Private In the Belly of the Beast

[Lirka Ka]

They were kindred spirits, even if Alana Calloway didn’t know it yet. Scum to scum, they fought and they hurt and they most importantly survived. For nothing else was more important to Lirka Ka than the battle for survival, to commit a thousand atrocities and to tell a thousand lies so that she might survive until the End of All Days.

She watched as the girl crashed to the floor, for a moment Lirka almost expected her to stay down. But as she tried to slash at her again, Lirka couldn’t help but feel mighty chuffed in her people skills. My, she really did know how to pick them.

And Lirka did something only a monster like her could do, for lesser beings would have wept at the thought.

As Alana’s blade launched out, Lirka reached down to grab it. Letting the blade dig into her fingers as her ichor poured down its length. The pain was immense, but compared to her dark marriage to Carnifex? There was no pain that could ever compare. Letting her grasp tighten, the meat of her hand digging into the blade as fingers were threatened to be nearly cut off: Lirka tugged in an attempt to rip it from the Echani’s hand, all of her mechanized strength behind the pull.

The girl had proven herself plenty, and Lirka saw only a murderer before her now. Someone, who with the right teachings, could join the ranks of the Strong.

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

In the Belly of the Best ​

Tags: Lirka Ka​

Armor:
S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor

Weapons:
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade


Alana's fingers burned as the vibroblade was nearly wrenched from her grip, the force of Lirka's mechanical pull straining every muscle in her arm. Blood slicked the weapon, dark and thick, and yet Lirka didn't flinch—didn't waver. She only grinned that monstrous grin, her sheer presence suffocating. She felt a primal scream, blood pumping through her body, empowering her, driving her.

Lirka wasn't just strong. She was something else entirely.

For a split second, Alana's instincts screamed at her to let go—to retreat and find another opening. But instincts weren't always right. Lirka had already made her point: brute force wouldn't win this fight.

So Alana did the opposite of what was expected.

Instead of pulling away, she surged forward.

She let go of the blade just enough to shift her grip, angling the weapon as she followed its momentum. If Lirka wanted to take it from her, she'd let her—but not without cost.

She twisted her body, using the tug to drive herself in close. Her free hand shot forward, fingers curling into a fist as she slammed it towards Lirka's exposed side. A dirty trick, one learned in her life—let them think they've won, then make them pay for it.

Pain for pain.

Blood for blood.

There was a flair of power, all the energy Alana could muster went into the blow, though it would be for not.

 

[Lirka Ka]

That was the curse of Lirka Ka. To join the Strong she had become something else, she had cursed herself to a life of vats and tubes, constant bacta to stave off the decay that bit at her heels as nature tried to kill a creature that had no right to exist.

She was surprised to see the girl yank herself back towards Lirka, and as she finally got her grasp on the blade: blood pouring from her open wound now. She tossed the weapon aside once more, just as Alana Calloway made contact with Lirka’s wounded side.

Her fist would feel the wet, thick, sensation of Lirka’s unnatural blood. A sound came from the Sephi’s helmet. A groan of masochistic satisfaction? It was a petty blow.

And Lirka couldn’t have been more proud.

Lesser souls would have crumbled there and then, and the Underworld trash they had known so long would have given up and ran ages ago. But these were different times, and different foes. Lirka’s helm acknowledged Alana once more, words humming out from it once again. Like a mother’s love, cold but pure.

“You’re everything I hoped you would be.”

Words of affirmation that offer no solace, words that would lead down a dark path from which there was no escape once you delved too deep.

Lirka’s way.

Blood for blood.

Pain for pain.

The cruel, petty, way of the strong.

 

[Alana Calloway]

.​

In the Belly of the Best ​

Tags: Lirka Ka​

Armor:
S-6 "Eclipse" Class Legion Combat Armor

Weapons:
1 x VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade


Alana pulled back, her knuckles slick with blood—Lirka's blood. But the reaction she got wasn't one of pain or anger. No, Lirka reveled in it.

Alana's breath was heavy, her heart hammering like a war drum. This was no ordinary training, no sparring match. Lirka wasn't molding her into a warrior. She was dragging her, kicking and screaming, into something far worse.

And what disturbed Alana most wasn't the brutality. It wasn't the blood. It was how familiar it felt.

The way she'd given up on technique, abandoned the soldier's form drilled into her through months of Sith training. The way she'd fought like the scum Lirka wanted her to be.

Her fingers twitched, aching to reach for another weapon, another strike. But she hesitated.

Lirka had given her an opening—but was it a test, after all.

The words echoed in her ears. You're everything I hoped you would be.

She wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Alana flexed her fingers, clenching them into a fist before forcing them to relax. Lirka was stronger, faster—Alana wasn't about to win in a contest of brute force.

So she did the only thing she could.

She smiled. A small, lopsided thing, blood staining the edge of her teeth where she'd bitten her cheek during the scuffle. It was over?

With a casual shrug, Alana stepped back, rolling out her shoulders. "Well," she said, voice hoarse but steady. "That was fun...."

A beat of silence. Then, with a smirk, she added, "So what now? You gonna buy me dinner, or was that just foreplay?"
She laughed, and for a second, it was enjoyable. Then the pain caught up, and her laughter ceased shortly after.

 

[Lirka Ka]

True pain was a difficult thing for Lirka to show, it was expectable for a woman who had well…died. Anything less she simply derived too much glee from, but such were her monstrous ways. Lirka looked down to her bloody hand, already the blood clotted and flesh had begun the process of knitting itself back together.

Lirka was damnation, her Kainites had become a ravenous horde. Every dark impulse encourage all inhibitions were scorned. Primal, savage, chaos. That was what the Dark had bid. They would have peace in death and death alone, once the stars went cold they could finally rest. Till then? Anarchy.

She spoke now, casual. As if they hadn’t just been beating each other bloody a moment before, truthfully, Lirka didn’t make any true “acquaintances (if they could even be called that) without some blood being spilt first. So were the traditions of savages.

“The armor is yours, Alana Calloway You have earned a spot among us, you may wear the mark of a Kainite with pride. Know that you have earned it with the blood of a monster.”

In Lirka’s infinite wisdom she had forgotten one thing: to invite the heart of scum out of someone, was to invite the crude mannerisms of one. While her face was not visible, it didn’t take a genius to know she shot daggers at the Warrior for her vulgarity. What was wrong with the youth these days? But admittedly, even Lirka could say it was pretty fun.

“You may have a handful of my bacta patches. Nothing more. I am old enough to be your grandmother’s grandmother, Warrior. There are expectations to hold yourself to in old age, if you reach it.”

Always a reminder, their kind lived on the edge: at a moments notice, oblivion could take them and they would become but ash in the wind.