Only War (open for whatever)

[Anastasia Rade]

Anastasia nodded and watched as he left. Following along would just get the young woman in trouble and probably hurt. She had promised [member="Azrael"] that she would keep herself safe so she wouldn't put herself in harms way so she wouldn't follow. Instead the young woman decided it was time to get a good look around this place. She had been waiting for a grand tour a long time and was her chance.

Setting the cookie plate down she picked up a cookie to munch on and his datapad while she started to take her self guided tour. She was going to need the datapad to take notes on all she saw. Everything that she documented would be useful for later. The only thing she needed to do was not have any flashbacks while going though his things.

Once upon a time she used to be a slave hidden away in cells just like these. It brought back memories of when she had been one. She had been injected with terrible things and when she begged them to stop she had only been laughed at. Slavery was a terrible things and she would stop it. Nobody should ever suffer the way she had. All good things came to those who waited and she had been patiently waiting.

[member="Darth Odium"][member="Duvain"] [member="Strask Ak'lya"][member="Ashin Varanin"][member="Preliat Mantis"][member="Mya Munro"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Odium"]

The blast door, she could freely admit, had been a mistake, giving him telegraphy on her coming move. Her gauntleted left palm slammed into the door, forming an anchor point along with her right foot. That let her take a portion of her weight off her left; an instant later, his fist struck the side of her knee. Her foot skidded in the dirt.

She fell toward him, twisting left and collapsing into a kneeling posture, her right arm and shoulder skidding against the blast door. Her armored left knee, with its spinelike crest, projected toward him; her left elbow came down, a phrik-clad hammerfist at the top of the kneeling man's skull. In a perfect world, she'd then grab tentacles and slam his face or throat onto the spike of her knee.

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

The crash of metal and bone seldom left the bone in a happy state. The womans hand came down the meaty portion of her and driven like a hammer at the top of his head. His vision blurred for a moment and he saw spots as he felt a phrik hand en-wrap head tresses and pull aiming his face at the diamond shaped portion of her armor that protected the knee. He jerked his head sideways to avoid implement on the pointed gaurd but not far enough. The sharp edge slammed into dark olive skin tearing a jagged gash from below his left eye likely breaking the cheek bone and cutting to just before the ear.

Odium didn't scream in anger nor pain but either would have been appropriate. His left near hand shot down at the ankle of the offending leg as anger boiled in an effort to straighten the leg while a large right hand fired a palm stike at what was hoped to be a nearly locked knee.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Odium"]

Most of her weight was on that very bent knee by virtue of falling forward; she winced in sympathy as he slammed his palm into the upward-facing spike. At a guess, he'd just put a hole in his hand near the base of his fingers. The impact jarred her left side back nonetheless. She braced herself against the blast door, still crouching, still holding onto his tentacles, and brought up her back leg to send a spiked right knee at his head.

The motion compromised her balance, completely. Succeed or fail as the strike might, she now had her hips square to him, both knees bent, feet more or less beside each other once the knee strike bounced back -- if it bounced back. He had good traction; he could bowl her over, put her on her shoulders hard, her head only a couple of feet from the rock wall by the exit. If that happened, she'd attempt to put him in a clinch and lock phrik-clad ankles in the small of his back.

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

Odium's hand crashed into the spike and tore on the phrik spike. Blood rushed to the area and he opened his mouth to let out a silent gasp of pain. He other knee rose to strike at his head and he knew he could not afford to let this woman continue her assault this way. He leaned back as he reached with his good hand and tried to push her farther off balance. His torn hand was pulled against his abdomen as he tried to push her. If he could he would try and get over her legs and try and get into a mount and keep her there while he decided what to do with her.

 

[Darth Odium]

Sorry phone post.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Odium"]

He shoved her back, her shoulders hit the ground, and she got the clinch -- but he was going for a mount already. Slippery schutta.

Amphibians.

Her armored knees locked around his hips in an attempt to keep him from clawing his way up. To go from clinched to mount, he needed to get past those knees, shove them down one at a time, plant his own knees on the insides of hers one at a time -- overpower her strength to strength. He got the left well enough, but he was favoring his right side, and she kept her left leg locked around his back, against his shove.

She was more or less out of sane and sensible options, but close combat was no place for sane nor sensible; it wasn't even a place for thought. She rolled right, attempting to pull him off-balance with the crook of her knee -- attempting to slam the side of his head into the blast door. There was a good chance he'd bend forward and fold in, slide the back of his head against the door, wind up on his left shoulder between it and her, with his thigh trapped under her waist. Either that, or he'd get up his good hand against the door to keep them both from rolling.

Should he pick the former, she'd launch a point-blank gestureless Force push at his throat. Nothing huge - she had no room to focus through a motion. Should he pick the latter, the push would aim for his throat and the underside of his chin. Should he find a viable third option, well, at least he wasn't in full mount just yet.

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

She had him figured fast. His right hand was his stronger and it was in rough shape. He got the her halfway toward a mount when she began to roll. Ground fighting was messy business and being faster or stronger helped but nore often than not it was anyone's game. Instinct, reflex, experience all could make or break anyone and one slip coukd be the difference between walking away and never walking again. He had tried to slip through and hope for a slip but that wasn't the case this time.

He leaned forward onto her and he pushed his torn hand at her face plate as his back hit the blast door.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Odium"]

Well this was just plain awkward.

She'd trapped his left leg under her; hers was wrapped around him. Her blaster was unreachable; its grip would be digging into the underside of his knee right about now. His top hand, the one he could move with anything like freedom, smeared Nautolan blood across the eyes of her death's-head helmet as he shoved her head back. Her back hurt, at an odd angle from the leg under her waist. If he exposed her chin-

Her top arm was the left; she tucked it in to her chest and shot it up ('up') between their faces, to ward away his right. But why stop there? She had just barely enough room to snake out her hand in a counterclockwise arc, dip it under his tricep, and pull. Her goal was to snare his injured hand in her armpit and straighten the arm, damage the elbow.

Her right arm wormed out from under her, moved in front of her neck and chest, defensively; she couldn't get in an accurate strike, not with blood obscuring her eyepieces. That put all her weight on shoulder, knee, and waist, where his leg was pinned.

Awkward was the word. It hurt some.

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

Odium was far closer to this woman than he had ever intended. His left hand tried to worm out and slide up as quickly as he could. He pressed his back against the door to try and gain space. His right elbow popped from his own movement combined with her having it hooked. He gasped and pressed back forward to try and press his forarm against her hand guarding her throat while hi tried to bend his right arm around her back. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to start draining her.

 

[Darth Odium]

Gaaaaaaahhhhhh.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Odium"]

His forearm pressed her right gauntlet and bracer against her breastplate and the bottom of her helmet -- no choke, not yet, but awkward. His right snaked around her, compromising the elbow lock and pressing her left gauntlet firmly against the right side of his chest, up from under the arm. She'd sensed the hunger in him, the strength of someone who relied on that most ancient of Sith techniques, and if there was one thing about him she feared, that was it. She knew that hunger intimately. She'd set up bulwarks within herself, spent weeks in meditation, trying to keep it at bay.

Sadness -- no, humiliation -- attended twin realizations: That she only had one way to counter this, and that she wasn't strong enough to die for her principles.

There had been a time when she stood against the great masters of Force Drain, tore them down, learned from them. There had been a time when her hunger was vastly less controlled. There had even been a time when she didn't want to control it. Streamers of yellow light exploded from the pitiless lenses of her death's-head helmet, aiming to connect with his eyes.

She was ravenous. Achingly empty.

No matter the outcome, he had just undone the work of years, and she could have wept for fury. But this was just like when she'd kicked glitterstim -- just like the times she'd relapsed.

No matter the outcome, Odium had just tapped into a secret she'd killed to defend.

Ashin Varanin was an addict.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Mya smiled, drinking in the image before her. "Oya." she breathed softly in reply. Before she could make any move to attack, circumstances changed. Her head snapped round as a shout of alarm came from her men, the sergeant dead on the floor. Her anger increased tenfold and her now amber eyes settled back onto Preliat. She'd intended to fight him honorably. She'd intended for them to fight without interruption, but this was a breach of honor. He'd brought a third party into this fight, and for that there was no need for an honorable fight.

"Bik ni skana'din." she spat at him, before turning her back on him. "Move it!" she screamed at the stunned soldiers. They shifted at her voice, ushering the last of the slaves into the belly of the ships, its engines roaring to life. Five remained, there heads protected by armor, they lifted their weapons to point at Preliat as Mya moved to see where the sniper shot had come from. "Kill him." she barked, eyes moving down to settle on an observer. She tilted her head, distracted for the moment.

She could feel the hunger in [member="Duvain"] a hunger that matched her own. She smiled, and swept and arm towards the ship. It was a invitation. He could take it or leave it.

[member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Strask Ak'lya"]

 

[Preliat Mantis]

Preliat now had precious few seconds. A distraction from the force user, the imposter of Mia Monroe, [member="Mya Munro"], would hopefully, give him some form of respite. He curled his wrist inward, letting the head of the beskar tomahawk fall towards his armored wrist. He moved quickly- very quickly. He had to, with the situation changing. He pulled his arm downward, and the tomahawk went flying towards her arm. Preliat activated the CO2 tube on his knife, and beamed the knife at one of the soldiers. It hit his neck. The resulting pumping in of rapidly-expanding CO2 gas was nothing short of disgusting as his head was nothing less than gruesome, to say the least. Preliat leveled his jetpack forward, and rocketed towards the four remaining soldiers. He grabbed one, while the rockets on his back shot him forward. His shoulder impacted him, the Beskar'kandar and all it's terrifying weight and strength making a sickening, collar-bone crunch. Preliat looked upwards, as his jetpack continued to howl.

The thrusters. Hopefully, this would work. Otherwise, it'd just be a brutal way for the man to die. Not that he particularly cared. He shoved the soldier into the thrusters, and turned to face the other two, before blaster bolts came his way. They weren't idiots- they were trained soldiers. A blaster bolt impacted his shoulder, and sent him recoiling backwards before he fell to the ground. He hastily removed the pistol on his thigh, and began to fire back. The bolt didn't do any real damage besides perhaps a crack on his shoulder blade and a lot of internal bleeding and bruising, but nothing that a while in the medbay couldn't solve. He stood, holding his arm under his hand to stabilize his shots, and peppered one man full of bolts, and moved again. He began to run for the rocky hills, but not to run away. He grabbed the beskar knife as he ran, though the CO2 chamber was empty. But again, a Beskar knife, was a beskar knife. Bolts began to whiz around him, and he felt one hit him in the leg.

And then, Preliat played dead, though the Beskar'kandar took the brunt of the energy and kinetic damage. He laid there, on his stomach. Waiting. His HUD began to whirl, as he patiently waited for the soldier to come or shoot him again.

He realized that the pain would set in soon, as it slowly began to come to his body.

 

[Ak'lya]

She was good. Anyone who could spot him like that would have to be.

And the child was shoved onto the transport. Slavers. Or Sith. He didn't know which yet. But he had to do something. Aimong down the scope once again, he took aim at the shuttle's cockpit. a pair of shots in quick succession to the pilot's window would at least provide the distraction needed to keep it on the ground. He needed to get down there. But he couldn't. Not until he knew he could get her out.

He was running out of options. He needed to figure out how to cripple [member="Mya Munro"]'s ship. or track it. Either way, he needed to work quickly. But for that, he needed a distraction. He watched the troops seem to take down [member="Preliat Mantis"]. Mandalorians. Only invincible until you needed them to be. Well, looks like he needed another one before she came for him. Think fast. It was times like this he wished he could set off another blaster with the Stiletto.

Kriffing space wizards.

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

There was little to be said and less to be done about it. He couldn't help himself, it was less a desire to attack than it was a desire to be filled. He drained her and held the drain as she reciprocated with the same technique. he was insatiable now and every time he fed on another this way it grew harder to resist. He was nearly lost in the desire to consume and this wasn't the first time he felt he couldn't stop.

Soon his hunger rather than being satiated began to grow as what he drained from her was drained away only to be drained again. He started to expand the ability again like he had done before, an addict that couldn't help himself and them area around them began to die.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Odium"]

She planted her left foot on the blast door and shoved out with both hands, and broke free of the clinch. Standing, however, appeared to be out of the question for the moment. Her full attention remained on the death field that surrounded them both. On the grass going brown, the remaining base personnel beginning to die, birds tumbling in flight. An unfamiliar insect shed colour as it flopped between them, its wings a jerking arrythmia. She dragged herself up to a crouch, half-kneeling with her hand on her blaster.

For everything he took from her, her hunger grew. She was afraid, but the hunger ate her fear. She was ashamed, but the hunger ate her shame. And she couldn't think straight enough to find a way forward, couldn't get a hint of precog or intuition. That, right there, was the most frightening part, or would have been if there was anything left to her. The death field hollowed her out.

This couldn't end well.

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

There was no more thought, no more worry, no more pain, only the hungry mattered now. He had kept it at bay. He had avoided feeding his desire. The slaves had been kept alive, the doctors, the guards all of them lived while he held himself back. Black eyes burned with the hunger Crimson began to fill the black orbs and the dark mark was tapped. He began draining everything and by extension the woman too began geting fed from the link to the Dark Lord.

This wasn't for power anymore than a spice head took spice for power. Everytime he gave in and fed he needed more. Everytime he consumed another life he needed two the next time. It was a curse...the holocron had warned him, his master had warned him, his own vision saod he would be destroyed in this very way, but none of it mattered. All that mattered, was draining everything he could reach.

He pressed to his knees and then to a kneeling. The power filling him made his mental block crumble temporarily and he spoke in his own voice for the second time.

"Don't fight it..." came the words of a hollow rasping voice, "feed your desire."

The field began to expand as he stopped holding back and gave in completely to the hunger come what may. Meter by meter the ground died, birds fell from the sky and animals collapsed to the ground. Worms and creeping things surfaced as the tried to escape death but to no avail the died in various stages of reaching the surface. Now even slaves that had gone the wrong way or were too slow now faced the twin hunger of the addicts.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Odium"]

She wasn't a Master again, not yet. Normally that translated to decreased power, but Valik had only recently completed his experiments on her, his attempt to bring her back to full strength through the apex power of the alchemical school. Whatever barriers remained had less to do with strength than they had to do with control, and fear of losing it.

Those barriers went too. The death field reached critical mass, a self-sustaining wound in the Force, absolutely beyond her control. It twisted her senses, watered her eyes with its wrongness, everywhere she looked -- everywhere. No longer did simple ribbons of Force Drain connect their eyes; their efforts took another form, in the Nihilus model. The area, the region, was darkness that roiled with red clouds and redder sparks. And she gave it everything she had.

When she answered, her voice carried whispers from the echo of a billion souls. One did not simply fight Moridin. Even after she'd found a way to give them peace, some part of a billion lives remained, one more scar.

"You should have let me sleep."

She drew her blaster and fired from the hip. She was aiming for the kneeling Master's chest, but her mind was wholly occupied with the death field. Her aim would suffer.

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

"There is no sleep.." Odium said as the bolt streaked toward him striking the right side of his chest near the shoulder as he lunged to his left. He needed to let go, needed to stop feeding, but how could he? How could he when the sweet taste of life and the force itself filled him. A knife came from a sleeve and soared at the woman's neck, from the slightly lower position he had the angle but it was extremely tight and she needed but move for it to strike her armor and be deflected. He needed to go but the pouring energies were too good after so long a restraint. What could he say? He was hungry.