It envelopes him, threatening to take his vengeance from him.
His attacks are weak, slow, harmless.
It drags him into eternal blackness, the rift and the spires fading away...
The blood rain awoke Mirvak at once, the hot liquid setting his skin on fire. His eyes shot open and he emitted a pained, angered bark, springing up to his feet and drawing his lightsaber. Even his debilitated state, he was still just as ready to defend himself as before he was cast down here. He sheathed his saber, and held his hand over his brow, shielding his eyes from the burning rain. He looked to the direction he had always gone, and could not believe his eyes. It was the spires, sitting atop a plateau of rock and bone. In disbelief, he looked behind him and all around, the landscape had changed from where he had laid his head to rest. There were no screams of the damned, in fact they were no where to be seen.
The wolf pushed on, with a newfound confidence and hope that he had never had since he had been banished to this place. He relished in the thought of actualizing his plans of vengeance, eagerly making his way to the plateau with a malicious cackle. The wolf approached the foreboding wall of bone and rock and began to scale it. But his eagerness was soon tempered by his exhaustion, as his malnourished, weakened body struggled to climb. Every time the beast raised his head, the top only seemed farther away. But the scorned Sith only pushed on, his pride would not allow his body to give in.
His muscles ached and began to go numb, but now he could see the edge. His hand weakly gripped a large leg bone sticking out of the wall, pulling up with all his might, his body trembling. The bone suddenly snapped under his weight, and as his body's weight fell onto the bone his left hand was holding it snapped as well. He began to fall, and the wolf desperately gripped his paws onto the side of the plateau, his left hand catching a sharp, upright rock. It immediately impaled his palm, hooking it like a fish, and he roared in pain, his fingers wrapping around it. Crimson blood poured down on him, but this time it was not the rain, it was his own. The wolf clenched his jaw, his body shaking with pain and exhaustion as he brought up his right hand to grip onto another, sturdy bone, and planting his feet firmly against the wall. He pulled up sharply on the rock, and it released his hand, forcing another pained bark from him. He looked up again, he had only fallen a few meters from where he had lost his grip.
The defiant beast continued on at an even slower pace, forcing his left hand to take on the same weight as before as he climbed. One last meter and he was clear. He threw his right arm over the top, digging his claws into the rock as he pulled himself up, his body quivering like a leaf as it pulled itself onto the rock. He laid on his back for a moment, panting hard, his whole body numb from the severe exhaustion. He gripped his destroyed left hand, and turned his head to look down, over the entire landscape. He marveled at the truly endless hell before him, and the masses of the damned huddled together, moving about aimlessly for a salvation that didn't exist. The thought crossed the wolf's mind again, that perhaps this wasn't a true escape either, he had just climbed the sheer rock face for nothing.
The beast reluctantly turned his head the other way to see. And it was truly just as the cryptic dreams had foretold. The two spires of bone and rock, before a massive rift in reality. It was blindingly white, a color the beast had not seen in a long time. The beast forgot about his pains and forced himself to stand, limping towards the light. He moved at an agonizingly slow pace, his left hand cradled under his chest as he reached out with his right. The wolf sputtered out,
"So this chain too, I will break." He was so close now. The ragged dog could feel a cold, strong wing blasting him through the rift. A sharp smell entered his nostrils, the distinct smell of pine trees, wildlife, water, grass.
He closed his eyes as he anticipated passing through, when a strong gale knocked him back. The wolf snarled, picking himself up off the ground and looking to the rift again. There stood a formless, obsidian apparition, a dark force guarding the exit, appearing like a large flame clothed in blackness. Mirvak gripped his lightsaber and ignited it, panting as he stared down the spirit.
"I will not be denied!" The spirit at once sunk into the rock and bone beneath, and before Mirvak could react it blindsided him, appearing over his left shoulder and scratching him across the chest, leaving three deep gashes. He slashed at it weakly with his saber, missing completely, stumbling as he did. It came again, from behind, slicing across his back, he roared, swinging his lightsaber in an arcing 180 degree turn, but it was gone before he could do anything.
Mirvak bared his teeth, speaking inbetween pained winces as he scanned his surroundings alertly,
"Only the cowardly have beaten me, sorcerers, craven witches, with all their manners of trickery. You are not any different." The apparition came from behind again, shrieking an inhuman bloodcurdling war cry as it did. The wolf, hearing its approach, turned and executed a quick sideways slash with his saber. It connected with the demon, and it recoiled, screeching in pain as it receded back into the rock quickly. A voice came from within his head, sounding something like his own but not quite right, taunting him,
"You are no different. A proud Sith warrior that engages in treacherous backstabbing is still a treacherous backstabber. You could not face your master in one on one combat, you let one of the very craven witches you despise distract him for you. And still, you lost."
Mirvak growled,
"Nothing of this past remains here, only the ashes and bones and boiling fury. I am a Sith beyond the measure that Metus can comprehend, I will enact my revenge. No purposeless spirit will keep me from my goal." Suddenly there came a deep slash along his calves and he roared, falling to his knees. Before he could pick himself up it appeared before him and enveloped him, wrenching his lightsaber hand away from itself and above Mirvak's head as it shrieked loudly. An unbearable pain like being burnt alive shot through the entire body of the weakened Sith. He threw his head back and cried out in agony, he could feel it draining the life from him, a sensation he was not unused to. He looked towards his right hand being held in place above his head and slowly began to turn his wrist down towards the apparition, furrowing his brows and grunting in his throat as he forced himself against the spirit's might. The apparition slowly began to shrink away from the lightsaber edging ever so closely towards it, until it could no longer risk remaining in there and released him, slinking away into the rock immediately.
He heard the twisted voice cackle and morph from his voice into [member="Srina Talon"] 's, a true annoyance to the Sith,
"Poor little mutt. Your mind has left you, you look more skeleton than dog. Where are your little tantrums you usually give yourself into? No use to you here I suppose. I gave you an ultimatum, and you refused--" The voice trailed off into something much more sinister, nothing like the woman's voice,
"--And now you will suffer for your insolence." Mirvak stood again, his jaw open wide as he panted heavily, his eyes squinted and fluttering. Before he could even get himself in a readied stance, the spirit struck him again, and again, and again, a whirlwind of slashes and slices. Mirvak stumbling about like a drunk, swinging weakly, as if he were fighting underwater. Then there was silence, the slashing stopped. The wolf had lost his focus, he was just barely holding on, and the spirit knew. It appeared a few meters in front of him, menacingly watching him. Mirvak returned the glare, readjusting his stance as his quaking legs began to fail him, his pathetic form dripping with blood. Srina's voice rang out again,
"A second chance, Mirvak, Submit. Or die." The wolf still said nothing, only holding his stance.
The guardian spirit shrieked in anger, charging forward with lightning speed. Mirvak swung his lightsaber, but he was knocked off his feet, tackled by the dark force. His lightsaber went flying from his hand, clattering against the rock and bone. The spirit knocked him straight into a puddle of boiling blood, submerging his entire right arm and the upper right side of his skull. He let out a cracking, agonizing bark. The spirit cackled in many voices familiar to Mirvak all at once, and tossed him like a doll out of the boiling blood puddle onto the steely rock. Mirvak's entire right arm and shoulder now shone bright red, pinkish skin, the thick fur completely boiled away. Burned away also was the skin of his right eye, ear, and scalp, already developing hideous mottled boils. The wolf laid flat, his mind empty. His will was broken, his mind was completely blank. He heard the twisted voice morph into [member="Darth Metus"] ' in his head,
"Death is a release. A validation to his claims. This is a more fitting end."
The beast's only good eye shot open immediately, his pupils dilating, and his blood running hot. The lightsaber laying a few meters away shifted barely a centimeter. The beast could feel it, what was lost to him being brought back slowly with each word uttered in the Darth's voice. He could feel the Force here, just barely. The apparition raised Mirvak from the ground slowly, setting him on his knees before it. It spoke in the Darth's voice again,
"The end of his ambitions. The end of his power." Mirvak's nostrils flared, snorting like a wild reek. His lightsaber shifted again, rolling slowly towards the wolf. The spirit began to envelope him again, preparing to drain his life force completely.
"Such is the fate of traitors." It wrapped itself around him, the burning sensation igniting both his nerve endings and his pure battle rage.
Mirvak's right hand flung itself outward, the lightsaber rolling, lifting itself up and bursting through a pile of bone and flying toward his hand. He immediately ignited it and sent it straight into the middle of the spirit, his cries of pain turning into his trademark proud, defiant, furious roar. The spirit's shriek of pain deafened him, as he took his destroyed left hand and supporting his right, shoving it deeper and deeper into the demon. He pulled upward, slicing it in half completely, the momentum knocking him off his feet. His hand lost grip of the lightsaber and it careened over his head, landing somewhere to be forgotten forever. He sat upright, looking at the thing convulse and shriek, before pulling itself apart and dissapearing into nothingness.
. . .
It was cold. The overpowering scent of pine filled his nostrils. He weakly raised his head, and looked around. He was blinded by such brightness, having lived in darkness for who knows how long. The wolf squinted as his eyes adjusted, finally looking around to find himself in a forest. A thin layer of untouched snow covered the ground. It was completely silent. He did not remember getting here, or how long he had been here, but his muscles seem to have recovered from the duel enough to allow him to stand. With the help of a nearby tree, he did just that. The mauled, skeletal wolf took it all in. He could feel the Force here, something he had not done for some time. It was under his command, and he could feel the world around him.
