Solider on (solo)

[Drogh]

Drogh was in his home, Coruscant the only urban hell that he was accepted in. He was in the far underground, the low levels. Decades of decay has rotten Coruscant and the underworld has suffered the worst from it. Entire levels lifeless, devoid of any life, others cut of worlds separate from the rest. Drogh was in the lifeless bit, a low level, although not the lowest. It was a place of blank and lifeless buildings of varying sizes all squished together in one big nightmare of broken buildings and unlit lights. It was almost completely dark, with a few street lights clinging on to what life they have left. Drogh had made a fire in a barrel, watching the fire burn as he stood still in a broken alleyway, the darkness crept round him from all sides only being kept at bay with the small flame in the middle. The voices were too much for Drogh to handle, the nightmarish consequence of the darkside to much to bear, horror, pain and suffering and redeeming qualities like so many darksiders had, he had none. He did not gain strength, or freedom instead he gained nothing. He was indeed nothing but a victim of the darkside, he could not use it to his will.


He had limited power, he had no teacher and was denied at every turn for one, truly he was left alone in the darkness to die, so he would die alone in the darkness if that's what would happen to him. Drogh did not wish to meet his end by some bounty hunter or jedi saber so instead he would take his own life. A fine viro-knife in his hand, he would deal him self a quick death. Drogh had thought about it for along time, years in fact but the fear was always what kept him back, but this time he would not a be a victim to his own fear, he would finally end it here and now. He focused entirely on the blade, it's fine edges, how it gleamed against the flame of the barrel, it had a clean metallic smell to it. He would end it here, all of the pain and suffering, all of it gone. Drogh was afraid he was going to loose control, the other voices have been influencing him in ways that he could not control, before his mind is overtaken by a outside force, he will end it all together.


Drogh took a deep breath, fear was sinking into him again, how could he do this? Would he do this? He had to, life wasn't worth suffering any more, he would end now, breathing heavily, Drogh had no last words as he stabbed him self in the chest with the knife, his vision become blurred and he soon fell to the ground, a blood pouring from his chest as he laid down, ever so tired.

 

[Drogh]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGL5SXrCFXk&list=RDeO-eAldJmA8&index=3


Was Drogh dead in that instant? No, sadly not Drogh lived on. The darkside has a way of keeping it's victims alive if they like it or not, one of the many curses the darkside can bring you. Drogh felt like he was entering another plain of existence, finally drifting off into the abyss, a empty void of nothingness is what Drogh expected, which would be utopia for him. Was Drogh dead in that instant? No, sadly not Drogh lived on. The darkside has a way of keeping it's victims alive if they like it or not, one of the many curses the darkside can bring you. Drogh felt like he was entering another plain of existence, finally drifting off into the abyss, a empty void of nothingness is what Drogh expected, which would be utopia for him. His death would bring him a peace he begged for, but yet again peace was a lie. Drogh longed for the death he had been waiting for, yet he could not completely slip of into this blissful sleep. Even in death, Drogh could not escape the words.

"You did it, coward."

"Let me die."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I hate you, and you hate your self."

"What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing."

Drogh's mind was wrestling with it's self, these voices were just one voice, it hated Drogh, I hate Drogh. Drogh doesn't want to die, because he can't let go, not because he has anything to hold on too, or even because he is scared, but he hates him self that much, that he doesn't even deserve to die. Drogh drifted into a dream, the streets of Coruscant, packed, wild and lively, when he was a child. He was a skinny kid, and pale, with little hair to speak of, his eyes were back then a bright blue and he at least smiled sometimes. His loving parents, a large built father, with fierce green eyes and black tar hair, his face had a menacing complexion. His mother, a sweet caring soul, eyes blue, hair blonde, beautiful head to toe, as he rushed forward towards them, he came to two corpses. His mother and father holding hands, dead in the streets of Coruscant, few gave more then a glance, fewer even looked. So Drogh cried, cold tears down his cold face, he screamed, he cried, it didn't matter. No one cared and Drogh learned not to care either, only he hated him self for it.

 

[Drogh]

The dream stopped, Drogh found him self in a empty place, all black, yet there was a figure, the shape of the figure he could make out, cloaked in a black robe, same height, as he got closer, it appeared to be him. Drogh was looking in a mirror, staring at each other with blank expression. Suddenly Drogh found his mask missing, and in turn this clone of him was missing his mask, there he was forced to stare at his own reflection. Yet the other face he looked like was angry, his pale face with dead eyes, no hair had a expression of rage, angry at what? His face was clenched like a fist. It had a unyielding expression of anger and rage, and finally it spoke.

"You're not dead, neither am I."

"Where are we?"

"Home."


"I should be dead."

"We have so much to do, you wont die here."

"I don't want to do anything."

"You lost that choice along time ago."

Drogh fell on to his knees, the other one staring down at him, looking at the pathetic heap of flesh he was forced to live within, these two minds were fighting for control over this body, with such potential, yet with such a weight under it. Drogh didn't want to wake up, and yet he couldn't bare to be here anymore, death seemed so far away, even when he was on the brink of it. The bleeding was severe, least Drogh hoped it was and still, the light wasn't getting any brighter and the darkness remained the same. No one on the other side of the tunnel, just him and himself.

 

[Drogh]

Drogh slowly began to wake up from his nightmarish dream, his entire body ached, a inferno was burning in his chest, or so he felt. Drogh had failed to die, as his sight began to widen, the fire was almost out, he felt cold, no wind or shiver just a constant sense of coldness that lingered in the air. He stood on his knees, taking out the viro-knife out with both hands, a grunt of pain as he threw down on the ground. He fell down, using his arms to support him from total collapse, yet he felt so strong. A sudden rush of energy hit Drogh, he stood, however the bleeding had taken it's toll, he struggled to keep his balance as he rushed up. Rage got hold of him, the fear that was so crippling was almost gone, as Drogh searched almost desperately to try and feel some sense of fear or dread, just to remind him or who he was, but he could find none, he was far to angry. The darkside seemed so much more malleable, he felt it far stronger then he ever did before, almost as if he could see it. "Now do you see your gifts?" This was not Drogh thinking, he spoke these words, the voice that he had heard some many times. The voice sounded harsher, deeper, bitter and rage filled, the voice had a far stronger influence on Drogh.

Drogh felt forced to reply. "Yes, I do." The voice fell silent, Drogh reached out with his hand, the barrel going into the air, levitating slightly, then it went far into the sky, soon he crushed it, it fell down with a thud that echoed across the broken city. Drogh walked out from the alleyway, despite it's darkness he had a feeling where everything was, almost as if he knew where it all is. He began pulling down streetlights with nothing but the force, breaking glass by simply extending out his arm, throwing things around the place, this new power was fantastic, yet it was crude and not refined. Drogh now had a clear vision, he knew what he had too do, what we have to do.