Location: Room 1 - Generator
Status: Recovering from hallucinations and feeling more like himself.
Enemies: [member="The Foreman"] | [member="Onyx"]
The storms had raged upon the sands of Iridonia for hundred of millennia and hundred more before that and never once had their powers weakened. The storms that ravaged the near barren planet were fierce in nature; true symbols of uncaring, ferocious rage that would devour and tear apart any that thought to stand in their way. Very few mountains lasted more than a hundred years before the tiny blade of sand would grind them away into nothingness or great arcs of stone that served as monument to the times long since passed. Such was their power, was it any surprise that Lykos had modeled his mindscape after them? As such, when he had finally fallen prey to the gas and the hallucinations it had brought, he had dreamed briefly of pain and burning, of tendrils writhing under his skin and flesh broke and blood boiled. He had briefly dreamed of the feeling of not right, had dreamed of tearing apart that which stood in his way. But, only for a moment. For, then, the storms had slammed down upon the visions, experience teaching Lykos to retreat into the protection of his mind.
So, he had stood in the middle of the storms, unresponsive to the outside world, his feet planted upon bedrock as he stretched his awareness out into his mind. He had basked within burning fury as the sun seared his not-real flesh, he had roared along side the wind and danced with the sands as he stood still. And, most of all, he had snarled at the not-me-intruder as he watched the freezing, ice-borne river curl and lash at that which had been artificial. Memories not his, thought not his own, the corruption of his own mind by one that he had sought to twist to his own ends - his own ploy turned against him, it existed, trapped before him and he snarled in rage as he recalled that impudence of the one that had tried to destroy him and make him a puppet.
But, rage was not all he felt for, within that rage, was the slightly hint of thankfulness directed towards the Shards. They had forced him to retreat to his mind to combat the hallucinations and perfectly direct the healing he bestowed upon his self through the Force and, as such, it was they that had taught him of what had been done to him.
And so, his rage guiding him, Lykos leapt at that which had tried to make him bow, losing all sense of the urgency of what might be occurring around his unconscious form. Claws bestowed with strength granted as a boon of the mind tore at that which had tried to alter him, ice and water - immune to the burning heat and whipping sands as they coiled around the action, tearing at the intrusion - speared and flattered and sheared away at the corruption. Feral in nature and with disregard to his self, for he was not his self but a construct that had been created by his subconscious to help him understand his actions within the mindscape, the Zabrak lunged and struck and tore with the fury of the winds and the rage of the ice fueling every strike. He struck with teeth and claw and fists and ice and wind and sand. He struck and fought within the realm that was not real, the realm that his mind dreamed up to justify action.
With every strike he remembered. With every strike he relearned what he had forced himself to forget. With every strike he unshackled the shackled he had placed upon behaviour and actions. With every strike he felt the frozen, patient, shadowy fury beat all the stronger within him as he fought back against that he had not been, initially, able to fight back against. With every strike he became more and more Darth Lykos once more, whole once more.
As such, when it came time for his one eye to flicker open, his amber gaze taking in the chaos that surrounded him, there was only the briefest of moments in which droid or organic would catch the curling, feral smirk that pulled at scarred lips before it would be gone. But, it would not be the only thing gone as, with his mind free from self-imposed restrictions and the corruption that had fought to subjugate him, Lykos was free to act as he always would - as a Shadow. And so, with the intrusion within his mind battered, beaten and locked away until he would be able to sit and meditate for hours on end, Lykos arose from his position against the wall of the room as a Cloak of the Force settled upon his shoulders and hid him from sight and sound.
Standing there, separate from the chaos and taking it in with a raised brow, Lykos paid no attention to the raising heat levels. For him, who had suffered under the Iridonian sun in the middle of a desert plain with no shelter for days, the heat that many might have found something worthy paying attention to was of little to no bother to the Iridonian. And so it was with a calm eye that blazed with an inner, icy rage and an emotionless face, that Lykos took in the carnage around him. He saw men and women fighting to hold of swarming insect-looking droids (subconsciously forming a solid barrier around his form as he did so), heard their words and listened to the heightened thrum of their hearts, scented their emotions as he stood separate from it all. But, he did not care for them, only caring about knowing who was where should he be required to fight. As such, his attention soon turned from the people to the room they were in.
Beneath his bared feet his could feel the steady vibrations of the machine, could feel what would amount to a construct's heartbeat beat its rhythm. But, it was not the steady beat that was slowly rising in intensity that took his focus, but, instead, the small crescendo hidden beneath it. The heavy staccato of a lumbering gait and, alongside it, the nonrhythmic, uncontrolled sound of scurrying and shifting. Something was coming, something that wished to eradicate them, wished to complete what the Shards that chose to play with them could not finish.
The games the Shards had played had been frustrating and annoyance creating when Lykos had been shackled and chain in his mind, but, now they only served to cause a sense of grim humour to wash over him. How arrogant, how confident, were these Shards that they chose to not end them but play with them? They had set games, tried to weaken but not kill. Perhaps there was a sense that they needed to prove themselves, to prove their supposed cleverness and superiority? How... insecure and organic-like of them. Indeed, the only threat that Lykos could see would be the fact that people had been covered in that black slime and that there was the possibility that their were others in the same situation as the Padawan he had seen be taken from Commenor. And, so, as he mused this face, turning to face where the steady beat of a lopsided stride was coming from (a blastdoor before them), Lykos made sure that his back was to the wall and that he could easily see everyone from his position at the rear of the group, carefully watching for changes in body language, a shift in posture and intent that would reveal the individual's subjugation.
As such, he was stood there with his back against the wall and his eye flickering from body to body when the thuds of steps came to a halt, leaving on the thrum of the machines heartbeat. A new noise replaced the noise of the steps though as the blastdoor they had stopped behind would be torn from its hinges with the shriek of metal grinding, unwillingly, against metal - a noise that cause him to flinch for but a moment. With one final groan of protest, the door would come free of where it had been locked and sent skittering across the group to come to a rest at the feet of one of the females within the group.
With steady and purpose movements, Lykos watched as the metallic beast that had come to meet them pushed its large-fist-capped arms through the space the disregarded blastdoor had occupied only moments before. Accompanying the arms came a head that Lykos could only describe as a more rounded version of a snarling bull's head (the thought that perhaps he was still suffering some confusions from the gas and sonic weapons stirred within his mind for but a moment). He watched in silence as the metal behemoth pulled its way through the doorway with some struggle, its body scratching at the jagged edges of the entrance it had just forcibly and dramatically made. When it final entered the room proper, Lykos caught sight of the oddest array of droids he had yet to see for the briefest of moment before the hulking droid stood before the group, hunched over with its weight resting upon the giant firsts. Steam coiled around it form as it voice thundered out a single command.
Rather than feeling fear at the sight, instead, Lykos only chuckled beneath his breath. Yet another game for them to play with. No weapons fired, no explosions or bolts or anything. Nothing but a hulking beast meant to intimidate them and block their way. It seemed that the forces they were opposing were almost hesitant to kill them just yet, instead settling on obstacle after obstacle. Still chuckling to himself slightly, Lykos dropped a hand to the blade sheathed at his waist but chose to do nothing more. For now, he'd wait. For now, as his eye continued to flicker from body to body, he's observe shrouded in shadows and hidden from sight and sound through the Force.
