Faction Litanies of the Dark Side: Spoils of War

[Desmundor Alcademon]

Desmundor approached, looking up and down at Valia as if he tried to evaluate her character in a mere glimpse; A ritual practiced a million times on a million souls. He lowered the hand holding the Sith's hilt, and then allowed it to fall on the ground. He kicked it with his boot, and the hilt rolled against Valia's feet.

"These savages praise their weapons. Killing them with one like such would give them a warrior's death." he shook his head.

"They have defiled the Red Harvest. OUR celebration." his voice spiked, an emphasis intended to be heard by all surrounding Athysians, each craving for the coming violence.

"You kill them like a Sith, you become one..." he reached with his hand to his belt, sliding a sword from the scabbard by his hip. The weapon was forged by pure crystal that carried the stench of dark alchemy; The blade curved, single-edged, sprouting from a simplistic handle that was forged by the very same piece of crystal that formed the blade, differentiated only by a white fabric wrapped around it, so the grip wouldnt slide.

"You are no Sith..." he tilted his head, lifting the blade up. "WE are no Savages!"

To the very word, the surrounding Athysians bursted in a sudden cry, hands lifted up, a statement of their support. The Hegemon turned, and spinned the blade to a reversed grip, stabbing it against the soil, before Valia's feet.

"You have been lost. Tonight, you find yourself."

 

[Valia Muqai]

Valia held her tongue as the Lord Hegemon made his speech. Neither fully agreeing nor disagreeing with his words, only thing that occupied her mind was Hazdrabal, and to see his blood spilled. The distinction between savagery and civility had long been gone from Valia's mind when surviving and resistance was all she ever did in the years after Karideph, yet even then she knew that she had to adapt just as she had adapted to the hellscape of the Dark Crusade. Only difference? Valia no longer felt constrained by the principles she once dearly held.

For the first time in years, Valia felt the desire to find herself on the path she had so desperately lost herself on.

She held out her hand and gripped the curved blade's hilt, lifting off the ground. It was heavier than she had expected, especially compared to a lightsaber, enough that both her hands held the hilt for stability accounting for her lack of experience in wielding a physical blade rather than one made of weightless plasma. Weapon in hand, Valia stepped towards Hazdrabal.

No further words were needed, Valia raised the blade. Not swinging to take off Hazdrabal's head in one fell swoop, but to slice off one of his arms. Starting with his right arm, removing it from the shoulder blade, then another swing to take off his left arm at the elbow that was quickly followed by a third swing that left a deep gash across Hazdraba's chest that exposed the metal parts beneath along the cut, but not deep enough to fatally injure any internal organs. Valia kicked him down onto the ground where she now stood over the grievously wounded Dark Crusader.

Valia loomed over him, savoring the gruesome work she had done. All it would was to burrow the blade through his foul heart or one more slice to his neck. One motion and one of the most blighted creatures in her life will be dead and her bloodlust satisfied...

Yet, she hesitated. Not out of pity or guilt, but from the grim memories deep within her mind clawing its way back to the surface. From all the ruthless training sessions, the dark rituals that defiled and forced their minds each and everytime. The face she saw when she had failed to slay the Dark Lord, one that she had tried so hard to flee from on that dreadful day on Karidepth.

The same face she saw when she had been dragged out of the bacta tank that held her after she was denied the death she had so craved.

Valia felt it all again. The bitter taste of metal on her tongue, hearing the beeping machines that tethered her to life, and the sharp, seething pain in her chest that reminded her that she too shared the cortosis parts as him. It was only for a short moment, but for Valia, it felt like hours reliving the same horrific moment once more as her perception of time was utterly and thoroughly warped. Her expression twisted to that of deep pain and rage.

She took a deep, shaky breath then embedded the blade into the ground just right next to Hazdrabal's head. Momentarily appearing as an act of mercy, though it was far from it.

Valia's were shaking with anger, she kneeled onto his chest, further pinning him down with on the ground with her weight and soaking her clothing in his blood.

Then she reached down to Hazdrabal's face, fingers digging into the edge of the metal mask and she peered down and met his gaze before the inevitable act she was about to do. Her eyes showing a cold, terrifying calm that seemed almost inhuman.

"Remember me, swear vengeance against me, so that you may never have it." Valia whispered to him, lips twisting into a maddened grin.

Fueled by the potent energies of the dark side, Valia pried off the metal face of Hazdrabal. Flesh was unevenly ripped apart with agonizing slowness like fabric being ripped apart by the hems. Her fingers sparking with electrical current that coursed through the mask and heated the metal, unevenly cauterizing the flesh beneath as she did her work.

After who knows how long, with a sickening, wet tear, Hazdrabal's was torn off, exposing the bloodied, partly burned flesh and bone beneath. Valia stood up, holding the bloody metal face in one hand, looking around at the Athysian on lookers with newfound relief and clarity she had not experienced in years, such was the satisfaction she felt from her vile act of torture.

"Drag this sad sack of flesh back to the Dark Crusade where it belongs." She addressed to the crowd. "So that he may deliver the Lord Hegemon's message to its rotted master and let him know of Athysia's victory."

Hasty, but calculated words to the Athysians. Valia knew as well what awaited Hazdrabal for when he returned.