Private To Kill A Darth

[Cordelia Dimitte]

TAG: Darth Daimen

Cordelia had followed the trail of this Sith to Atoan where the tar pits were fed by a sea of the black substance. The world was hostile, its inhabitants literally living in what was called The Ghost Nebula. Intel told Cord that thus Darth was powerful, though they had not gotten far as an apprentice. He was some sort of species if Elf called Aetherian. Lovating his signature wouk not be hard, Cord had recommected with her dark roots and was able to pursue.

Her fighter descended on the great vats that steamed with bubbling black pits. There in great cicles there was bridges of brass and a figure in black robes towering on one of the crossways over oblivion, he turned in his hood at her thrusters as she made for the floating landing pad. Her fighter let down a ladder and ahe walked in her black robes, holding her saber hilt which snapped into a fire of lavander, she made for the bridge were the titan stood, his cape blowing in the wind. She stood on guard as she came into cradle of his reach.

Her lit kyber was an indicator that she had not come to accept a surender, there would be no parlay, she had come to preform an execution. She felt his menace, his great height imposing as he shifted in his robes. Cordelia fought that scent.. of fear, he was surrounded by it as she saw him prepare.

She would need to be quick and use her every advantage, particularly the surroundings, or with one blow he could potentially knock her cold.

 

[Darth Daimen]

Lord Daimen sropd overlooking the shadow shoals in the great refinery, the boiling blackness was calling.. he had forsaken his people and his ambitions in the Sith had leaf to this dead end… The promise of power was elusive, and dangled by Darths who has no intent of dispensing with theirs. It all was a great ruse to feed the powerful with hungry and pliable souls for their empires, and build on their bones…

The Aetharian heard the fighter swoop overhead, someone had with intent come to this dead world. When he caught sight of a short girl with a amethyst laser sword, he wondered if this was a jest. Had the Empire sent a teenager to take him down? Was thus the final insult of their false crown? As she approached he sensed the Darkness, and yet there was a strong Light, this was not an acolyte of The Sith Order, or some assassin of the Kainite.

“Brave of you girl.. do you know what happens when you corner a Tu’kata?”

He took several steps towards her as he unslung his staff saber, taling the strap he caste it into the boiling tar below where it rested for a moment before sinking black oil.

“The same thing that happens when any Predator is trapped and has only one way out..”

He ignited the twin fangs of red and spun then around in a flurry. He then tapped her blade slightly, which made he weave a little, showcasing that she was feeling his sorcery, that she was on edge and thus susceptible to his power.

“You do not read like a Sith, nor a Jedi..”

His words was an invitation, though if she did not give answer it little mattered.

 

[Cordelia Dimitte]

He apoke of predators, and failed to see he was prey. The tap of her blades was meant to intimidate, and she swayed to make him think. When he inquired about her strange signature in The Force, she struck with rush of blows, some cuts and then a succession of thrusts to press him back as he caught each, the goal was not to give a breath to keep at him with another sting, and another, the tip singing as it reach for his head, then his underarm, he had to use disc spin to finally make her step back, this was good, it meant that her onslaught was making him resort to respites, so she thrusted again, this time with Force Push to try and break his great round shield of spinning blades, this was met by his own command of the Force that pulled her neck into long shaft of his staffsaber and he lifted her up over the railing of the tar pit below. She had made a grave mistake.. what was he waiting for as she dangled, she taking the advantage of his pause swung her lavander blade up to cut the shar in two, great sparks flying with circuits, she then with a scream, her eyes burning pink, she rushed as she engaged him with greater ferocity, she would not give him a moment’s breath to recover.

The answer to taking down a titan was to topple them with haste, to give them not one opportunity to land a blow or then it was over. That was why when he had her hanging over the pit that she was puzzled why he hesitated.

She thrusted with both hands as she let out another scream, passing her anger into the blade, and yet it was not in the tradition of the dark side, it was an ancient treatise of a Jedi Master, called Vaapad.

 

[Darth Daimen]

Her tenacity made the Dark Elf smile, she hit him like a Skirton, her tip like its great tail, and then she applied some Force, and that is when he grabbed her with his metallic shaft and raised her up, taking her over the safety bar to hang above the great pool of shadow, when he looked into her magenta eyes, they were terrified, and in that moment he felt satisfied. He was fully aware that not tossing her then opened him to a counter attack, she did not disappoint. He once great staff was torn in twain and now he held two sabers, one was ahorting as the second crystal was damaged, he threw it at her when ahe let ou another batflecry, ahe was channeling the dark against itself, an odd method he was not familiar with.

The blade he threw broke against her hand, cutfing it before going out and falling on t he deck and rolling off into bubbling pit. He now with one saber raised it in both hands and showed her how strong he truly eas, when he dropped his saber down like a vibroaxe, it met her and shook the railing and made a minor crater, to this he saw her eyes, that delightful look in them again, as he then thundered again and again, she was throw back as he took heavy steps and held tje blade high.

“Come on! Improvise! Or die!”

Why was he giving her a chance to learn? Perhaps it was what victory was there in crushing a young girl, he had a chivalry, and perhaps that was why he was unworthy. True Sith have no limits, the Sith’ari was even said to possess that quality. His Sister had warned him on her Wedding so long ago.. had he heeded that then, perhaps he would not be at this end.

 

[Cordelia Dimitte]

Cordelia swept her blade in great archs, and as he urged her to improvise, she obliged him by cutting the railings pf both sides with a cyclone cut and then another till the railings were bow asunder, she then lime thunder threw them at him as she thrusted her blade, the tri-attack was an impressive feat, even she marveled that she was able to preform it.

The Dark Hand was perplexed why this Lord was interested in her survivial, he had an opportunity to drop her earlier, and while she would have likely used The Force to leap back up, he did have her at a disadvantage. Now he was goading her to think outside the box, to use the unorthodox overwhelm him. Why? Was it some ruse? Was he trying to make her despair at that no matter how hard she beat at him, he like a precipice was immovable and beyond felling? Was he trying to get into her head, to rattle and make Her have a false sense of confidence? The answer was not forthcoming, and she decided to let it play out in fight, their sabera humming and crackling witj each strike, the purples and reds of their stokes above a black canvas of tar. Cordelia had to admit it was almost serene, that facing this Darksider as he first prey was probably the best she could hope for. Though he had great strength, he had a sense of honor, as if he did not want a victory if it meant stooping to a terrible low. It was almost Jedi in its nature, which made her wonder if that was why he was alone. Was he like her?

 

[Darth Daimen]

The Huntress showed her spirit when she created two spears out of the rails and threw them while thrusting her own blade, it was artful and he reached out with his free hand, the problem is he had to choose which to target, her or the rails.. her blade was by far the more dangerious, and so he conjured a burst of the Force to throw her back as he then tried to deflect a rail, cutting one, but the other hit him dead in the underarm, its jaggid edge dipping into the cradle of his flesh, making him slide on his back and fall.

Had he advanced in The Force and completed his training, he might have used a whirlwind to throw them and her all at once, but he neglected the neutral powers in favor of the dark ones, alas bolts of lightning could not deflect rails.

He laid there a moment and reached to see how deep the rail had dug, when he tried to yank it free and it did not come forth, he realized it was embedded, which meant removal would be a blood bath. He knew the Girl would recover and be upon him in no tome, he tried to inch on his back, when he saw he rushing with her lavander stinger, he pointed his fingers to caste some crimson bolts and drain some life force, though he movements were erratic, and she was trained in the dark and might know how to counter this act of desperation.

 

[Cordelia Dimitte]

Cord was thrown backwards by his push, she flipped backward, her heels of her boots arching as she then landed on her feet, her long raven hair swaying and she bending a knee to stabilize herself. Looking up with jer pink fire eyes, she saw one of the rails had found purchase, she dashed with her purple kyber blade of flame, and leapt, he fired some bolts of blood, she recognized those as Drain, and moved away from each stream, till she was upon him. She dug her blade down like a spade into the soil of his flesh, he raised his crimson blade to catch it, and redirect it, but she let go of his hilt nad took hold of rail in his underarm, which he grabbed trying to stop her. She jerked it, making him cough, and move in a reflex action. She was forcing him to decide which he would suffer, kyber or puncture of the rod of iron. Cordelia at last had him and as he tried to keep her blade from touching his neck, she twisted the rail and pulled, his hand trying tp fight her, but it was too late…

Her boot was bathed in his blood as it flowed like a fountain out of his underarm. Had it been a saber the wound would have been cauterized, but the sharp metal drew the well of his life cells in the streams of scarlet. Cordelia drew back her blade as the gore made her abhor what she had done. This was not the usual way of combat, saber blades were elegant and kept such displays of death from happening. It Vibroblades, and Mando Besckads that created such carnage, and this made her sick to her stomach. She turned to where the rails were missing voiding white chunks down into the tat pit below, making a white swirl on the boiling black.

 

[Darth Daimen]

Daimen fought her as she took two fronts of assault, his bolts failing to find her. When she twisted and drew the rail free, the inevitable began happening, he began to bleed, and bleed great bowls of blood. Instead of finishing him, the Huntress retreated and seemed to become ill. Taking his burning red blade he dug it in the faucet under his arm, which sealed the flow, but already he was wadding on inch or so of his own blood, he became woozy and tumbled as he turned on his side, he grabbed hold of the intact rail, and tried to pull himself to his feet and instead he slid, and fell on his head, and he slid off the edge, grabbing a hold of little groove, as he dangled over the black oil below.

He felt so weak, and could not pull himself up, and so he hung there over oblivion, and his breaths grew more laborious, his grip becoming looser, and his face painted in a bizarre smile. He thought of his home, of his sister, memories flooding her mind of when he fought on batflefields, and was even christened an Apprentice by Darth Morta . All of that a flash, and then his body began to shake, making holding on even more arduous. He lost his grip, and as he was about to fall, a hand grabbed his and prevented his black baptism of death.

 

[Cordelia Dimitte]

Cordelia having wiped her mouth of the chunks saw that he waa strumbling and then fell off. She rushed, sliding on the pools of blood and saw he was hanging, he looked serene, which was disturbing, his eyes looking at her though not discerning her, it was clear he was seeing something else. When he began to shake he lost his grip and Cord grabbed his hand and said,
“Hang on! I will help you up! Argh!”

His weight was almost dislocating her arm. She saw the discarded rail, and said as she helped him grip that hand hold again,”
“Hang on! I will get the rail.”

She was as adament in saving him now as she had been in slaying him. Was it the blood? The grisly execution that most Jedi and Soth avoid, they use to a crackle and glow of orange that fades ro black just as the eyes of their foe goes black. But this pond of life matter mace things different, it disturbed her soul, and mads her feel the weight of the harm she had done. Perhaps this was why Mandos used steel, because them every life taken left strokes on your soul.

She grabbed the rail and poised it over the edge to him. Her eyes watering as she saw his skin go paler, he starred through her.
“Take hold! I have you!”

 

[Darth Daimen]

---

The Huntress had delayed his descent, she holding his hand as his body swept. He looked up at her, she spoke at last and told him to grab the hand hold. He did as she went to get a rail, there he began see more visions of his life passing by, he even saw 666 ( Phaelissia ), who he wished he had a chance to apologize for not standing by her, and letting ambition cloud his vision.

The rail was raised to his hand, he grabbed hold, his body and its weight pulling if out over the great tar pit, the Girl trying to reel him back in when he looked down at the bubbling black any then back at her, and he let go of the rail with one hand, now only a final hand as the rail bent and he looked up into her pink eyes,
“Life is short.. Orders and Causes will not be what you wish you had devoted more time to in the end, rather it is the chances you never took to be happy.. to know love in someone else. Irrespective of your alignment.. all derserve to be loved..”

With that he began to release his grip and he saw in her eyes and written on her face the realization that he did not want to be saved, as he gave a smile and said,
“Take a chance.. do not have regrets at the end..”

With that he let go and it was slow, his cape flowing as his white hairs spread our from his hood, and his eyes looked up at her and held his hands out, the descent was solemn and then he hit the tar, his skin scolding, and he felt the sting and black liquid flood over him and stick, his keft eye covered and sealed, his mouth drinking it and unable to cry out in his pain. The instinct ro swim out was met with the resistance of the tar that pulled him under, and as he looked up with one fire like eye at The Huntress, his arm encased in oil as he waved, and began to sink, his waist consumed, then this torso, and shoulders, and then only his hand which made a thumbs up as it disappeared into the dark…

 

[Cordelia Dimitte]

The Dark Hand watched as he loosed his hand and fell, she let put a scream and tried to reaxh out in The Force, but she was too late. He hit the black boiling wayer and began to sink, the agony of watching the tar burn him and fill his mouth made her feel ill again. When he looked up at her with one eye, which haunted her. Then he submerged and fell on her behind. Her intent had been to cut him down, but this was altogether different. He had been bled and then let go, in essence he perished by his own hand.

The gift he had given was a viceroy for Dark Hand, without her giving the killing stroke. Yhoigh his weakness and resigned state was due to the blood loss she had caused. She had to live with this, perhaps Balun Dashiell had been right, that it was better to disarm than destroy.

Overcome by the flood of emotions, she headed back to her ship and set coordinates back to a Dark Hand safehouse, she sat in her chair and pondered if he was in hell, and had she damned him. The shuttle took off and headed off world for the stars…

 

[Darth Daimen]

Deep in the thick black waters.. something stirred, tentacles the oil began to reach up as if in adoration and rising up from the deep shadow was a body clad in skin as black as the tar from which it was raised, and then the waters hardened as ice, as the charred looking figure laid atop, with a gasp the Dark Figure stirring and then voided black streams from his oily lips, his eyes as yellow jasper and his body in the black robes of the Darkness.

There he searched as if newly born, his shell shaking and him starring at his tar covered flesh. Steps began to rise from the cooled asphalt. He began to ascend with each step until he was on the bridge, a oily tentacle raised his hood on his head and pointed him towards his shuttle, he began walking, his steps leaving footprints of fresh tar when he came upon the ramp and entered the vessel. There the tentacles touched the starmap and set a course, him sitting upon his seat as the ship ascended in its black shape, drops of ink falling from its wings as it flew away and made for the hyperlanes…