Step 2: Moving Past Obstacles

[Matreya]

Flipping through the air, Damien righted himself quickly. His saber reignited itself with a flourish, blocking the Amphistaff that swept sideways towards his midsection from behind. The force of the blow knocked him forward, but it was simply handled by turning it into a combat roll.

But the roll went unfinished, a powerful kick connected to Damien's stomach knocking him to the side. Instantly spitting up a mouthful of blood mixed saliva, the Ancient Sith firmly placed his arms and flipped high into the air.

How had he gotten to a point where nothing he did would save him? By attempting to take down a growing sect of Vong on the outskirts of the galaxy. Here he was, surrounded by hundreds - far more than he had been informed - of merciless opponents, getting beaten around like he was nothing.

How did someone so powerful, be put so low...

His harem having been released, his power over the Force had diminished greatly - far more than he had wanted to admit - alongside the betrayal of one Destiny Meritosh, an old friend. She was the informant that placed him here.

If he survived, she would die.

Returning his mind to the present, Damien unleashed a devastating Force Explosion, weakening his reserves even more. The effect was noticeable however, in digging a crater below his form, therefore hurling debris at the opponents around him.

Breathing deeply, attempting to oxydize his blood swiftly, Damien touched down on the ground below. Staggering a moment, the man gasped at the pain in his left leg.

He wasn't going to leave this battle...

"Voice.....blow my position. Give it everything the ships got."

Yet again, the evidence of light shone through, as he realized the best bet to destroy the problem would also kill him - and it didnt bother Damien.

Without answering, the Droid mind connected to his ship, turned its body, and Damien let go to the darkness...

~ ~~ ~~~~ ~~ ~​

Sunlight. Pain! Jerking his arm up, Damien blocked his sensitive eyes from the light filtering down from a nearby window.

Sitting up slowly, Damien looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was moderate sized, with little furnishing. It rang with the vibe of a Jedi...

Suddenly D remembered, leapt to his feet and raced to the nearby mirror - not noticing how utterly slow he moved compared.

The face that welcomed him, was entirely different than what he knew. Where once ivory skin was now lay ebony, long blonde locks replaced by short curly raven, his eyes now shone a golden hazel.

"New body..." Damien murmured, listening to the difference from his old baritone, "Someone had to have saved me than..." Moving his thin but still semi-muscular form, he found the roughly 6'3 to be vastly different than anything he had been through before.

Pausing a moment, D felt a pair of small tentacles slip from his face, and sighed, at least his body was still Anzat. Staggering steps led the man through towards the apartment balcony, where his senses felt a mind to be resting. Before he had however, the Sith knew the woman would be blonde, roughly 5'5" with blonde hair that held electrifying blue streaks, and her mind had fallen prey to his power - the body had clearly seen many years, and eaten a few Force users soup's - revealing her to be a nice-ish woman that was far more ancient than himself.

"Welcome back to the living Damien." She said.

"Thank you, Whitney." Damien said, teeth pulling back to show elongated fangs in a fearsome animalistic smile, "Hand me the folder so I may see the information pertaining to my form. We both know that I have seen every thought you ever held."

Upon scanning then memorizing and categorizing the information, he knew his new identity was one of a rare breed: Anzat and Tera Vampir. The man was named Derrel Misioka, he was a bounty hunter with a large success rate partially due to his incredible speed, something Damien knew a lot about. His family was somewhat well known, for holding a large chunk of stock in sales across the galaxy. Another good thing.

Other than that, the rest seemed needless.

"Why did you and your cohorts save me?" Damien asked, the fresh memories of teleporting his previous form to safety before sacrficing a lot of themselves in the effort to transfer his essence to the current.

"We of the Directorate want to see the darkness of the galaxy thrive. To eliminate the light, bringing sheer destruction to everything." Whitney said as her gaze traveled from the city skyline towards Damien, "We can see the potential in you..trained by Voracitos and many others, merciless and unforgiving. We need you alive."

"Where is my body?"

"You-"

"You know what I mean. Dont say im in my body." Damien snarled, "That body some of the last Czar Augmentations period. If I cannot be within, I would like my body to study and replicate the effects."

"Worry not." Whitney said, a hand held up to calm the storm brewing inside Damien, "It is being sent to the estate you own on Tera Lush. You will find all matters pertaining to your old appearance now transfered to your new form. Only those whom have known you long enough will have difficulty accepting this form, and all legalities have been covered."

"Wonderful. Than I will take my leave." Damien said, then rose from his seat.

~ ~~ ~~~~ ~~ ~​

Staring at the eyes that looked back upon his own, Damien sighed, his reflection would never be the same. Who the man was in the mirror he would never truly know.

Turning his gaze towards his crew, he smiled, "Im glad you all recognize me. It would be to much to lose myself and those i love.

"Fen, Dozer, and Duke can I speak with you privately?" He inquired, turning himself from the others towards the rear of the Arcangel.

Once inside his own personal quarters, he waited for the others then closed the door behind them with a flourish.

"Once more we are heading for a mission of power - I need to build my harem again - and yet there is a second objective, to capture another relic that will aid in our endeavor.

"With the Cloak of Shadows, combined with our current goal, should make our unit that much more unstoppable to say the least."

"What are we after than D?" Duke asked leaning silently against a nearby wall.

"The Cold Stone." Damien replied, slipping on the Thermoguard Bodyglove and No-Show he had found in the apartment recently vacated.

 

[Matreya]

"What exactly is the Cold Stone?"

"Legend has it, an ancient tribe of beings roamed the galaxy. Where they came from, is anyone's guess." Damien muttured, his eyes seeming to unfocus and stare into some time long forgotten, "Before my cryo sleep when I was 300, I saw one of these very tribesmen. Fell in love with his daughter, but she scorned my adoration.

"Of course that never stops me. Nothing does." Damien offered a small smile, "Leondra Delaruse, what a woman: powerful, intelligent, and stubborn as the Undead.

"Anyway, one of the last times I tried my hand at Leondra, she was holding a powerful artifact that her entire Clans council sacrificed themselves to make: a small stone with runic inscriptions that pertained to its control over temperature. At first, I believed it a simple rumor, but she dissuaded my beliefs by handing me heat sensors, and telling me to where them. Once on, my own vision no longer mattered, but i wish it had so I could have watched her leave: the stone worked, so well that to the heat sensor, I was looking at directly open air." He paused to let that sink in for the group.

"It doesn't simply create cold fronts or anything of the like, rather whatever the effect is focused on, helps to keep it regulated. Such as certain floral life needing a delicate climate. She said one simply had to yearn for a temperature and it would be brought forth: thats how she vanished so easily, by willing to surrounding temp to smother herself." He finished, "Now imagine I can accomplish as Zaiden and the tribe did, and break down the Cloak of Shadows to be remade, alongside the Cold Stone. I could make a suit of armor so adaptable that one would never be seen. By any sensors or anything similar. Possibly more than a single one as well."

With that, the man headed for the back of his ship.

Climbing into the bracers of his Beskar'gam, he tightened them into place with a certainty. Next came the leggings themselves, then his chest plates, which combined along the sides and under his armpits. Shoulder plates, arm covers, then gauntlets. Lastly his jetpack was attached to the base of his spine.

With that he stepped from his armory, back towards the front, and his allies, "We ready?" Came a call, likely Duke whom was growing angsty.

"Let's rock and roll!!" He yelled, charging for the exit ramp of the Arcangel. Just when it finished lowering, he leapt off, his feet carrying into an arc that flipped him legs over head. Straightening out, he enjoyed the deep rush of a free fall.

Loosing his arms directly outward, he began a swift spun, one that was exhilarating yet fear inducing. Yelling out as he enjoyed each moment, he heard similar noises overhead.

Why rejoice during a mission? The last was so successful, that they were forced to enjoy this one, in the hopes it went the same.

Finally cutting the freedom to a short end, Damien brought his limbs straight and taught, enhancing his drop speed like a bullet. He would wait until the last second, activate all three types of thrusters he had - dual boots and a pack - to slow his descent, thusly keeping stealth a priority. Doing just that, his landing was little more than a hollow thud, mid sprint that led him to cover.

Dropping to his haunches let him slide until his side pressed against a low wall. The dirt beneath his feet did little to provide support, rather loose and almost slippery. Tattooine, the place many destinies led to, was where the last rumor led himself to.

Connecting to the small wall, was a large oasis like field, held so as to show the status of the owner. Past the small field was one of the largest buildings on the planet, told to be owned by a long time Hutt ally that became a Kingpin himself. With the wealth and control this wrought, the man went to Tattooine to
retire in peace.

It seemed said Kingpin happened to enjoy memorabilia of times past, as among his many items, several were rumored to be ancient and powerful. There was even the possibility he wielded a 'rock that could control heat', as was recently set unto the gossip trail.

Glancing over his shoulder, Damien gestured to the forward slinking crew, and each moved past, their seperate colored Beskar'gam giving a semi-descriptive idea of what kind of people were within. Pointing past the wall, towards their destination, Damien watched as Duke leapt clear over the wall followed by Dozer whom completed a beautiful flip to land sublimely opposite himself.

Next came Fenrir, who raced towards Damien, kicked off of his shoulder and easily sailed 20 feet into the air...

Then came a surprising noise, two swift notches followed by a soft double whistle: Fenrir had obviously seen an enemy about to sound an alarm, then used the moderate sized Durasteel compound bow - that matched the one against his own back- to dispatch of the man. It was a beautiful thing really.

Lastly came Nuke, whom simply ran, then when he came close enough dove slightly, letting his back connect with the wall so he could bring his feet along as if he had simply rolled across it. He to landed wonderfully. Damien had taught them all wall.

Flipping into the air, backwards, he nimbly landed with his own feet against the top of the low cropping stone, then again, where he landed with both arms still at his sides.

Lets go. Damien murmured into his allies mind.

Finally drawing the bow that rested against his back - where Tantibus would lay if it was the time and place for hacking or bashing - then popped it down into its open position with a flick of the arm. Drawing an arrow from the reversely placed quiver at his hip, he notched the shaft, but simply held his arms at the ready. Absent mindedly, a telekinetic grip reached out to pull his hood over his helmet clad head. He had to admit, the embossed symbol of the Daemon Clan and the added hood, not a bad feature for his Cater Coat.

 

[Matreya]

(Reserved)