They poured-- the Graug were like an infestation of fat ants crawling forward and onward. Her grip on both blades tightened and she assessed the situation. They all looked so ripe, and well-fed. Easy to puncture. Killing was easy---driving your weapon between someone's eyes, targeting their vital zones? All easy. What wasn't easy, was the leadened guilt that followed. As vile and wicked as the sentients were, she couldn't bring herself to envisioning them as victims to her slaughter.
The first strike signalled that thinking and processing time was over. The graug were massive and strong, but Kiskla had some serious agile advantage over them. When one of their armoured limbs came swinging down on her, the girl’s first reaction was to dive out of the way — which of course resulting in nearing herself to the spectator with a glowing red sword. Rain pelted against her slitted visor, obscuring her vision even more. To counter this, the helm dropped into her collar and she spoke above the growls of the beats and the pelting of the rain; her voice slightly hoarse from the adjustment of sealed air to the wham of reality that hit her like an anvil. Both the stench of death and despair hit her, which coupled with the intensity of pheromones in their air. She’d been previously unbothered, but unfortunately [member="Christian Slade"] was of her species, which meant the science was accurate for the potent, airborne toxin to manifest.
Thankfully, Kiskla was always professional before she was flirtatious. Yet, despite the force alignment warning, a wry smile plastered against her lips and her brow quirked pointedly in Slade’s direction.
“Preferably with your blade.” — and that was all she offered by sake of opportunity, considering a massive axe was coming down between the duo. Speed as her ally, Kiskla twisted and tucked in tight — beneath the oncoming downward plunge. Up went her arms, heaving a mass of weight from left to right and meeting the graug’s arm just before it could do harm to either Christian…or..the ground. The scent of burnt flesh mixed with the aforementioned aromas as her blades bit through skin and muscle, severing the vulnerable arm from the shoulder down. No time to observe though, Kiskla dropped to her knees as the creature roared loudly, and drew both her arms behind her to plunge her blades into the inside of his thighs. They struck something thick, bone, muscle, probably both. Biceps groaned as she drew her arms inwards, hacking through the limbs of the first graug of the day until he toppled over with only an arm left; which was wildly thumping as his brethren advanced.
The rest happened quickly. Muscles flexed and the agile warrior moved to action. The fact that the graug war-chief was standing as an observer was an indication that this wasn’t her ultimatum for the day — just a warm up. And boy, beneath that armour was she ever warm. Arms and legs worked in deadly unison as she leveraged the intensity of the graug warriors and their dedication to the task. Feet stepped on chests and shoulders as brother turned on brother, looking to strike the slippery Jedi but ending up slicing through their own kin. Though they were being slain, it wasn’t by her own hand — which made her conscience just a little less weighty — by some strange, contorted belief.
One Graug had been observing, probably a stealthier warrior, and instead of swiping at Kiskla when he got his chance, he reached out with his large fingers to take hold of her leg. He yanked backwards with such brutal force that her grip on her blades loosened and she crashed to her stomach, wincing on impact. This particular graug was the one the war-chief would observe being sent flying. She rotated her hips, despite the resisting wail of her groin from the twist, and thrust her palms outward toward the monster. The telekinetic blast was too much for him to maintain his hold. Immediately, she worked on her recovery — scrambling and reaching for her hilts once more. From a distance, they quivered and shook. From the side, an attacker recognized his target was unarmed and came rushing in with impressive speed — large sword raised to kill. Inches before impact (which would have been most gruesome), blue ignited to meet the pummel. The metal sizzled and turned a ferocious orange, angrily burning away from the cerulean plasma. He pushed down, his brute strength far more than Kiskla’s. She could feel the strain in her knees, and her face was getting dangerously close to the conflicting, bubbling heat of the three weapons. In a battle of physical power, he was going to win. As strong as she was, she was unfortunately delicate in these sorts of situations — agility was her primary method of preservation. That said, both blades disengaged and she dove forward — reactivating just in time to plunge into the bowels of the massive alien. He was already curling forward into the downward strike, so with his own momentum and hers, the tip of her sabres managed to poke out just behind his lower back. But now her arms were trapped. This sucked, a lot. Once more, the blades retracted and she crouched, crawling forward as the graug tumbled over.
By this time, her space had reacquainted with the Zeltros-native Sith. Short breaths stained her lips as the rain streaked down her exposed face, hair clinging to her cheeks and mouth. She was about to quip something when the earth-shattering announcement was made by the war-chief.
Through the grey streaks of the downpour, Kiskla could see the devilish demonstration. Her face showed no reaction, though her grip tightened considerably on the cylindrical hilts in her hold. The little one looked beaten and exhausted, in Malgrog’s grip it was limp and soaked. Her teeth clicked together irritably “Shavit.” She whispered, disappointed in how predictable she could be. As it was, Kiskla despised children. They were annoying expenses that couldn't fend for themselves. However, they were also the epitome of helplessness. The cliché of the demand inspired a groan from the Jedi as she clipped her blades to the locations they were meant to fit within Veil V2.
If this wasn’t a trap, she didn’t know how much more obvious a lure could have been. They had the bait, and the direction. All she needed to do was bite to be wired in. Dare she do it?
It would bother her if she didn’t. Her interests in self-preservation could not be of more importance than the protection of someone who’s choice to get involved had been removed. Stomach wrenched, she took the first step of her decision. The chemistry of curiosity and duty was a deadly one — and it was the very blend that fuelled her footsteps.
[member="Darth Vornskr"]
