The Worm King
Hours earlier... Jutrand 5th Cohort Barracks
He tried to stand, to resist, but his legs gave way, collapsing beneath him. His vision tunneled, black spots dancing before his eyes. He could barely make out the shapes of the Sith Knights approaching, their riot gear gleaming in the dim light, shields raised as they advanced through the gas-filled room. He felt the cuffs snap onto his wrists—Force-nullifying restraints that made his limbs feel like dead weight. He heard the sickening thud as his face hit the floor, but the pain didn't register anymore. Everything was fading.
The last thing Karok heard before the world went black was the sound of the Provost's voice echoing through the chaos:
"All students be advised, a Lockdown has been initiated. Please return to your dorms and apartments. All students found outside their rooms will be subject to beatings and punishment. You have three minutes."
His body was still trying to heal, skin knitting together, but it was too much to allocate. He was burned, electricuted and all but paralyzed by nerve gas. Darkness swallowed him whole as his body's instinct to preserve itself forced Karok to become unconcious. He was dragged away, limp and unresponsive, the burn marks on his body still smoldering.
The present... Jutrand Academy Dungeons
When Karok finally awoke, his head was pounding, the remnants of the nerve gas still lingering in his system. He could feel his body repairing itself, the familiar sensation of regeneration stirring in his muscles, but it was sluggish, slow. He blinked, trying to clear his vision and saw only the sight of his own cell. Then what he noticed was the stench—a foul, putrid mixture of sweat, blood, and rot that clung to the air like a heavy fog. It was suffocating, worse than anything he'd ever smelled in the Hutt arenas.
His eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light, revealing the dungeon he'd been thrown into. The walls were rough, damp black stone, slick with moisture and streaked with grime. Rusted alchemical bars lined the small cells, and the floor beneath him was cold, slick with something he didn't need to identify. From every corner, there were sounds of suffering—cries of pain, the rattling of chains, the occasional scream of pure agony. Karok could hear Sith interrogators at work, their cold, precise voices commanding the prisoners, demanding answers, only to be met with shrieks of protest or the sound of flesh being struck.
He lifted his head, muscles burning as they healed from the burns and nerve damage. Across the small, filthy cell, he saw other members of the Fifth Cohort, their faces contorted in pain. Some were strapped to crude chairs, their bodies writhing under the effects of shock collars or being whipped by thin cords of energy. Others were slumped against the walls, too broken to move, their eyes hollow, mouths muttering incoherent words. The air was heavy with despair, thick and oppressive. The dungeon was more than just a place of punishment—it was a place of breaking. A place where they would strip everything from you, bit by bit, until all that was left was a shell.
He tried to stand, to resist, but his legs gave way, collapsing beneath him. His vision tunneled, black spots dancing before his eyes. He could barely make out the shapes of the Sith Knights approaching, their riot gear gleaming in the dim light, shields raised as they advanced through the gas-filled room. He felt the cuffs snap onto his wrists—Force-nullifying restraints that made his limbs feel like dead weight. He heard the sickening thud as his face hit the floor, but the pain didn't register anymore. Everything was fading.
The last thing Karok heard before the world went black was the sound of the Provost's voice echoing through the chaos:
"All students be advised, a Lockdown has been initiated. Please return to your dorms and apartments. All students found outside their rooms will be subject to beatings and punishment. You have three minutes."
His body was still trying to heal, skin knitting together, but it was too much to allocate. He was burned, electricuted and all but paralyzed by nerve gas. Darkness swallowed him whole as his body's instinct to preserve itself forced Karok to become unconcious. He was dragged away, limp and unresponsive, the burn marks on his body still smoldering.
When Karok finally awoke, his head was pounding, the remnants of the nerve gas still lingering in his system. He could feel his body repairing itself, the familiar sensation of regeneration stirring in his muscles, but it was sluggish, slow. He blinked, trying to clear his vision and saw only the sight of his own cell. Then what he noticed was the stench—a foul, putrid mixture of sweat, blood, and rot that clung to the air like a heavy fog. It was suffocating, worse than anything he'd ever smelled in the Hutt arenas.
His eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light, revealing the dungeon he'd been thrown into. The walls were rough, damp black stone, slick with moisture and streaked with grime. Rusted alchemical bars lined the small cells, and the floor beneath him was cold, slick with something he didn't need to identify. From every corner, there were sounds of suffering—cries of pain, the rattling of chains, the occasional scream of pure agony. Karok could hear Sith interrogators at work, their cold, precise voices commanding the prisoners, demanding answers, only to be met with shrieks of protest or the sound of flesh being struck.
He lifted his head, muscles burning as they healed from the burns and nerve damage. Across the small, filthy cell, he saw other members of the Fifth Cohort, their faces contorted in pain. Some were strapped to crude chairs, their bodies writhing under the effects of shock collars or being whipped by thin cords of energy. Others were slumped against the walls, too broken to move, their eyes hollow, mouths muttering incoherent words. The air was heavy with despair, thick and oppressive. The dungeon was more than just a place of punishment—it was a place of breaking. A place where they would strip everything from you, bit by bit, until all that was left was a shell.
