina unleashed her final words like a proclamation, a dark promise, a glimpse into a future equally unholy and impure.

“I will allow you to dominate others, just as I do to you.”