Resilience and Retribution

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Solar flares danced in her vision, the room still not stabilizing for the blonde prisoner. Her palm slapped against cold stone for support as she buoyed her weight in that direction, moving to stand on her own accord.

Her body was unused to the movement, and voiced its protest with a tingling sensation which she stomached and ignored. The girl had no tolerance for pain anymore — her threshold had been increased ten fold. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, the flames licking against the cobbled area as her fingers touched the metal bars that had been her parallel for the last stretch of time. She hovered there for a moment, the rough bars cool against her skin as she pressed her forehead against the crossing metal. She inhaled and exhaled with a practiced rhythm. She would have to retain her strength in paces — she hadn’t an idea where she was in relation to the rest of the world. She assumed by now Panatha, in the castle’s keep, but the forces against her? She knew no numbers. And she didn’t know where her weapons were.

She had to be confident that she was still a warrior of The Force as she had been.

Reaching up, she pushed back her blonde strands that clung to her sweaty cheeks — dirt and blood had tainted her golden tresses and she looked hardly as untouchable as before she’d entered Panatha as a most welcomed voyeur. Fists wrapped around the circumference of the black billets and she squeezed, shatter point erupting from her core once more to reduce the doors to ash. Kiskla stumbled forward, flailing for a moment to stay upright as her now hypersensitive hearing picked up on the loud footfalls of oncoming oppressors.

Steadying herself, she executed a self-assessment. He’d kept her strong enough to stay alive, but she was not in her usual peak condition. Her muscles were still toned and ready for fighting, but her physical routine had been reduced to nothing; she was hardly the contender she had been a year ago. Was that how long she had been down there? Close to ten months? Perhaps longer.

“Okay,” she sucked in some breath through her teeth. Resilience took the form of Kiskla Grayson, and she decided to press forward and upward rather than tread around the lower chambers.

It was this decision that brought her to the base of the stairs where she was met with some guards far more equipped for damage than she.




[member="Darth Vornskr"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The guards had begun to mobilize down in the dungeons, with their numbers reduced to a paltry thirty soldiers, they were will confident that they could handle a single escapee even if she was a Jedi. They had known full well that she had been subject to isolation for several months now, and they believed her body to be weak and squishy. However; they were all too weary of the dangers of the Force, as they were well acquainted with their Lord's immense strength in it. They wore the standard Area-S1 combat armor supplied to them by Iron Crown, and were equipped with a Chimera SienarTech Blaster Rifle, along with a vibrodagger sheathed at either their hip or in their jackboot. The captain of the guard, a burly man with a thick monster of a beard named Rokhun, addressed the assembled guardsman as they were quickly donning their armor and loading their weapons.

"The King wants this lass taken alive, so set your blasters to stun and only go for a knockout. She's been locked up in the dungeons for months now, but she's also a Jedi Master, so that doesn't make her any less dangerous than a fresh soldier. But we outnumber her thirty to one, and she can't take us all at once without her fancy lightsaber.'" That brought a chuckle from some of the soldiers, but they quickly disposed of their jovial little outburst, and moved in line with the soldiers as they split up into squads of five to fan out and search every nook and cranny of the dungeons. The upper levels would be sealed off by thick turadium doors, which could only be opened with the captain of the guard's security keycard, which he kept on his person at all available times. Without anymore words, the squads of the soldiers began their descent into the dank dungeons.

It would be minutes before the squad of five encountered the escaped Grayson on the stairwells leading to the laboratory wing. "Contact! We have contact on stairwell 5B in the Laboratory Wing! Repeat, we have contact with the target in the Laboratory wing!" The soldiers leveled their blasters down the stairwell, and opened up with a barrage of stun blasts down towards the blonde-haired Jedi.

Meanwhile, the raging storm of hatred and darkness loomed ever nearer...

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Alert senses trained from childhood to assess and simulate situations before they happened in order to be a champion on the battlefield were active for the bloodied Jedi. She felt alive, moreso than she had in a very long time. The energies populated her vision, indicating where these individuals were in relation to her. Her breath hitched as she regulated every other operation in her body, steadying herself. Walking out of Panatha would not be an option. [member="Darth Vornskr"] was too paranoid for that.

Five.

Okay, Kiskla could do five. That was one per finger, if she wanted to break it down. Then there would likely be five more, or double. Waves so as to exhaust her. This was like any battle situation — save for the fact she was not in the soldier condition she usually was.

First though, she had to avoid. The barrage lit up the otherwise dark world she’d grown accustomed to, and the instant infiltration of light was a shocking stimulus. She twisted, thin body rotating to avoid the onslaught and she curled her hand into a fist. She needed to conserve energy, but first she needed to obtain it.

And what had more energy than the onslaught they were providing? Out of sight, she weighed the costs and benefits of her own entertainment. She considered veiling herself from sight altogether, and absorbing the energy but she was not strong enough for comical surprises. She had to focus on survival. Heck, she still had her own fluids on her pants! Master Grayson was in no shape for showing off. Teeth grit, she peeled from her concealment and trusted wholly in The Force.

To a little bit of her dismay, the shots fired at her were reduced in intensity. Brilliant light ignited her features as she soaked in the energetic bolts. Excitedly they skimmed her skin, racing from tip to tip and throughout her body searching for ground or an anchor of sorts. Instead, the conversion happened quickly, far too quickly for the unblessed to comprehend.
Tutatmitus saturated what she could, feeding her with The Force like a weary traveller parched in the desert meeting an oasis. Kiskla drank it up, palms exposed as she merely basked for a handful of moments. It must have looked slightly horrifying; this modelesque silhouette caked in crimson and the shocking plasma scattering about her frame before disappearing entirely. It was energy she needed to carry her up the steps. Despite the alarming sight, the soldiers held their position; continuing to belch ammunition at her. Their aim was true, and The Force absorbed every drop of it — igniting her veins with the external stimulus.

“Thanks, boys.” She murmured, before hastening her steps toward them. Fatigue was still present, and her motions were less than the usual seamless twists and dips. Her elbow contacted with a few noses, and the butt of the guns rammed into her gut in turn. She was good, but at this point in her exhaustion little more than average. That’s likely why when one of the remaining three standing was able to get a swipe of his dagger across his thigh — though she stopped him from retracting with a grip of her own. A few more moments of the tussle (which included wrenching, kicking and mostly getting them to turn on each other in confusion) and Kiskla was left in a crouch, panting heavily. Her hands no longer empty as she gripped the blade that had produced a new stream of blood from her skin, and the body of one of the heavier, more automatic armaments from the guards.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"No response from team IV! Lock down the laboratory wing, we'll flush her towards teams II and III!"

The lower levels suddenly began to seal up, now trapping the escaped Jedi in a single wing of the underground facility as the remaining teams began to close in on her position. They'd take positions up at the north and eastern entrances, which branched off into the other levels of the dungeon that included the minimum-security holding cells, and the beast pens. While teams II & III moved into position, team V and VI was busy setting up automated defense turrets at the north and east entrances, while team I coordinated everything from the control center on the upper levels. Despite their apprehension of the Jedi and her powers, they were more terrified of what their Lord would do to them if they let her escape, and thus that gave them the motivation to move with all haste. Rumors had circulated that those who failed the Emperor were subject to his horrific experiments, flayed alive, or even fed to the beasts that resided in the pens.

Of course, while many only served Zambrano out of fear for their lives, mostly Humans and other Near-Humans, the Epicanthix population of his forces served him out of true loyalty because Kaine exemplified everything it meant to be an Epicanthix. He was knowledgeable in the ancient history and customs of the people, and had proved himself a warrior many times over. The Epicanthix culture was born and fed on violence and romanticism of might above all, which is why it was so easily for someone as barbarous as Kaine to be readily accepted by the people and exert so much control over them. Although, Kaine had not driven his people into the ground, but rather rebuilt their once mighty civilization from the ashes of the Gulag Plague and the less-than-adequate regimes that came before him, and once again crafted an Empire of Epicanthixs.

Most of the Human and Near-Human individuals that served him were part of his loyalist faction within the Old Sith Empire, and followed him into the Fringe when he called for them. But after six years of serving him, their nerves were beginning to fray, their bodies worn, and their minds frazzled by the constant bombardment of violence by the Emperor and the Epicanthix people. Still, they would not waver now, and they only hoped that Kiskla would end them swiftly if they failed in their duties, less they face a more unsavory end at the hands of the Zambrano family.

Meanwhile...

Kaine was closing in on the dungeons, but even now he could sense that Kiskla was growing in strength and capability against his meager soldiers, what remained of them at least, down in the dungeons. So, he devised a new tactic, and changed his course from the dungeons to the only hangerbay in this level of the castle. He knew that Grayson would come this way, seeking one of the various ships within his hanger to escape Panatha, and that is where Kaine would meet her. It might've been his Epicanthix nature, but he did not hunger for an easy victory, it was pointless to defeat a weak opponent when there was more glory to be had defeating Kiskla again in an equal duel.

Well, as equal as it could be between a torture victim and a rested Sith Lord.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Isolated once more, save for the soft breathing from the unconscious guards behind her and the faint, drowned out sounds of shouting Kiskla in her crouch to one of the fallen guards to salvage a few belongings beyond the knife and rifle. She reached to his hip and ear, relieving him of the communication device he was connected to and positioning it on her own person.

“Excuse me,” she murmured — as if a pardon would be passed from the unconscious guard and allow her to liberate his flex-armor woven armour. She snapped the plating and what held all the pieces together, shaking it off the limp frame of her former adversary and shimmying into it herself. This was far better than her own ripped, blood-soaked clothing when it came to coverage. Around her hips she tightened the utility belt and packets, and slung one of the rifles across her back, whilst shoving more blades into the confines of the belt. With a twist of her wrist and a strong jerk, she ripped the tunic of one of the men to wrap around her thigh and stop the bleeding from that fresh wound.

Standing, her fingertips pressed to her ear once more, listening for the guards’ chatter to give her an indication of the layout. She had woken up in a dark cell, and had been totally isolated since then; with no navigational bearings or even a remote idea of the palace’s layout. She was walking around blind. All she knew was that she was in the laboratory wing — a place of experimentation. Her snow-white eyes lifted from the dark area and around her immediate area. With certain areas being locked down, it was obvious which direction she was going to be flushed toward. There would be two teams waiting for her, apparently. This team had five on it, and the assumption could therefore be made that the next two teams would also be composed of five; which meant ten soldiers to contend with. With that math, she bent down again and salvaged more breast plates and durasteel armour. This time, however, she didn’t strap it to her person. Instead, she attached it with mediocre ties to her arms as make-shift shields. [member="Darth Vornskr"] had removed her gauntlets to make room for the savage gauging on her arms.

Now she had to decide if she wanted to walk into that amount of people, or have them come to her. White gaze perused over the litter of men that had heaped in this area, and she thought of ways they could serve of use for her self preservation. Would she endanger them for her benefit?The rifles only had been set to stun…

She didn’t have much of a choice. Acting as a lure rather than reacting to bait would be better for her energy conservation and build up. So instead of advancing, she took several steps backwards after rearranging the bodies to their knees and leaning against head other; like a little flesh-fence.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Suddenly; there came a thrum of canisters launching from their launchers, and from two positions came two small gas canisters that began to spray a thick, sickly-smelling smoke as they landed and rolled towards her position. The two guard teams had launched smoke grenades into Kiskla's position, which would produce a horrible smelling, eye-clogging smoke similar to tear gas but far more potent and damaging, but still non-lethal. Adorning themselves with full-faced protective gas masks with an infra-red visual setting, they began to move in slowly. Fanning out across the smoke-ridden area, they would only attack if they had their target clear in their sights. However; they were absolutely perplexed when they came across the infra-red sighting of several bodies tied together to make some sort of makeshift flesh barricade, and while they could tell they were still alive from their heat signatures, it still disturbed them to a point.

All the while the captain of the guard could see everything through the holorecorders on each guard's armor from the central officers, which was only occupied by himself and four other soldiers to make up squad I. He had already monitored the defeat of Squad IV, and he was incensed. "If we don't contain this breakout now, the Emperor will kill us all, or worse..." He ground the butt of the cigar he was smoking on into a pulp of brown and black in his hand as he ground his teeth together. He was seriously considering unleashing the beasts from the pens if the two teams failed in their mission, but then he realized how crazy he was sounding in his moment of anger, and leaned back in his chair with a deep breath.

His only hope was that if Kiskla managed to get to these offices, that she's grant him a quick death to spare him from Zambrano's wrath.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

When the first click of the launch echoed faintly, Kiskla reached down to the hem of her shirt and gave it a tear, wrapping the length of the hem around her nose and lips and tying it tightly against the back of her head. One of the guards had a pair of orange goggles around his neck, and she quickly moved in that direction as the first wisp of fumes began to curl into the air. Wiggling the band free, she crouched behind the body and snapped the protective gear over her own eyes, tightening the strap so none of the gas would infiltrate the seals. It was a make-shift solution, and wouldn’t buy her much additional time.

Her heat signature, due to her crouch, would be grouped in with the others; and she was very pleased with her Jedi techniques and keeping people alive. It was always beneficial in the end. There were a few options for her now — spring up and attack, or move quickly. If only the rifle was more automatic, then she could position herself at the base of the stairs and just release the stunning fire.
She shifted as the team peered around, deactivating the safety of the rifle with a soft click.

Looks like she’d try that weapon attempt anyway, and conserve as much Force Energy as she could. There was still a Zambrano in this castle.

Her feet moved almost as if there were rockets in her achilles — and she put the most uncivilized weapon to use. Bursts of shocking plasma fired in rounds from the barrel of the rifle; aiming at the masks to either expose the soldiers to the gas, or stun their faces off. Y’know, the usual.

One leg positioned on an incline, she rested her elbow against her thigh to give a more direct support from the rifle and have more control over the firing. Strange flashbacks to her father came from this action — she hadn’t used one of these things in years. She had no need to, she had her lightsabers and was lethal with those.

Once she was out of here, she had to find them.
Her lightsabers and Zambrano.

Pew pew pew!

[member="Darth Vornskr"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

They were thrown off-guard by her sudden attack from behind the barricade, and several of them went down in the first exchange of stun bolts. The others, quick in reflex and father away than downed soldiers, quickly took up cover behind desks and tables, flipping some of them onto their sides and hiding behind the steel. They would occasionally poke their heads off the pop off some more accurate shots in Kiskla's direction, but otherwise they would stay behind over, raising their weapons just over the edge and firing off randomly towards where they believed the Jedi was hiding. It was a cacophony of hums and zaps as stun bolts were traded back and forth, back and forth, but ultimately it would be the soldiers who would get the short end of the stick. They were just no match for the Jedi's improved senses and abilities, and they were certainly no Blackblades, they were not highly advanced killers, but just standard guardsman who had been unfortunate to be assigned down in the dungeons when most of the previous guard had suddenly disappeared along with billions of other galactic inhabitants.

Finally, the last soldier would collapse as a stun bolt ripped through his system and rendered him unconscious, and then came the voice of the captain over the intercom system within the laboratories. "Impressive Jedi. But we can't let you leave here, even if that means we all die in the process. For your own sake, you should surrender before this gets worse than it does. You know who we serve, and you know what he is capable of." The captain let that hang in the air as squads V & VI finished setting up the pairs of automated defense turrets at the north and east entrances, and hunkered down behind makeshift barracks of tables and chairs for the long haul. Despite the lethal settings on the turrets, the soldiers kept their stun settings on as they awaited for the Jedi's eventual assault.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla would have liked to do some heavier damage, and simply rid herself of this situation instead of giving herself temporary outs. She was inching along and being prevented from moving forward by soldiers she used to be able to blink at and have them fall over.
Still, with the conservation of her energies, she could feel her strength building. Not to the critical mass it could reach prior to her capture, but enough to keep her standing longer than the wardens that had been sent to cripple her.

The announcement and request of surrender peaked over the intercom, by this time Kiskla was moving up the stairs. At the top, she adjusted her hold on the slightly overheated rifle, and propped the goggles on her forehead, squinting at the dimly lit area with her naked eyes. For a moment she felt a little puffed up with pride — if they thought that was impressive, they should have seen her at her best. They’d have to make up a new superlative!
It wasn’t her they were scared of, though. She did know who they served, and they were rendered terrified of him in the process of it all. They served [member="Darth Vornskr"] out of submission, rather than respect—and it was a powerful motivator. Her lips drew tight. This was how the entire One Sith oppression wished to reign; having their subjects act and react out of fear rather than prerogative.

If she surrendered, they’d have to come at her instead of her advancing to them. If she continued to fight, she could continue treading time like an overpowering current. Although the convenience of their approach would quicken the process, she was wary that they’d come at her with another blasted collar like she was some chihuahua to be trained and domesticated. [member="Marcello Matteo"] could testify; Kiskla was not one to be domesticated. Be if by Force severance or otherwise.

The blonde was in a funnel, subjected to be directed by the whims of those in the control room. Still, as potentially peaceful as a surrender could be, Kiskla was stubborn.

"Call your men off, commander. Because the one that you follow knows what I'm capable of." Light eyes flickered upward, and around, assuming there were some recording devices transmitting visuals of her situation. Probably not very convincing considering how skinny she was now, and that she had been a prisoner minutes earlier...but still. She'd always been underestimated when people judged her appearances over anything else. "I don't want you to find out too."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The captain sighed deeply. This is what he had feared, he had known about the tenacity of the Jedi, and their unwillingness to back down in the face of opposition. In some ways, their dogmatic tendencies reminded him so much of his Lord, and the company he kept. Perhaps there was some fundamental difference that separated the Jedi from the Sith, but he had yet to come across anything of the sort. Still, he could respect her attitude despite the fact that he knew that she had been pinned up for months with minimal food and minimal water, and had only survived by using that strange power called the Force to absorb the bolts fired at her by his men, he had seen it all on camera. He pressed the button on the intercomm: "I'm sorry, Master Jedi." He said in a somber voice, "But this is how it has to be, and so you leave me with no other choice. Come at us with everything you have, we won't be holding back any longer."

He turned off the comm, and had his soldiers barricade the door to the control room. Meanwhile; the soldiers at the corridors were given the all-clear to switch their weapons from stun to kill, and now simply awaited the Jedi's advance upon them. He turned to his lads with a heavy heart, "If we die today, I want you all to know you're the best damn soldiers in this forsaken hellhole. Let's give her all we've got, lads, let's show her the taste of Imperial might." The response was silent, a grim determination not settling in on their features as they prepared to fight the final fight, and they would not stop until they could no longer move or breath.

Some part of the captain hoped for the latter.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla groaned outwardly, shoulders slumping at the voice that came over the intercom. This was a wretched spot to be in. They didn’t want to be here, and nor did she. She really didn’t want to be here.

“No.” Kiskla murmured, more of a reinforcement to her own resilience rather than a refusal to the commander’s request. She would not give them her all. She would not be reduced to that. As much as they may have wanted to die, they would all leave breathing today. The only one who’s breath would escape them, would be Vornskr’s. And that was a long shot — mostly because Kiskla wasn’t sure if she was feeling vengeful or not. If she were, he would survive this.

It’s very confusing to be a Jedi. That’s the difference. A Sith knows what they want, and they do all within their power to achieve it. A Jedi knows what they want, but they do not take the direct path — they tiptoe the perimeter.

She checked the rounds available in her rifle, confirming that she had almost 400 left. All of which would remain on stun. The blades she’d equipped herself also remained strapped to her, but ready to be brandished and put to use. Her body was physically starved, and starved for a fight. But this would not fill her.

After standing for a moment Kiskla dropped the goggles to around her neck so they wouldn’t fly off, but would still be available if they brought out any more gasses. Then she was off, charging in the direction the Force called her. Such a path directed toward the collected mass of individuals united in their charge. The wildfire ignited with a speed and ferocity that shouldn’t have been evidenced by a malnourished master. Their fire was not withheld, their doodads easily able to overpower her, but she skirted about the perimeter absorbing what she could — oddly pleased that they had removed the safety from there firing. There was so much more fuel when someone was trying to kill you. She could feel it, she could feel the emissions impacting her body, and her veins desperately vying for the blasts and digesting them by passing them through her blood and making her positively electric. It was dangerous though, so she would have to move quickly. Especially once the turrets kicked into gear, having weapons that fired 360 degrees were never conducive to survival. Unless she could confuse it. Then she dropped. With the velocity she was travelling at, she dropped and slid beneath the initial barrage of fire, lifting one of her arms to cover her torso with the breastplate of an unconscious soldier (that she’d liberated earlier). To stop, she jut out a foot toward the base of one of the automated weapons to destabilize it, and extending an arm rapidly; a dagger in her grip toward the back of the nearest’s soldiers calf. Such actions would be repeated until they were rendered useless and or unconscious.


[member="Darth Vornskr"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Eventually after a short scuffle the soldiers were dispatched, and by then the captain had already given up. If she could take out those armored soldiers and the turrets as easily as she could, than he and the other four soldiers would be unable to put up much of a fight against her. He pressed the comm button again, "Alright, Master Jedi. You win. My remaining soldiers will stand down, I'd rather not see the rest of them beaten so low." The soldiers that remained standing lowered their weapons, their will to continue fighting was in line with their captain's, and they were all so very tired. The oppressive Dark Side aura that permeated the structure had sunken deep into their hearts, and their emotions had turned dark and brooding in the gloom of the spire. While they had not been transformed or altered in any way, they were still melancholic because of it all, and they were sick of this place.

They all wished for death, and were disheartened when the Jedi denied them that peace.

The captain pushed himself away from the console, and allowed the doors leading to the control center to be opened up for the Jedi Master. When she entered, she would find them standing around absently, with only the captain possessing enough strength to meet her. "Take my keycard, it's the only way to open the doors blocking your way to the upper levels. Oh, and here." The captain reached behind him, and produce a small contained from near the console. When opened it was revealed that the container held Kiskla's weapons, and the captain would let the Jedi take them freely. "I assume by now the Emperor is aware of our treason, but I think he will be too preoccupied with you to notice our escape. We're going to try and leave this light forsaken place, and we wish you best of luck against the Emperor. You'll need it."

Without further word, the captain quickly gathered his men and went to regroup with the others. Meanwhile, a dark presence beckoned the Jedi Master further into the spire...

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

The men around her stood down, and the sound of groaning permeated the area. When they lowered their weapons, she did too; though keeping a wary eye on them. She was been hardened too much to take surrender seriously; especially by plebs of the dark lord.

A doorway opened for her, and curious as she would always be, she walked in that direction — all the while keeping a level of awareness of her surroundings. The salutations she received was more positive than she would have predicted, and she slowly extended a scarred hand toward the captain’s keycard. She examined it briefly while he turned away, and looked up once more when the container would extend in her direction; a flood of relief washing over her. This would be far more useful than the uncivilized weaponry she had been using, and she would be far more effective as a warrior.

“Thank you, captain.” Kiskla voiced, regarding the rankings pinned to his breast. Panatha was indeed a nexus of evil and darkness. But imagine if she could change that? She didn’t say anything further, considering these men had been set on killing her just moments earlier — but silently suggested herself that it was possible. She pocketed the keycard, balancing the container in a single palm. Once that task was done, and the soldiers left the room she removed the metallic hilts from their prison; clutching them in her grip tight enough to feel the etchings of the metal against her skin. With a twitch of her thumb, the duo of cerulean ignited the room with a loud humming noise. The audio of the activation was music to her ears, which had been void of any sounds for so long. A calming breath travelled through her diaphragm and she twisted her wrists, adjusting the form of her hold. The room was lit up with the spill of blue from her swords, washing over every surface area exposed to the blades.

Satisfied with the weight and having her weapons returned to her, Kiskla de-activated her weapons, clipping them to the temporary belt she’d liberated from the soldiers. She knew what would come next — she’d have to use those blades harder than she’d ever done before; and weaker than she’d ever been before. The odds didn’t appear in her favour, but she had never allowed the assumption of failure to stop her before. This would be no different.

The feeling like Zeltros crept toward her, like a poison through an already toxic field. He knew she had escaped (which was no surprise, considering she was the only light thing on this planet) and was beckoning her. Taunting her insatiable addiction to the fight. His plans correlated with hers. She wanted to face him before she left this forsaken planet — which is why she so readily obliged to walking into [member="Darth Vornskr"]’s trap.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

For a time Kaine was meditating on the cold steel floor of the hangerbay, his mind reaching out to observe the events down in the dungeons, and despite the treachery of the inferior captain and his pitiful soldiers it did not vex him in the slightest. Rather, he was somewhat thankful for the captain to give up so easily, it allowed the inevitable fight between the paragon of light and the champion of dark to come all the more quickly. While Kiskla had been fighting down below, Kaine was meditating on the Dark Side, immersing himself in the darkness as it created a visible aura of black and purple around his being, his eyes closed in concentration and a low growl humming in his throat. Finally, his eyes shot open and the aura dissipated into nothingness, his mind beckoned for the woman to join him in the hanger, a hunger once again igniting in his belly as his body was wracked with a terrible anxiety.

He slowly rose to stand as Kiskla passed through the threshold of the hanger entrance, and his lightsaber quickly flew to his outstretched hand. He did not yet activate, rather savoring the moment as the blonde Jedi Master sauntered into his chosen arena of combat. "Well, well well... Here we are again, Grayson. Staring down each other, face to face, standing on each side of the Force. It is a shame you could not see things my way, Kiskla, you would have been a great ally, and your power as a Sith would have eclipsed my own. Yet you stand so stubbornly in the light, sneering down at the darkness with your Jedi ways. I have realized now that you cannot be shown the true way, and I cannot let someone as blind as you be allowed to live any further. Prepare yourself, Grayson, for this is your end." He pointed his lightsaber at Kiskla, and with a press of his thumb he activated the scarlet blade with a furious hiss and a thrum of sudden brilliant light. He mockingly gave the Form II salute, and then settled into the opening stance of Form V, his favored form due to it's emphasis on aggression and the use of his physical strength.

Then, after a second of silence, he would fling himself at Kiskla with the ferocity of a monstrous beast.

The battle was now joined.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

She knew what she had been walking into, but the permeating darkside still hit her like a brick wall when she finally entered the hangar. Her body tensed, her aches nigh tangible when her colour-void eyes rested on her adversary. He was a vat of blackness, a swirling epicentre of unadulterated evil and revelling in the darkness’ luxurious coating. In a way, she appreciated the parallel the pair painted; and that he illustrated with his speech. She was a paragon of the light, an ultimatum for the Jedi with perfectly observed conduct. He was everything the Jedi were conditioned to disagree with.

She didn’t square with [member="Darth Vornskr"], instead paced slightly, one foot in front of the other as he spoke, offering him a visual of her shoulder and a side glance to accompany it — though her eyes never lifted from his immense physique. “I still plan to eclipse you, Zambrano.” Not with fire versus fire, but fire and ice — she would overpower his shadow with brilliance. That was her resolve. Especially when he justified her demise with privileged idiocy; she was blind and could no longer be allowed to live? Is that how he reasoned with himself when taking the lives of so many? She shook her head slightly, glowering in his direction as crimson pierced the air and he offered her a salute from the contention form.

The contention form.

con·ten·tion
kənˈten(t)SH(ə)n/
noun

1. heated disagreement.


How appropriate.

Dual blades snapped to palms and to life simultaneously as the Sith Lord crossed the duracrete floor with impressive speed. Paralleled, she caught his blade while still offering him the side view of her shoulder. He was less armoured than usual, perhaps a strange mercy pull out of sympathy to her condition? Nevertheless, she used the lack of a gut-guard to her advantage and dropped slightly, pointing her elbow and ramming it forcefully in his direction.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLtNs3v4j-E[/youtube]​

​

He was not surprised that she countered his blade with both of hers, both cerulean blades held out in parallel to catch his scarlet blade in their embrace, a procession of sparks accompanying the horrible hissing sound of plasma upon plasma as they met. Fleck of violet exploded off of their blades as Kaine then adopted a two-handed grip, pushing down against her with his impressive strength, his muscles bulging as he weighed himself against her. Then, she dropped ever so slightly, and sent one of her bony elbows right into his unarmored gut, producing a pronounced "oomph" from the Sith Lord as he wheeled back a foot or so from the sudden kinetic impact to his stomach, but he was not one to let such a blow go unpunished. In an instant he held his blade aloft in a one-handed grip, and with his free hand he threatened to send his clenched fist right into her jaw with a vicious uppercut.

Backing off for a moment to reassess his situation, he called out to Kiskla: "You will try, Grayson, you will try." He then reignited the battle with another lightning-fast lunge, the Dark Side rushing through his body to fuel his speed, closing the distance between then within a moment or two. His form was a hybridization of Forms I, II, III, V, and VI all wrapped into a personal style that was dedicated to aggressive combat, as it was all built upon the backbone of Form V. Kaine had spent years studying the individual forms of lightsaber combat to create this form, the only ones he did not include were IV and VII, the former because his large form did not benefit very well from acrobatics no matter how you sliced it, and the latter because he views that form as reserved only for berserkers and raging animals who were only useful as shock troopers, expendable soldiers to be thrown into the fray to cause as much damage as they could before they were cut down.

Kaine was no animal, he was a Sith Lord, and thus his form was more refined and intelligent. Still, he suspected that this would be his ultimate challenge, but a nagging sensation at the back of his mind grew in intensity with each strike, parry, and block.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

When Kiskla wasn’t chained to a wall, she was one of the most active Jedi on the field. Flinging herself into one venture after another — including constant aggressive negotiations. She was used to fighting through crowds to get to Vornskr, or at least being warm before their engagements. A mirror scenario to the current would have been on Zeltros after fighting through the graug with [member="Christian Slade"] had Marcello not got her out of there. Right now, she should have predicted that leaving herself exposed would have encouraged a strike from [member="Darth Vornskr"]. And normally, she would have — but she was slightly out of practice after eight or so months in confinement. His knuckles struck bone, and her head snapped back on impact, teeth clamping together with involuntary resistance. As much as Vornskr staggered, she did too — gasping and lifting a hand to cup her jaw as the taste of metal tempted her tongue.

"You will try, Grayson, you will try.” ​

Kiskla had spent hours of the first few months of her being Grandmaster filling time by studying Grandmaster Yoda’s holocron.

One thing he was adamant on was that there was no try, only failure or success.

Success by blade was feasible, but there was always more to that. Her first master, Antares Marclonus had always told her to be wary of her environment and use it to her advantage. In the hangar, there were things for her to use; metal, the ground itself, ships (but she’d want one of those preserved for her departure). Another tangible element in the vicinity was Vornskr himself—and his use of the darkish almost made the metaphysical tangible. She could feel it, and she could sense that he could feel it as well, like a strangling grip that he used to his benefit until the choke hold took over. That’s how it was with the darkside.

Kaine came at her again, vicious and full of savage intent. His control was met with her own parries, catching his strikes and kill shots. Grunts met the audio of the sabre’s colliding barks and Kiskla had to do her best not to make this a battle of the strengths—balancing his size and strength with her lithe and acrobatic abilities (limited though they were). They weren’t just opposites by virtue, but in combat style as well.

With one parry of his, she caught his single blade between hers like chopsticks, and twisted her shoulders downward quickly immobilize his blade. Her grip was tight, and she twisted her hips simultaneously, bringing up her left leg with a powerful kick to his sternum. This action was swift, and followed within a heartbeat of her second maneuver; disengaging her right blade (the one supporting his while keeping the left still on top) and clenching her fists around the hilt to bring up and around as a followup to the kick toward his jawline for a punch of her own.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

They danced back and forth, and it was like watching water flow over rocks as the fight continued on, but it quickly became much more violent as the Dark Side raged violently around them, spurred on by Kaine's hatred and malice. He now adopted a single-handed grip for his blade, letting his left hand at his side while he traded blow after blow, switching up his style to throw his opponent off guard mid-fight, but he still bit with all the ferocity of his earlier style. Then, suddenly; he lashed out with the Force, sending a concentrated ball of telekinetic energy at Kiskla, but the acrobatic Jedi Master was able to dodge such an attack, and the ball of Force merely ripped through the durasteel floor of the hanger, sending bits of shrapnel and electronic components everywhere with an explosion of static. Wherever she went he would follow, constantly pressing the advantage and taking the initiative to keep her on the defensive, as was his standard strategy for dueling.

Then she decided to finally retaliate, and as she caught his saber between both of hers, she delivered a powerful kick right to the Sith Lord's sternum with enough force to crack one of his ribs on impact! Luckily, it had missed it's intending target due to Kaine's movement during the kick, but it still carried enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs, but he did not need his breath to retaliate in kind. As Kiskla threw a nasty right hook towards his jaw, he reached around with his free left hand and cupped his palm in the path of her punch, absorbing the impact with his hand rather than his face. He then immediately closed his fingers around her fist, winding them up like a spider to wrap around her wrist, and with a mighty heave he sought to yank her back to his left, and hurl her away from him with a grunt of effort towards one of the nearby ships with enough kinetic force to create a dent in the metal if she hit it.

He then took that chance to recover his breath, his lungs swelling as he breathed in suddenly, and a lightning bolt of pain shot through his chest. He drank in that white-hot pain, feeding on the Dark Side to strengthen his body, his hatred now turning once again towards the Jedi Master who had caused such damage to him. But this time he did not charge in again, rather he waited patiently on the edge of her range, and then called out to her:

"You fight well, for someone who has spent roughly eleven months in solitude, kept starved and weak... Ah, but it is your indomitable will that gives you purpose, that compels your battered limbs to continue on, yes? You are just like me in that regard, Kiskla Grayson, we both don't give up until the bitter end. It will bring me great sorrow to slay you now, but it must be done."

Still, even as he said those words, a shimmer of doubt flashed across his mind as the nagging sensation was reaching a terrifying crescendo, and he could taste the unmistakable bitter taste of impending doom upon his tongue, and he swallowed instinctively. Was this the day foretold by his visions? The day the Dark Lord said that Kaine would find his destiny in the realm beyond shadows? Was this only the prelude to his true greatness?

It was time to find out.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla’s eyes widened reactively when her knuckles were cupped by the dark lord’s fist. Instinctively, she tried to recoil and withdraw her action but he had already tightened his grip like a viper’s fangs. She grit her teeth to prevent an audible expression of pain being vocalized, and winced immensely under his strength. When he jerked her violently to the side, she was woefully fragile. Her arm was already raw from his meticulous torture efforts, and to be wrenched re-ignited the pain from being twisted to the side in chains. Her aerial travels were indeed cut short by the contact made with the predesignated ship. Her shoulders slammed into the hull first, followed by her head and hips. Her neck snapped back and vision clouded on impact while the metallic body folded around her brittle body and she dropped forward, collapsing onto her stomach and cheek.

A groan manifested heavily, and she moved an elbow to prop herself up, still gripping her now disengaged blades. She’d deactivated the remaining sword on impact, to prevent self-mutilation. A tremor rippled through her muscles and she shook visible as she drew her knees up, legs angled to look somewhat like a frog in her struggle. Short breaths passed over her lips as she pulled herself back up, agony permeating throughout her body. The Force pitied the warrior, and swarmed her with a healing intent — filling her cells with positive radiation and keeping her blood pumping. Her white eyes glowed slightly with the influx of energy, a side-effect to Force-Lighting herself and burning her system from the inside out with pure ashla; it made her incredibly sensitive to her own machinations now. The healing respects of the Art of the Small worked through her, and she also used it to increase her perceptive powers — assessing her enemy beyond the physical.

There was enough distance between them for her to get her bearings for once, and not have him slamming down on her with ruthless pounding. Her arm extended to rest on the belly of the ship and support herself while her body rejuvenated itself with the aid of her eternal ally. Eerily white eyes locked on his frame, obscured by strings of dirty, blonde hair. A hand came up to wipe those clinging wisps away from her glistening skin, listening to [member="Darth Vornskr"]’s comparison of their two personalities and his apparent woe for her slaughter. Retribution would come, but for only one of them in this hangar. They’d fought for so long. Darth Vornskr had been on omnipresent oppression since her visit to Iridronia with [member="Tamara"] — and constantly spread his disease like a horrific cancer ever since. He didn’t meet her until Coruscant, which was at least four years ago now. She’d been Grandmaster of the Jedi Order and a thorn in his side ever since. There hadn’t been a time of aggression where she’d faced any foe other than him, save for [member="Daella Apparine"] on Alderaan.

Her head shook in fearful disgust. She was not like Vornskr “No,” she murmured, barely audible. Maybe she was. Maybe that’s why they were perfectly matched in mortality and eternal foes. They fuelled each other, making each one more set in their purpose. The fact that each one deserved retribution of their own accord, drove their resilient bones onward.

Her assessment was drawing interesting conclusions. The Force was powerful around Vornskr, but it was almost overwhelmingly dark. Nobody could sustain that much darkside energy — she’d tried it once. It had almost ripped her apart from the inside out.

“We have more similarities than that, my lord.” Kiskla announced finally, projecting her voice above the whisper which she had just expelled. She straightened with a resounding confidence, growing into the posture Kaine was more used to; the headstrong Jedi Master. Her white eyes were still transfixed on him, alarmingly bright against the back tattoo that surrounded her eye sockets. A creeping, knowing smile crept across her bloodstained lips and she lifted her hand to brush away her greasy strands of hair, exposing her visage entirely. “Your battered limbs are well concealed beneath your mask.” She’d felt something like this before, and she’d almost discovered this on Coruscant. She remembered it now — when she’d used shatter point on his breastplate. There had been something more, something far deeper beneath the surface that she could use against him.

“Tell me,” she stalked forward with an awkward hunch, her one shoulder still slightly misaligned from the impact of the ship. Her head cocked as she spoke, blades still disengaged in her hands “What is it like to have such a bittersweet relationship with The Force. The one thing that makes you the most powerful, also the weakest?”

She allowed a lull of silence should he want to respond, but Kiskla knew now what she was to do if she wanted to continue being used for the benefit of the Jedi. To be endless, she needed to end her greatest threat; to sever the anchor. The Force encircled her, anxious to be used and manifested by the prodigal Kiffar princess. Her muscles still felt weary, but also temporarily energized. Vaapad released its breath within her, and the warrior’s insanely fast abilities kicked into gear. Her lithe body became little more than a blur of blue light as her blades activated, encircling her like a whirling glowing shield. She looked like a ball of brilliant electricity with her movements, making it difficult to discern where she began and ended amidst the moving plasma. Suddenly, a single blade whipped from her grip and cut through the air like a boomerang and twisted with horizontal intent toward Vornskr’s midsection. Simultaneously, Kiskla dove forward with all her body weight, with the intent to skewer the Sith Lord with her forward-pointed blade. Art of the Small raged within her, and like that ampistaff he had used against her, she would begin her work once the contact had been confirmed.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

His shoulders slumped as Kiskla rose from the heap he had left her in, his burning eyes looking down at the so fragile, yet so resilient, Jedi Master rise up to stand defiantly in the wake of Kaine's overwhelming darkness. It was commendable to be sure, too long had Kaine bore witness to Jedi breaking so easily, like rigid reeds in a gale that eventually snapped from the pressure, and for as long as he could remember he drank deeply from the darkness he imbued into those without the strength of will to resist his vile temptations. Gorging himself on the negative emotions of others to fuel him for so long, and as he stood there and found himself unable to drink from Kiskla, he began to wither both literally and metaphorically. He sighed heavily as he held his lightsaber aloft, the tip of his blade pointing directly at the battered Kiskla as she retorted back with her own monologue, and Kaine could only help but frown in response.

"The path to power requires many sacrifices... I have suffered them all, but soon enough I will not longer suffer you." He roared forth as Kiskla immersed herself in the Light Side of the Force, and with a final calamitous crash the two opposing sides slammed into each other full force, sending out a shockwave of pure energy that shattered the durasteel floor and send ripples throughout the structure that could be felt by many in the nearby vicinity. Their exchange was short, but viciously brutal in intensity, their weapons literally a blur faster than the mortal eye could even hope to comprehend, sparks flying left and right as scarlet and cerulean bit each other in a mad tango, and then suddenly the scarlet faltered and the cerulean found it's mark. Kaine had suffered many injuries similar to this one, the most notable being the one inflicted on him by Daella Apparine on Ossus, and thus it was no surprise that Kaine took a lightsaber to his gut surprising well, although his face still contorted in rage, pain, and confusion all at once.

However; the contact point for Kiskla was now made, but it also left her dangerous close in Kaine's reach. Because of her awkward position against his chest, his lightsaber's cutting blade was now rendered moot, and with a flick of his wrist he discarded the weapon away in favor of his powerful fists. But rather than pummel her into a bloody pulp, he fell upon her with all of his weight, shoving the smaller woman down onto the broken floor and proceeded to pin her with his own body. Then, reaching down with both of his hands he began to wrap his fingers around her neck, and started to squeeze with all of his might, what little there was left of it after his crippling wound to the gut. If he was going to die this day, then he would die throttling the life out of his most hated enemy.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]