The elbow he had thrown had been caught. It wasn't a great elbow, he could tell he was giving signs of it even before he struck, but his mind was rushing, flooding, fractured and piecemealed as he tried to follow every random train of thought that could possibly save him. He wasn't focused, he wasn't sharp, and he wasn't deadly. A blade rusted by the stabs in his gut and lung, amplified by a childish demeanor and adrenline driving itself deep into every muscle fiber.
Training. He needed to remember his training. He wasn't just some random kid stabbed in his sleep, he was Soldane Talon, son of the Emperor, student to
Darth Carnifex
and
Srina Talon
. Trailing back to those people, those times of great training, he could feel that like he was there - not as one does a memory, but he felt as though all his life past that moment had simply been a prophetic dream.
"Wounds are power. Power is the only currency we bargain with.", the training droid had said, displaying itself as the Sith Lord Darth Sion.
Soldane sat next to
Lunaria Talon
, taking in the words of this oddity. The Sith was more corpse than person, and undying man who had long since taken a mortal wound - now forever holding himself together with the strength of the Dark Side. He understood his Father had done something similar when he had been cut down by
Valery Noble
.
"A wound begins with blood, but the body is weak. The Dark Side is a forge that can twist it into something greater, temper it against mundanity. After the blood, there will be adrenaline, fear, pleading, panic, and if nothing changes - death. Your mind will lose itself to its first true experience of pain, and there will be nothing you can do but bleed out and die like a dog."
"Unless you turn that fear, that anger, the panic and the desperation into your own. A normal man would think these things hinderance, but a Sith knows them to be his only constant. Feed on your emotions, drag them into your core and let it sustain you even when your body tries to fail."
All of this took place in less than half a second. One moment, there was little more than fear in his face that grew paler by the second, the next he was a Sith. His eyes twisted as the emotions in his gut were ripped from their chaotic movements through his mind, and pushed into a dense core next to his heart. Where once a icy blue existed, now only the sulphuric yellow of a child coming into his strength.
His power forced his heart to slow, his wounds to still. The Dark Side was not a power that could heal, but it was a power of domination. In this, it dominated even the inanimate, the wounds that once bled, the heart that quickened in desperation to sustain its pressure. His body would survive only when it was cowed into compliance, and so that was what Soldane did. He struck with the proverbial whip, and it answered him in kind.
A foot pressed the ground at and odd angle, but it gave him the force he needed when it was amplified by the Force. It drove him away from
Aerik Lechner
, from the Assassin, from the rest of the Lechner spawn. Like a snake on the run, Soldane fell into a flat split as he slid under the frame of the bed, only to stand a moment later. Two were there, two came at him with makeshift batons raised.
The first wouldn't realize what happened as it was brought down at Soldane's head. He had moved inside his weapons arc, too close to use effectively. With a disgusting precision, he slammed his fist into the artery of the inside of the child's arm. It spasmed as a shock went through his nervous system, and his once tight grip fell limp as pain overcame him. A second strike moved for the chin, driving it upwards with a snap. He could feel something crack with the force, but he wasn't sure if it was a tooth, the jaw itself, or his own knuckle.
The second who came for him moved from behind. In the brief half second following the uppercut, Soldane twisted backwards to throw a kick into the adversary. This one, however, had reflexes fitting his rank as a Third. An arm formed a shield of his right side, directly where the kick was to land - but Soldane had spent years learning to fight against his sister and mother, who were two of the greatest martial artists he could think of.
Right before the strike would land, he changed its direction. A strike to the ribs became a question mark kick for the temple. Like a whip, his leg twisted and built enough momentum so that his still booted foot landed squarely into the yet unguarded skull of the child across from him. There was a satisfying thwack that could be heard even over the cacophony of fighting elsewhere.
The witness of Soldane's strength, the Third who had tested him, collapsed into nothing. A rockslide of a mountain built on years of training brought down by a single sickening strike to the brain. He seized then, on the ground, violently striking bedframe to bedframe. It would have startled Soldane, but he was honed in - the Dark Side flooded him, and in the mirror of what he had done, he had only to see Victory and Strength.
The urge to spit overtook him, and he graced this child with a saliva mark. Disrespect on top of defeat, even as his fists balled tight white. To keep the wounds at bay, he had to channel the Dark Side further, harder, deeper. To hold it, he needed to fight, he needed to face adversity lest his strength be overcome with the exhaustion he felt. If he closed his eyes for but a moment, he would die.
So he simply wouldn't. He dove forward, using the pillar of the bunk bed to hold him as he twisted around and let his shin land directly into the back of the neck of another student who had come into the Fifth's barracks. He would deepen himself into this riot, feel its very soul if he had to. He could not allow himself to die, not here, not so soon. He would not leave
Lunaria Talon
behind.
---
"Students have begun to sustain mortal wounds, Provost.", the Prefect had said with a passing interest at the various fights. There were no cameras to witness the carnage, but carefully hidden Sith artifacts that could not be detected even by the students. They provided an image more clear than any security system ever could - feeling every sensation that happened the room as though one was there themselves.
"I believe it is time we break up this little fiasco."
The Provost sat with an aerated glass of wine, watching carnage and crime happen after carnage and crime. These students were unruly - he couldn't remember the last time a raid had been done so soon after the ranking ceremony. Among them were students who had brought in weapons, students who fought with hand and fist, and many more who made weapons of anything near them. The fire, the enguinity, the very passion of students fighting for their right to not only exist within the Jutrand Academy, but to survive was something glorious to witness.
These children would be great indeed.
"I believe so. Round up the offenders, get medical care for those who need it. Give anyone in Cohorts 3 through 5 a month of evening chores - hard labor, I'm talking cleaning out the stables, scrubbing floors with toothbrushes, cooking duty. And I mean all Fifth, even those defending themselves.", he said, emphasizing the chores with a pointed finger at the Prefect.
"Of course, Provost. Thy will be done."
---
Amidst strength and determination, theft and battery, the doors to the Fifth's Barracks was opened even wider as grown Sith Knights entered in riot gear. Shields, stun batons, force-nullifying cuffs, and the sudden arrival of nerve gas meant to paralyze anyone without a mask. It all came for the children still fighting. Those nearest the door would be slammed into the ground, cuffed, then removed by auxiliary Knights outside.
Where there was once children versus children, there was now a great haze of gas that threatened them all. The strikes that echoed in a room of violence grew quiet, overtaken by the sound of coughing and bodies falling. Some tried to resist it, some even managed to sustain themselves - but they were no match to the combined potential of the Prefects. One by one, there were removed and sent to their needed areas.
Some were brought to medical, some were brought to the Dungeons, others like the Thirds were simply put on House Arrest as the lockdown began. Those who were outside the Fifth's violent defense could hear those alarms begin to cackle across the Academy, followed by the announcement of the Provost;
"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."
Three minutes was not enough time for anyone to get back to their rooms - all the important facilities were far away from them. It was clear that the Provost had given a command to test them, who could return to their rooms without being caught, and who would be given a second beating to teach them the lesson that is to come.
Zarava Dekki
|
Firrerreo
|
Karok
|
Brooklyn Zambrano
|
Irina Jesart
