Loose Ends

[Sirak Kolar]

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The street exploded in screams, it’s cramped occupant’s faces of horror covered in blood as the harsh whizzing of a lightsaber blade permeated the air. Between the cries, another swish, slash, and cut broke the silence, a cacophony of carnage bellowing outwards from the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa. It’s composer, Ebon, a Zabrakian Warlord formerly known as Sirak Kolar.

His face was lit by the red edged blade of his saber, his disgusting teeth rearing their fanged tips, faint speckles of blood forming from the violence he was directing. He stood tall, but no cloak adorned him, instead all black robes fitted for his body, flowing quietly and elegantly as he twisted and turned in the small opening of the underworlds market.

As mindless as the carnage was, and as hopeless as it seemed, there was purpose to his violence. Ebon knew in his heart and soul that those he was cutting down had sinned in the highest degree against both the galaxy and Balagoth himself. To kill them was the ultimate redemption for their unknown crimes, and it filled him with glee. Despite the jubilance he felt, he had come for a different reason, and that was to bring out the ever prevalent heroin of Nar Shadda, Ebon’s ex-master;

The Dark Man.

Ebon knew the violence he caused would create a ripple, a wave of gossip and unfiltered fear that would make it’s way back to the man who found himself the aged protector of this god forsaken cesspool of crime. How pitiful the once grand Jedi had fallen so far as to protect the sinners from other sinners…

Still, his vengeance was not for teaching him, nor protecting the sinners, but from fleeing the primeval years before. In the midst of the fires of civil war, The Dark Man had come for Ebon, and taken back his cherished lightsaber Ebon had received from the Matriarch herself. If it weren’t for The Dark Man’s prowess at the time, Ebon would have killed him then and their.

However, often times fate leads to a different path, and this would be that path. The path of burning off loose ends of a past Ebon cared little for anymore, and doing so collecting a trinket for all the hardships he had to endure because of this grievous insult bestowed upon him by a rickety old man.


[member="The Dark Man"]

 

[The Dark Man]

Dark laces began to tighten around the forlorn Jedi Enclave on Nar Shaddaa. Within its cobwebbed tunnels and tomb-like rooms a Jedi stirred from his study. Spectacles as black as night reflected a candle on the desk, its flickering flame dying out as wax pooled upon the soft timber top. Beside tomes and flimsiplast as old as the Infinite Empire, a mythic blade lay in rest. It's glittering electrum detail sparkled with unknown properties.

Worn hands, calloused and wrinkled, gently girdled the ancient lightsaber, attaching it to a belt. The Dark Man rose, blanketed by a night sky cloak, torn and shredded from decades of journeys and fights. Flecks of white speckled his grayed hair, once a nourished brown. His spectacles turned to observe the entryway, cold and unkempt. Its primordial doors led out into a bleak abyss of neon lights and hard crime.

The Dark Man followed this path, he felt out into the Force, following the threads of influence that surged towards him with menace. He stood at the precipice of the Underworld, the wind carrying his cloak with a furious flap. It was a banner of hope for many on Nar Shaddaa. With a glance to the fateful night, The Dark Man leaped from the walkway.

He fell thousands of stories. He put his faith in the Force. The darkened floor far below him began to open up like the maw of a great beast. It looked to consume him, to devour him, as it always hoped, but it never had. He was one with the darkness, and one with the light. The ground was growing closer with every passing moment, and he saw it. The crimson glow of a hellish blade, Ebon.

Laces as bright as the sun exploded in the Force, a powerful push surged forth from his palm, his lethal descent became a soft landing. He landed with grace, the pavement around the impact cracked and moaned in protest. Dark spectacles fell upon the Zabrak, "I will offer you my mercy now, beast of darkness, flee this world and do not return." His hands released the clasps on his cloak, then turned on the hilt of his most famous blade. It was a warning most did not get. Leave or die.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Ebon’s testament to destruction surrounded him as distance cries of pain and sorrow rang out. Whole lives destroyed with a few quick slashed of a double edged blade, and almost no one could do a thing to stop him and his vicious rampage. He let out a small but hearty laugh, ending it with a faint howl as a man dropped from the sky near him.

"I will offer you my mercy now, beast of darkness, flee this world and do not return."

Ebon’s eye’s moved to meet the would be heroin, amber eye’s glistening in the red light above them both. Quietly, they moved to lightsaber in his hand, and his fanged teeth exposed themself in a sneered grin, his cheeks contorting against themselves in a harsh and unnaturally cruel way. Ebon spoke softly at first in response, his tone slowly rising to a challenging level;

“Tardiness is blood on your hands, Jedi. These deaths were your doing.”

His grip tightened around the golden, worn staff in his hand, either side offering faint puffs of smoke rising on either side in a fleeting, faintly intimidating manner.

“You know why I’ve come, ‘Master’.”

He emphasized that last word with a sneer, his jaw tightening as it closed once more, flexing beneath his cheeks.

“I couldn’t possibly leave now.”

Ebon lowered himself slowly, bending at the knees while both hands came to grip the saber in a truly ready position. Although The Dark Man was a threatening character to behold, Ebon had been training almost non stop in both applicable combat situations, and simulations with ancient sith holocrons. Victory was not guaranteed for either side, but Ebon was far too dedicated and hard headed to turn his attention anywhere else.

His last connection to the Jedi would die today, either through his old master, or through him. Whichever gave first.

[member="The Dark Man"]

 

[The Dark Man]

The Dark Man knew those deaths were his. He should have felt Ebons presence on world, but he had become overburdened in his aged years from the deaths of hundreds of innocents that a few more on his weary shoulders would not be noticed. He would stride to be better next time, not for himself but for those who cannot defend themselves.

Then he said it, Master. Salt on a wound. The very word sounded perverse coming from Ebon and it made the Dark Mans stomach sink. He began to pace, anticipating for what was next. He had offered him mercy, he had offered him to leave, he would not do such, and he knew what would come. He placed his thumb over his lightsabers hilt, then activated the blade. A bright golden blade illuminated the darkness of the Underworld. It was thinner and slightly shorter than other lightsabers.

It was clear the Zabrak had no intention to leave, even when he had offered him such. The Sith wanted something, and he would die before he surrendered. "Then you have sealed your fate," the Jedi Watchman spoke with finality, his hand rising and curled. Dark energies surged forth, threads of corruption encircling the throat of Ebon. He mean't to choke him through the Force, crush his windpipe. Attain certain victory.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

Ebon offered a simple, toothy grin in response to the dark tendrils forming a vice grip around his throat. While deadly to the untrained foe, Ebon knew the concentration it took for what The Dark Man was implying, and it’s implication not only insulted him, but angered him. He was a veteran of war, a walking genocide, and the only thing his ex master could offer for first strike was a meaningless choke? The anger rushed to his grin, it’s almost taunting smile turning to a teeth shattering clench of his jaw, his free hand moving forward violently, backed by the will of Sargon.

With it, came a telekinetic shockwave of force energy, one perhaps not as strong as the Jedi Knight may have seen before, but strong enough in it’s own right to disrupt the choke, in turn a hopeful amount of power to knock the aged master off balance. In that small moment of time between the force choke giving, and to when The Dark Man would respond, would be Ebon’s opening…

His massive form lurched forward, amplifications of Sargon’s dark energy cracking the ground beneath the ball of his foot as he came bearing down on the Jedi. An overwhelming knee threw itself towards the Jedi’s ribcage, his lightsaber kept close to his body, either side ignited for a counter strike. The Sith’s strike was strong enough to shatter a droid’s metallic skull, as it had done many times, but this time it was different. It came with a passion he had not felt since the days of the Primeval Civil War, one he had not known for a long period.

It was hate. Ebon felt more in love with the battle than he had any in the last year, and it was only the first few moments of it. He didn’t care how it went, only that he felt the fleeting satisfaction of battle like this once more.

[member="The Dark Man"]

 

[The Dark Man]

There was nothing left of Sirak Kolar, The Dark Man saw that much -- and more. There was a monster that lay domain over the Zabraks mind and soul, all shreds of his former apprentice were gone, or deeply hidden. This beast of man, mutation of evil, gave only a toothy grin at his meek attempt to choke him, to stay the Zabraks blade. There was no need for bloodshed, but this monster had other ideas.

Then the blast came, unleashing a torrent of energy towards the elderly Jedi Knight. To become rigid would harm him, throw him off-guard and potentially allow Sirak to land a lethal blow. Although his joints and bones groaned in protest, he flowed with the energy, pushing him far back. He drifted like a leaf in the wind, landing softly on the balls of his feet.

The monster came forward, the Dark Man sheathed his lightsaber, a flick of motion, the Force tugged, and it was safely in the confines of its belt-loop. The Zabraks knee came up, the teachings of Broken Gate resurfaced. Albeit his teacher was a Yodaling, tiny in frame, he was a ferocious warrior. With the speed of a Nexu, the Jedi Watchman hooked his arm under the knee and lifted it up, utilizing the energy of the strike, he mean't to flip the Sith up and over onto his back.

Any strike that may come he would sense the disturbance, he would know to move, he was old but the Jedi could weave between a blades vector with the dexterity of men six decades his younger. Were his attack successful, the Dark Man would not hold back, unleashing a tornado of quick strikes directed for joints and nerves.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

The Dark Man was no doubt Ebon’s better in experience, and his skill exceptional, but he fought with reservation to what Ebon’s power was. Perhaps The Dark Man didn’t feel fear, but he could feel pain, and Ebon meant to lash out in any way he could.

As his knee flew through the air with a ear splitting pace, he felt the Jedi Mentor’s hand reach behind his leg and start a drive upwards. Against a lighter opponent, it would have surely flipped him in a moment notice, but Ebon’s size was on his side, and the placement of his hands only moments before were perfect for a tactile response. His leg began to soar, but his hand quickly latched onto the knight’s own wrist, jagged, disgusting claws digging into his skin with not only Ebon’s strength, but his power in the force amplifying it.

At the same time, either of his legs extended, twisting himself perpendicular to his form. His massive strength pulled the arm close to his groin, bending it violently at the elbow. It wasn’t a matter of submission, but outright breaking his arm in one fluid motion, no energy wasted in causing pain, an unadulterated arm bar.

His lightsaber continued to stay near his chest, now only supported by one of his hands, but his eye’s reflected the blade with their own fire. Ebon was too close, too heavy, and too fast to simply be underestimated.

Still, while his body language spoke chaos, while his nerves urged for battle, his mind remained calm and calculated, the soft waves of thoughts passing and moving with each moment, each with their own shred of truth, and hate.

“The Primeval shall rise from the ashes of the fallen, beginning with you.”, the monologue chanted.

[member="The Dark Man"]