Duel Litanies of the Dark Side: Powers that Be

[Eosfor]

The screeching of the blades was as loud as the tension within the chamber. The durasteel of the walls reflected the crimson of the lightsabers' plasma, flickering every time the two sprung in action in irregular intervals. When they did, the blades bound, producing fiery sparks to protest their clash, before both were pulled far apart again, with the dueling fighters once again entering a choreography of creeping steps, vulturing in circles around one another. The hulking figure of the Dark Lord towering over his opponent, though her steps much faster, equalling his' in deliberation and intent.

"The Empire was weak." he intoned. A declaration made in growling voice, not disturbing the tense silence that defined the duel.

"They knew war. They knew battle. But they latched to their corrupt ways, no longer driven by the zeal it once defined the Sith..."

The plasma of his blade black, with red tendrils of lightning disturbing the unstable shape of the lightblade. The crystal wept, broken and corrupt enough to bare no memory of its old self; A perfect reflection of the Dark Lord who called himself its master...

"The cure to plague is fire. Wrathful and unyielding, like the Sith once were."

His grip low, keeping the blade by his side while his free hand mimicked the gesture, exposing his chest to the foe in an invitation befitting the Makashi stance adopted. In perfect alignment to the Dark Crusade's zealous nature, the Dark Lord befell his opponent in waves, like ocean crashing upon the bulwark. He attacked, then defended. When the opponent pushed hard enough, he attacked again. Tides of malice, brought to bare by a single swipe of his foul weapon.

"The war I sparked brought many before this most obvious a truth, up to now ignored out of cowardice or convenience..." his steps orbiting the opponent, each bringing him yet a little bit closer. A creeping tempest, making its way over the city to the sound of lightning.

"No longer..."

In a swift act, he thrusted his blade against her. To spar with him was a trial in and of itself. He did not accept the use of "stun", though many a lightsaber was capable of providing. It was his belief, that one could not simulate the thrill of combat unless exposed to it. The Sith were bound by mortality, meant to break their chains through their pledging to the Dark Side. To lose a duel, was to be weak. To be weak, meant he would no longer serve his purpose, as a Dark Lord.
Unimpressed by use of means that secured his position, Darth Eosfor chose to expose himself frequently in the trials of his dark horde, either through participating in the battles himself, leading from the thickest of frontiers, or by challenging rivals or enemy champions alike, in single combat.

His blade came thrusting, aimed to her chest, while the Dark Lord took a step closer to her, contesting her own control zone, followed up by a sarlacc sweep, meant to clash with any resistance presented for the air separating the two.

 

[Valia Muqai]

Time became meaningless within the Dark Crusade.

From the moment she awoke from that dreaded bacta tank to being imprisoned within the inner sanctums of Darth Eosfor, Valia had lost all concept of time. It hardly mattered anymore either way. The passage of time for her was marked when training began and when it ended.

From what she knew, it had been, at a minimum, 2 years since Karideph, or was 3?

Valia skipped around her dark master, wielding a dark-cored blade that mirrored Eosfor's own. The other half of what was once a saberstaff, and just like the twin half, it wept, broken, and corrupt. Bearing little to no memory of its past self, forgotten or buried under all its suffering.

Just like its current master.

She was not baited by Eosfor's taunts. Valia fought differently, almost opposite Eosfor's style and the Dark Crusade's. She'd find their real weakness through overwhelming speed and precise strikes, akin to a patient viper versing a raging bull. It was how she fought then and made her a prodigious duelist amongst her Jedi peers, and it continues to be her preferred method of fighting.

Yet, Valia could tell, things weren’t the same as before. She no longer moved with the same agility or strength she once had. Fatigue crept into her limbs more quickly, her breathing turned ragged sooner, and her strikes lacked in the speed they used to have. She knew all too well why, the mutilation they’d inflicted on her had taken its toll. True recovery was impossible when she was constantly driven to the edge, starved of rest, nourishment, and relief from pain.

If Valia could notice it, she was sure Eosfor and his lackeys did as well.

Valia stepped back, the tip of her opponent's blade narrowly avoiding her chest, then parrying the sweeping blade. She traces her up in a upward sweeping attack meant to strike him in the chest as wel.

Valia stepped back, the tip of her opponent's blade narrowly missing her chest.

"Talk less. Your preaching is useless to me in the middle of a duel."

She immediately parried the follow-up sweep, then countered with an upward slash of her own, aiming to strike him in the chest as well.

Unthinkable level of disrespect towards one's master. Perhaps, deliberately so.

 

[Eosfor]

Defiance...

Something that led many to their demise when practiced to their superiors. The very nerve to contest the decree of one's betters was the epitomy of sin, especially for the Sith. At least the Sith of the Reconstituted Empire... Those remnants of old, decayed and weighted by centuries of depravity into the weakest form of what a Sith could be. To obey one's master was to show respect. Obedience. Loyalty.

But in the Dark Crusade, under the glooming reign of the Dark Lord?

None of these mattered.

Darth Eosfor had noticed the serpentine nature of his apprentice. Contrary to his onslaught, his feral ways, her's were slithering and patient, calculated to the moment and for each moment. The thought of whether her way was scent of cowardice, or a meaningful mutation due to his own pressure frequently roamed the hollows of his mind.

The blazing counter-attack, following in almost choreographic continuity to his own strike, dodged so narrowly it made him wonder whether or not it was a mistake of her own, salvaged the final moment, or a deliberate mockery to his attempt, cast the whirl of thoughts from the Dark Lord's mind into a storm quick to be consumed by the tension of the duel. She was no weakling. She never defended just to survive the engagement. She planned. She worked her way to attrition, not counting on clash and might to yield victory.

In many ways, the Dark Lord could respect that, for he too had employed such tactics for decades, to a much greater extend.

His machine-carcass moved without care for what the rotting mind dictated, in view of her upward strike. So many years in wars, his body had a will of its own when it came to combat, which he had planted in it himself, knowingly or unknowingly. He pulled himself to the side, twisting to see the blade climbing up by him.

Just like the first strike, came the second, wrathful and determined, yet she dodged that just like the past one. And to his strength she answered with dexterity, and to his determination with cunning.

This time, she too taunted him. Her venomous words making his teachings hollow. Her spiteful intent making his own meaningless.

"If you cannot see through the flames of battle, you are of no use to me."

Any a master would discipline the apprentice.

Any a Sith would punish the pupil.

But not him.

Not Darth Eosfor.

He nurtured it.

"Flesh is weak. Your mind battles first. The flesh follows in its own. War is not battle alone."

She had been reborn once, already, and now bloomed through the spring of hate, to the emblem of Darkness she was bound to become.

Bound...

The very word itself infuriated him. Filling his remnant cadaverous flesh with rage enough to stretch the muscles into a painfully prolonged life. He swung the blade, sweeping clear a perimeter. It was perhaps the first time he yielded ground. His backward steps steady, almost deceiving. His one hand extending to the side, as if attempting to claim space to negate his retreat.

Although a sparring contest, they never did use stunning weaponry. As it was the culture, in the Dark Crusade, every fight carried the risk of death, whether intended or otherwise. Whoever fell in a sparring match, many said, deserved to die.

This, was no different. though he always called the end of the duels, perhaps creating the feeling, or misimpression, of control, the Dark Lord never instructed his apprentice to strike in vain.

Every strike, intended to kill.

Whether it would, or not, was up to the judgement of the fighters...

 

[Valia Muqai]

"Of no use to you, yet, you're so incapable of letting me go."

Valia could never forget that day even if she was no longer the same person as she was before. From every second she ran through the burning city to watching her last hope of escape flying of, to fighting Eosfor, being struck down by him, and then stabbing herself with her own blade. Failing in to impale her heart or just simply cutting off her own head will always be one of her biggest regrets. She truly could have denied him what he wanted and rest in the afterlife with her fellow fallen jedi.

That mistake resulted in her awakening in the most agony she had ever experienced in her life, hopefully the most agony ever. She did not think she can handle such torture again, not psychologically at the least, knowing they'd find someway to keep her alive physically regardless. Even two years after it, she was still plagued with constant phantom pains of what used to be apart of her. Already, she felt the aching within the right side of her chest just from the mere thought of it.

"Unless I'm mistaken. If so, then, making myself useless to you is the trick in finally making you discard me."

More taunting, her tone more venomous than before. Valia stepped back away from him instead of pushing her apparent advantage, her arms spread to the side in a move that is no doubt baiting him to strike. If he refused, so would Valia, as if trying to prove a point with her words and ignoring Eosfor's. She'd force him into a standstill, if he advanced, then she'd use her superior speed and dexterity to evade him. There was a hint of smugness in her eyes.

"You call flesh weak, yet even with all the machinery that has replaced your body and keeps that rotting form alive, you still struggle to show any real strength that isn't just your delusions of grandeur."

 

[Eosfor]

Her tongue spat flames. Whether this was corruption made manifest, or her true self expressing through the freedom the Dark Side provided, he could never be sure. Her Defiance was driving him to many thoughts, one darker than the past. She had forsaken the darkness for the illusion of safety provided by the purity of the Light, only to latch herself so tightly round the candle flame her skin had burned. Now? With his hand casting her against the burning flame, her skin had melted in the fire of Madness and Regret, drowning her in a most bleak a mind.

Had she lost herself in that path? Was his unchaining of her the path to her loss?

The Dark Lord stood tall, halting his onslaught, witnessing the Apprentice taunting him in almost a spell-like form.

But spells and witchery had long since failed in him.

His blade humming her foul song behind his back, held in a reversed grip while his free hand reached out, as if to grasp Valia irrespective of the long distance separating the two.

"Defiance is as powerful as Loyalty, Apprentice!" he snarled, channeling the Dark Side around him like a feral beast, ready to strike.

In an eye's glimpse, ligthning tendrils, black and foul, errupted from his hand with enough malice seeded in them to turn the armour of the hand fiery where they lashed. The grim energy stormed, hurled like a projectile of pure force against the Apprentice, forming seven distinct chains, each of which branching seven more, all whirling towards the Apprentice.

As if a cry from the Force herself, protesting the very manifestation of the black lightning, a deafening sound shook the chamber, like Thunder succeeding the stormcloud's blaze.

"You are blind to your abilities, apprentice. Blind to the shape you shall form. Like metal, all you see is the flames of the furnace, and my Anvil.... But soon... Very soon.... You will Learn."

 

[Valia Muqai]

Neither Valia knew what even influenced her words and actions at that point. It could be the dark side, it could be her newfound freedom after being forced away from the Jedi Order, or perhaps both. Nothing felt the same since then, she no longer felt like herself and life felt far less meaningful. While she no longer attempted to willingly perish, Valia did not care if Darth Eosfor delivered that himself. It was only him giving in into her wishes and she wanted nothing more but to see Darth Eosfor give in to her whims.

The moment he reached out his hand, Valia knew to brace for a force based attack. Valia sprinted to the side, but her legs did not carry her fast enough to dodge the entirety of the lightning. She held her lightsaber to block the smaller tendrils she could not avoid, exerting both what strength she had within the force and physical power to keep her grip on the hilt and lightning at bay. While she evaded the full brunt of his attack, it would not take long for him to redirect its full power against her. Valia would have countered with her own, though lightning was an ability she had yet to learn, even if she knew how to do it, all her focus and power was being poured towards blocking his barrage.

"I will learn... if you were a better teacher." She spat at him once more.

"Strike me down with this lightning and you will see me dead." She hissed out the words, feeling the strain both in her mind and hands. "Would not be a huge lost to you. But, I will thank you for finally granting my wish after so long, despite all the effort put into keeping me alive." Truthfully she did not know whether or not the strike would be fatal instead of just being painful, but there always a chance regardless.

It was no secret to either of them that she had so deeply wished for death long ago. While she had regained her will for life, she did not fear death anymore, she did not need to seek it in order to welcome its embrace.

 

[Eosfor]

The deck shook by the thunderous cry of lightning, ever presistent, with will to disintegrate its target like ravenous void-borne flame. The Dark Lord stepped forth, closing the gap between the two, slowly, like a bleeding moment leading to bitter violence. His mind reaching out, hyperfocused in the hollow meanings of his pointless lesson to the unwilling apprentice, her words did little more than reaffirm the already narrow perception he had for her.

"Naive... Impetient... Sword-tongued...."

Like a lurking predator, the Dark Lord closed the distance one step at a time, as inevitable as time, in the ever-narrowing a chamber...

"Blind."

In a sudden motion, he banished the lightning, lunging himself onward as if given speed by the foul energies surrounding him, thrusting the blade for a piercing blow to her torso.

"Weak."

His strike meant to break through her defense, overwhelm instead of maneuver around. Like a raging rancor, his attacks reflected the brutality and straightforwardness of his wicked ways, a perfect analogy of pain and inevitability, carefully crafted deep beneath the layers of his armour.

To deflect his thrust was an invitation to alter it into a sweeping strike, though such would enable him to reach out and attempt grabbing her by the throat, or, perhaps worse, her sword hand. To dodge the strike, if managed, a return to their most frequent a choreography, in which he performed yet another burst of lightning, to trail her escape. Too many times had she escaped his besiegeing onslaught, only for his sweeps to be amiss, up until he chose to punish her by showering her with lightning.

 

[Valia Muqai]

There was little in the way for Valia to move out of closing gap between her and Eosfor unless she wished to take in the full wrath of the force lightning. She held back for as long she could until the lightning barrage finally ended and her opponent lunged. Years ago, a lunging, bulky opponent would have been a non-issue for her to deal with, but those times were gone now.

"If I was weak-"

As Eosfor thrust his lightsaber at her, a quick idea conjured in her mind. A risky, no doubt likely painful idea.

"You wouldn't have taken me and forced me to live."

Valia instinctively deflected his incoming thrust, and despite her attempt to dodge it, her master's metal claws found its oppressive grip around her throat in a choke hold. For a moment, fear could be seen in her eyes before it shifted into one of fierce anger, countering the smug, calm focus she had earlier in their duel.

Still gripping her lightsaber, she swung it up at an angle, aiming to separate his arm from his form and release her from his grip.

 

[Eosfor]

Though machine had long since replaced most of his limbs, he could feel the trachea narrowing by the pressure of his grip, as if his nerves had yet to be wires. The very moment he locked his hand around her throat, his bionic gaze locked on her's. Fear, born of his wrath. In any other an occasion, he would revel in it, for it is such the first Angel of Death, prior to the Blind's banishment to the Nether.

But Valia, was not any ordinary foe...

Part of him, in that narrow moment, willed to squeeze enough so he could hear the snapping of her neck over the buzzing of the lightsabers, who too craved for bloodshed, as if feeding in the spill of life essence. Part of him wanted to end her torment, which he knew well enough would only become greater, the more she lost herself in the whirl of Darkness.

He would have done so, if not for the bleak knowledge of what would follow.

To many, Death was an unknowable liberation from Life's chains. To many, perhaps her, too, for now, Death was a far yet most pleasing a sensation, as if it heralded the end of all turmoil of Life.

If only they knew...

If only she knew...

His lightsaber tracing the sudden course of Jenberniuk, by Valia's will. Kraujasjaarvek, hissing in anticipation to meet her other half once again, as the Dark Lord brought his sword hand too, forth, binding the blades along his elbow, the reverse grip tracing the armour of his arm, which shined to the binding. The Cortosis gauntlet sparked, as Valia's blade, unstable as much as the Dark Lord's lashed against it, causing yet another dark spot to the already long-weathered piece.

The Dark Lord pressed his own self against her's, using his offhand around her throat to stir her against the wall. The thick armour plating allowing him to endure the burning of the lightsaber, while his own hilt brought almost next to her face, in order to keep the horribly angled bind in check. His machine-borne strength pressed to overwhelm her muscle, while his hand squeezed her trachea.

"Fear"

He growled. A voice so deeply corrupt, it hung in question whether it was generated throgh his artificial vocal chord, or the oppressive presence he maintained in the Force. His gaze ever-locked in her eyes, piercing enough the absence of his eyes felt inconsequencial to the feeling of his glaring attention.

"Only the weak know Fear. And the dying. Which of the two are you?"

 

[Valia Muqai]

The plan she had didn't work, her lightsaber was deflected before it could cut through The Dark Lord's arm and instead only scorching the surface of his cortosis gauntlet like an inconvenient welding mark against metal, hardly any real damage dealt. Her free hand gripped against the metal wrist of the cybernetic hand around her throat in a futile attempt to pull it away, whilst continued to press against her foe's saber and his cortosis gauntlet at an awkward angle, though most likely not for very long as she was denied breath.

Valia choked in his grasp, his metal palm tightening around her throat like a constrictor. He could feel every frantic pulse and each desperate attempt to draw breath as the muscles in her neck strained and flexed against his grip.. She was reminded when she first awoke on that accursed ship, being under the knife of Dr. Vein as she choked under the life support tubes unceremoniously shoved down her throat, powerless to escape no matter how hard she resisted. The reminder of it triggered a lance of pain within her chest, though whether it was from the traumatic memory or an unseen injury she did not know.

Yet, she did not look at him with a look a fear, but instead her eyes were filled with the same determination and unyielding will she had when they first fought on Karideph. Valia opened her mouth to speak, it took a few wheezing gasps before she could get a single word out.

"Neither."

She continued her strained attempts to speak. A waste of each precious breath she had, but she did not care.

"I… d-don’t… fear… death… a-and… you’ll… n-never… g-give me… d-death…”

 

[Eosfor]

"Then stand up!"

In a single motion, the Dark Lord twisted around his axis, pulling her from against the wall only to hurl her in the opposite direction, meant to cast her across the chamber. His blade a can of will surgically precise in shielding his torso from Jenberniuk. His grip had been long enough to push her to the very limit of suffocation. He willed to sense her power drained, before he released, in yet another brutal demonstration of control.

Kraujasjaarvek fell silent, as the Dark Lord banished the blade. He made no farther attempt to close the gap between the two. This once, his wicked mind inflicting yet another perhaps hollow lesson in his take on foul symbolism, signifying the schism yet to be filled between the two.

It is early. Too early.

He reasoned in silence.

"Do not be confused, apprentice. Let not your blind eyes deny you the view." he intoned. His voice harsh and twisted.

"Mercy would be to have you die on Karideph. Weakness would be to kill you now. I choose strength. I choose power. Words you have yet to see for yourself. But no matter... The harder the metal, the stronger the blade... The anvil never yields to the blade. Nor my hammer."

 

[Valia Muqai]

Just when Valia's vision was beginning to fade, she found herself tossed across the room like a piece of paper, her momentum abruptly stopped when she slammed against the nearby wall. Knocking out what little air she had in her and further dazing her. She laid there for half a minute, gasping for the air she had been denied just moments before and pulling away from full unconsciousness.

She groaned as she felt her body further weakened and bruised from The Dark Lord's act moments before, aching with pain all over. Her lightsaber had de-ignited, though the hilt remained in her hand, ready to be used once more.

Valia pushed herself to sit up, still hungering for air. She didn't stand up quite yet, mainly due to a mixture of rebellion, fatigue, and pain.

"I would have rather died on Karideph. If not there, then at least on the operating table." She gazed up at him. "Instead you chose to ruin me in every way possible. For that, you expect gratitude from me?"

 

[Eosfor]

"I expect passion. Anger and rage. Wrath and defiance."

His voice loud, demanding, as if reaching a moment he had been trying to force on them throughout the duel.

"I expect strength. Strength from the one who overcame Death. Strength from the one who overcame Life."

He took a step forth, his claw tightening into a fist presented to her.

"I expect Power! The only way from the bottom is up! And yet, you cling on to the loss, ignorant to the gain forth...."

Each word spoken a twisted reflection of the Sith Code that dominated every part of life onboard the foul warship. Each act, a proven calculation leading up to a point perhaps too shrouded in the Dark Lord's deranged mind to be forseen.

"You were not alive on Karideph. You were not killed when the blade burned your lungs. You were born. A Twice-born harbinger. A Herald of strength, which you yet deny."

His glare remained on her for few moments in silence, devolving into a mere stare of pitty.

"Who are you, apprentice?" His voice finally reached a point. A realization, guiding words to a result perhaps darker than the lesson.

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia leaned back against the metal wall, a pained expression upon her face. She waved a hand as if attempting to dismiss his words to her as if it was nothing more than a puff of smoke. Though, even with her dismissive attitude, she listened to her nonetheless and felt conflict whirl within her, between the dark and the remaining small vestiges of light in her soul.

"I've given you anger and rage. Pain as well, more than enough of that I'm sure." Valia spoke "Defiance too for that matter. With my numerous attempts at dying long ago and my lack of care for your nonsense speeches a lot of times." Her frequent dismissive attitude towards his lessons were no secret to Eosfor, neither was her preference for Kirki's lessons, but that was the first time she had outright admitted to it.

'Technically, I was very much alive, else you wouldn't have been so grievously injured by me, would you? Then I was forcibly kept alive with your dark powers."

With his final question, Valia could not answer, only feeling her chest tighten at the question. Who was she? She could not call herself Valia, but neither her old name either, truly she did not know.

"I am nobody."

 

[Eosfor]

The Dark Lord observed, as she voiced thoughts that plagued her for long. An admition of defeat, in his eyes. A step closer to the revelation yet to manifest within her, like a seed plucked from the plant and thrown in an underworld of darkness, finally cracking into a sappling, as the Harvester craves the moment it will bloom into a flower made of thorns. Such was the vision, the Dark Lord had when seeing his apprentice, chosen by the greatest champions of Light, to become the most renown harbringer of the Dark Side; A blooming flower of malice, unchained of all restraints once nurtured in her.

A final piece, to a legacy of Defiance...

"When you find yourself on the bottom of the pit, there is no way but up..."

His hands reached out. His fingertips twitched, as the Dark Side stirred. A most familiar sensation of cold, contrasting the ever-present unnatural heat born of the Dark Lord's aura. A phenomenon manifesting only when that aura was drained, consumed by him to summon enough foul energy within him to shape it into a chain of lightning....

A fitting punishment, for the Weak...

Moments dragged on as if time itself warped to the twisting forces of the Dark Side. And yet...

His hands lowered, as he shook his head. Though dissapproval was louder than any scream, he was aware of the path leading to the cause he chose.

"You are a fool. And far from the bottom, still..."

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia felt the swirling, building chill of the dark energies gathering at Eosfor's fingertips. Her body tensed, hand gripping her saber hilt tightly. There was no way for her to dodge another barrage or even block it. She braced for a wave of immense pain from being electrocuted.

But it never came.

She felt nothing towards her dark master's disapproval, only brief relief that she did not have to be electrocuted for him to prove his point, for now.

"You've abducted me, killed me, tortured me, forced me to live, crippled me... yet, that is far from the bottom for you?" Valia laughed, a deeply bitter and tired laugh, as if Eosfor had been telling jokes for far too long. "The words that manifest from that... throat of yours truly does boggle my mind sometimes."

A long sigh escaped her lips as she leaned her head back against the wall. Valia looked utterly exhausted, both from their dueling and everything else.

"Your enjoyment of suffering shouldn't surprise me anyways. Even when I was recovering from Dr. Vein's butchering, I could sense you lurking about me, so eager for your next opportunity to make me suffer weren't you?"

 

[Eosfor]

The Dark Lord remained static. A statue of judgement while Valia spoke up. He waited. He listened...

The moment she uttered the word "suffer", the air around her suddenly thickened. An unseen darkness, oppressive and cruel enough to be visible in its transparency, formed around her beating heart, as if willing to stop her from pumping. A black claw wrapped around the thin membrane and tissue, squeezing enough for the electric snaps that offered the heart a rhythm to gradually deteriorate, as if lobotomized by unseen devilry.

"You are a child... Blind... Foolish..."

He took a step closer. His palms curling to fists, as his breathing became louder, with each inhale producing a screeching from deep in the life support's intestines.

A caressing sensation, similar to that of a burning ember sliding on the skin traced a course from her palms to her throat, slow and suffocating.

"You see flesh as a Temple... Pain as a devil. I never abducted you. I never killed, you."

He took another step closer...

"I killed a Jedi. I killed a false shell, bound by chains of lies and deceit. I tortured that shell. Carved it out. Crippled it. So your true form can bloom from within. Unbound. Unchained. You are not the weakling who cowered before a warrior's Death. You are not the Blind whelp who walked to its own destruction. You are reborn. You are remade..."

Another step forth, bringing the Dark Lord ever closer to Valia. The oppressive tendrils binding their grip ever tighter around her, as if to pluck her very soul out of her bones.

"Like a child mere-born, you cry and wrestle with the air that gives you Life, BEGGING FOR THE DARKNESS OF THE WOMB!"

He halted, his mechanical gaze glaring down at her. The air around her growing thicker, as if to press her down against the ground, adding to the Darkness Within... And yet, with her heart under siege, and her skin aflame, the pressure yet enough to drain her final breath, as if intentionally perpetualizing the agony of suffocation and flowless blood in an unreal state of Undeath.

"The time has come to cut the Umbilical Cord.... Apprentice...."

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia grimaced hard, her hand clawing at her chest in a futile attempt to pull away the invisible claws that held her vital organ in a deadly vice grip that slowly drained the life out of her. Pain lancing across her chest with an unbearable crushing pressure, her skin felt like it was on fire. She choked down each desperate breath for air as her body was starved of oxygen with each passing second.

She looked up at Eosfor, her eyes were pained and desperate, yet never pleading. Valia did not beg even as she felt her head become light and vision darker. If anything, she gave him a devious smirk, the kind one would do to after a successful trick or deception of some foe.

"That Jedi was me... It was my entire heart and soul, not a mere shell. You broke and carved out only one aspect of myself, but to kill the jedi you'd have to kill me." Valia paused, gasping for the precious breaths she had expended to say her piece. Her features already becoming more and more pale.

"You wont do it." Valia mocked, letting out a strained laugh. "You know I don't fear death like you do and that angers you doesn't it?... The very reason why you live as a grotesque metal shell of a person."