A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]

[Silas Karn]

“To be united by hatred is a fragile alliance at best,” Silas cursed under his breath as the realization of the Dark Lord’s intentions set in. ‘I don’t understand him. Not but a lone Jedi is allowed past the perimeter I set and that alone is deemed enough a betrayal as to end me. Why do you fear him? A power Jedi Master to be sure but what does that mean to the Dark Lord of the Sith?’ Silas, with the loss of his memories associated with Ben Kenobi, had greatly underestimated the reaction the Jedi’s arrival would bring from Tormentous. Even as the Dark Lord targeted the embattled Sith, Jedi, and Silas with newly formed individualized thought bombs the Sovereign began to run scenarios within his mind.

At once the five lightsabers that had been under Silas’s command sheathed their vibrant blades and withdrew at great speed back to their master. The sudden halt to combat might have been jarring for the four adepts formerly held at bay had it not been for the looming threat of the descending thought bombs. With a booming voice Silas announced to the four acolytes, “It seems I have been freed from Tormentous’s service. As such, go now! Bring his reign to a close.” Returning his personalized hilts to their rightful place on his belt Silas then turned his back to the four. Alongside the two hilts, as Silas turned the four remaining hilts were skillfully returned to their holster. Among the four, Silas noted that one had been successfully cleaved by Warvanus during his resurgent charge.

Though Silas could easily and literally be stabbed in the back he was certainly not the primary objective of the stalled individuals. While the Jedi would be well in their right to attack Silas on principle, the tyrant that their master had left to confront had held back more than enough of the original thought bomb to erase both the Jedi alongside all of the civilized Moraband. In fact, as Silas assessed his options and the potential detonation radius of each of the miniaturized bombs he came to a dire conclusion. ‘The blast of even one of those would easily encompass the entirety of the temple grounds. Likely, should one go it would detonate the remaining bombs as they are not distanced enough to mitigate such. It follows that should one bomb burst the result would be the same as if Tormentous had simply set off the original.

The complete and utter annihilation of a continent wide radius, every single one could erase a city!’ The situation was indeed dire; Silas knew the activation process of any thought bomb was so simplistic as to allow for no more than a snap of a finger or perhaps even the mind of the caster. Drawing a great breath Silas looked up at the descending ritualized weapons and accessed the totality of the sublime focus so heralded of Echani Battlemasters. In this moment time slowed to a crawl before the might of Silas’s precognitive mind. Images soon raced across the vast spaces of Silas’s subconscious, each depiction a different set of actions and outcomes. It could be said that even the glimpses of what was to come through the eyes of even the most practiced of Jedi’s paled in comparison. Yet, what those that used the Force to divine held far greater accuracy to a particular event.

Echani, for all the legends and myths regarding their perception, could not see the future. What the Echani could access however, was an ever decreasing series of potential outcomes as the present grew closer to the reach of their senses. Eventually even the greatest of battlemasters would be left with just a single outcome, only moments from being realized. What the Force could reveal was far more concrete of course, but the manner to which it was received often left far too much up for interpretation. It was with this gift that Silas sought to deride exactly how to manipulate the final moments of this Dark Lord’s reign. While Silas had often derided attempts to discern the future, as almost every time he tried to secure a preferred outcome the free will of others impeded his path, the momentum of battle was as tangible as clothing.

Silas could sense in this moment that the manner to which he proceeded in this very moment would decide the outcome for every sentient being on Moraband. Looking at the myriad of potential offensive options open to him the fate of most involved looked bleak. Only his self and the Jedi Master could be assured any manner of evasive success or mitigation to lethal exchanges. Though the idea of Tormentous activating any of the separate bombs’s seemed unlikely as it meant his own destruction, the mere fact that he held that capacity meant the defenses of every adept within the temple grounds had to be accounted for. There were many outcomes where the many survived but Silas, Ben, and Tormentous were all slain in the crossfire.

One of the more impactful counter Silas view was simply launching his entire telekinetic arsenal at Tormentous with no regard for his own safety. Yet, this would only mean a bodily death for the Dark Lord and a total erasure of Silas’s being. Another had Silas wielding his pronounced capacity for blocking the Force and manipulating even the more pronounced variant to suppress and even breach another practitioner’s use of the Force in the same vein as Wall of Light. Prior to his ‘fall’ Silas had even wielded Wall of Light his self and the application of this would likely sever Tormentous’s control over the Though Bomb’s. However, even with this done Silas did not know enough about the thought bomb technique to be sure the caster could not simply still activate their creation without use of the Force.

After viewing all the potential futures it seemed Silas’s actions would be divided amidst two primary possibilities. Defend the ultimate attack with the ultimate defense, or flee. Yes, Silas could flee. He was fast, very fast, perhaps the fastest adept of the age. With Tormentous turning on him what remained on Moraband to prevent the Sovereign Lord of the Echani from departing? It was the same binding factor that had remained since the day Silas accepted the darkness. Tormentous could live. The Dark Lord could survive those assembled, defeat the Jedi Master, and then turn his wrath on Eshan and Thyrsus. Silas’s outing by the Dark Lord meant that he could not leave Moraband with Tormentous still alive. With this realization Silas outstretched his arms with his fingers pointing away from his body and then slammed his hands together with a resounding clap.

“You absolute fool; you will not be the first Dark Lord to be reduced to nothing thanks to my hand!” With images of the immense foolishness of the empire’s biological weapon, the same that had shared his DNA, slaughtering Jedi on the Koda Station igniting his rage Silas accessed the limitless realm of the Sith’s true strength. Though Silas had already accessed the ‘gate’ to the metaphysical plane that such sorcery derived its potency. He had done so only to the natural limit of what was both safe and controllable. Now, faced with the utter destruction of his soul alongside his life as ramifications Silas pushed far deeper into the craft to draw upon the outer reaches of what he could possible wield. In response, pinpoints of ruby light began to seemingly jettison from Silas’s own body. Reaching his hands toward the turbulent skies Silas focused all of his efforts into the greatest of his techniques, the very ability that set him apart from all others.

From the moment Silas’s mind connected with the first of the five thought bombs, the one meant for him, he understood no normal act of telekinesis could possibly hold them back. Swiftly forging an invisible bond with each lethal relic Silas then braced his right arm with his left hand and dug in. Outwardly traces of ruby light soon shot outwardly from Silas’s body in impossibly thin beams directed at each bomb. As Silas felt the weight of the Thought Bombs within his mind he began to deduce exactly what now fought against the totality of his might as a Force practitioner. ‘This is incredulous! I have lifted half ton gemstones with far greater ease than what I now sense. It is as if the will of thousands of souls bears down on my own!’

Silas contemplated as he poured all of the excess Dark Side energies from his almost reckless use of Sith Sorcery and directed it outwardly to encompass each of the projectiles. Though Silas had barely moved since engaging the Sith Lords Warvanus and Blood and was physically fully rested his mind now struggled to maintain an art in a manner it was unaccustomed against an obstacle there had been no possibility to prepare for. For the first time since Silas had reached Moraband he began to draw hard breaths from the strain he now placed on his body. A body that was swiftly corrupting under the immense influence of the darkness Silas had his self introduced. For all of Silas’s efforts, for all of his spiritual manipulations, and for all of his power, the Sovereign managed only to halt the movement of the Thought Bombs.

[Kell Sangros]

Common foes often did make strange bedfellows; as the saying went, alliances were formed on less such as this. He had felt a surge of triumph as he had put his blade through the hilt of one of Silas’ floating blades. He then noticed that this Sith Lord’s attention was focused elsewhere it was just as well. While he thought the technique was not befitting a Sith or a warrior he did respect the amount of focus and concentration that it took to perform the feat. One thing to Warvanus was for certain, if he had gone one on one with Silas he would most likely lose, quite possibly quickly. He still had much to learn, he only hoped that he would survive this so that he could go and learn more to further his power and knowledge in the Dark Side and the nature of the Force

His thoughts were distracted as he was blinded, just temporarily to see now several smaller orbs floating and one was coming his way. If only he had the ability to rein control, he could send them all back to their maker, or perhaps to the jedi as well. No that would not prove prudent, instead of one battle they would then have to contend with both Tormentous and the Jedi. No this was not smart Strange Bed Fellows indeed….If he were the commander he would do whatever it took to hold the alliance with the Jedi, albeit even if it was just temporary they could face the Jedi another day, to resume the classic battle that has gone for tens of thousands of years. One thing was certain, Tormentous was mad. Former Sith said the same about Lord Blood he didn’t disagree but he also did not agree, Tormentous who professed to study the Force had been willing to throw all that study and knowledge away . Such a waste he thought, he turned to see the orb floating closer towards him, he could feel it’s pull in the Force as if it wanted to suck him into it’s embrace. He scanned the battle he had to get some distance from this orb or else it would do it’s task.

Using the Force to gain height and distance he leapt to another section of the battle on the ground floor *Force Jump* he suspected it would follow wherever he went, the trick was to keep on the move until it stopped or vanished. He had also noticed the Jedi the one called Kenobi approach Tormentous . Anticipating the epic battle that was to come, he tried to keep in the view but at the same time avoiding this orb. He wondered how his Master fared , he made his way in Blood’s direction.

[Slade Xandir]

Chaos had nothing in par with what was happening in this place here, today. The destruction of dragon fights, the battles between Masters of the Force and Representation alike, and foes switching to unbelievable allies to either save their own hide or their own ideals. It was already wicked enough Tormentous believing he paralleled the casting survival of a god, but for him to endanger everyone and everything due to his pride, his ego, it was unlike the character Blood had learned from, unlike the Sire which molded Slade until Blood snaked him from his power. This was madness what Tormentous was facing, and though he couldn't place himself in harmony with the Force, he was in tandem with it long enough to know that whatever was going on today was going to be death for many. If not death, then eternal torment for those afflicted, and Blood doubted even Tormentous in his nearsighted display would be able to handle such ultimate power.

"The first cast of Thought Bomb was enough to ensnare an entire field of soldiers, and from there he needed to retreat to rest for many moons," Blood snarled through a hissing maw to Warvanus as he neared. "This same power plagues his wisdom. A lesson he taught to me...never flash or be flamboyant with your power. Only do what is necessary to win." Watching the orbs near him and his Apprentice, Blood then turned a hellfire gaze to the apparent Sorcerer of the trio, Silas, who he swore he had met once before. Something about arrogance knew arrogance, and of course the Draconian knew he and Tormentous would have paired finer than aged wine and decadent cheese. However, it seemed as the lesson he was meant to mold into the Sith, teamwork, was to be committed to, today.

"We will do what we can to assist Silas, as this will prevent ruin to us all. In certainty that he will have no choice but to submit to our House, as his own Sire casts him in the Void'sssss reach. Join me."

His steps were swift despite his leviathan size as he and his fellow Lord made their way to Silas' keep of area. Without a greeting of vocal kind, he simply sent the Arcane Member a knowing glance before committing himself to the plight of survival through the Force.

_________________Level 13 App____________________


Blood had trouble finding the center line amongst the wishy washy lines of craziness happening here in this realm. If anything, if he could simply drench himself in the Void of the Shadow Realm, he would have been at peace, without worry of dying from these bombs, or betrayal of any kind. But no, this was for the survival of not only himself, but the continuance of the Sith, something Tormentous cared nothing for, right now. Wisdom came from loss, hurt, pain, being forsaken. As the Sire had taught him before his disappearance, Love was a powerful ally and foe, and he knew them as they scarred him. His Son, the mere thought of his betrayal, scalded him with lava-borne waves of anguish. The Platinum was the Chosen One, meant to rule in his stead with the adequate training and upbringing all youth of royalty were meant to have. But something infected both he and his Son, and the pain conditioned the distance between the pair until he needed to be disciplined. Returning to this memory was hard enough for the Sithian, but what was even harder was the killing of his Daughter, and her blood staining his own hands. The look in his Son's face as he witnessed the life leave her golden eyes, that rebellious gaze finally put at rest. The Silence which followed, the same silence which haunted him with every single moment he had of it, staining the void of sound with the memory of horror on his Son's face. The misery and wrought of fury which followed immediately after from Raphael, who had nothing else but murdering Blood on his mind. It fueled Blood's internal pyre, memory of that pale face twisted into a contorted hate which only his death could sate. It felt beyond the delish of and angelic food, past the beautiful palate ambrosia gifted. No pleasure could surpass the vehemence Raphael cast in a single cry at Blood as the Sith Lord dropped her corpse to the floor.

This eternal playback only molded Blood into his own compass of power, the memoir of death and the decision to commit to it coursing into his body with the fiery thrust of the Dark Side's injection. The lesson echoed in his mind as it bled further and further into his body, his mind, his Force. The world seemed blurred to him as he felt the near numbing of the Dark Side embracing him in it's stifling hold. But with the whiplash of a mighty dragon himself, Ari Kraujas brought himself to his true might within the Force. He commanded the Dark Side, he owned the power within him, and there was no contest. The survival of this Faction was damned had it fallen back into Tormentous' grasp, no matter the might of a single man. Tormentous himself could be the god he desired to be, owning the House through fear and superior power, but a single brick was never enough to build a foundation, to give a entire structure strength that it needed to survive. Blood's own hatred at the selfishness, the seeming incompetence of such a decision to just endanger those who may be more use to you alive than dead, all for a silly power play, it weaved such intoxicating motion through him that even his own Force was transfixed by the succulence. With it, his Control was levitated with such immense spark, he felt the path it chose his body with determined grasp. It grappled his form, and layered itself over and over again, intertwining through his muscles with a willpower of nearly it's own. All Blood did was provide his despise direction, and it crunched over and over again atop his already mastered Control. Incredibly, his already titanic muscles seemed to have the urge to swell through his skin, to emerge from him an entire monster of it's own kind. Something voracious, intent on devouring the man who made him commit to this lifestyle, to this curse of living that harbored him so. He allowed it to swirl directly into his limbs with no cease, engulfing and exacting growth in his muscular and physical capabilities. Blood felt his heartrate increase as oxygen was pressed to it's limit, needed profusely and dire to feed more life into the cells which required it. He felt the Force run through him like adrenaline, sliding with startling speeds through everything within him. Onyx claws on his feet dug into the stone stair which the trio stood, and the stone itself cracked from the power he flexed. There was no further his body could be toned and honed...this was an apex point of being.


From the rush of adrenaline, Blood's own Senses both Natural and in the Force began to spike with such intensity. The whiplash had it's lasting effects from earlier, and one of them was how clear the world was to him, now. The Dark Side ensured this mortal spied every detail with such clarity. Casting his eyes on the duel betwixt the dragons, he could vividly see every single scale, gory scratch, speck of dust, and flash of light came from it all. The Dragon King himself knew he could see it all, but with nothing more that a pull on the Force's adrenaline it provided him the entirety of it all. He could nearly feel in the middle of the intense battle, not only feeling the agony of Mercy's dragon as it was no longer worried about the Hydra's devious mindset and how badly it wanted to rip the morbid thing's faces off, but how something had punctured her directly on the underside of her softer scales, where her belly and other important organs lay. He could taste the inky metallic bubble of blood in his own mouth as both bile and garnet lifeforce ebbed through her bronze maw, her heart as it sped, panicked and trying desperately to fuel a dying body. Blood felt the terror all animals felt when death loomed near, the body beginning to lose not only altitude, but cohesion. The wind lessen over the folds of her wings, wings that no longer felt connected to her, mentally. And around her, he watched the once wrath-filled bronze dragoness plummet to the hard stone floor, crashing through pillars. Every tall pillar she slammed into, he could feel both potential and kinetic energy explode against her body, into the air, bruising and breaking particles and flesh in both it's wake and sleep. He could hear the particulates rest only after they and the surfaces they held up ravaged a bed upon her barely breathing, twitching form. And his own throat felt hoarse as he could feel the strangled cry she attempted to roar under her final resting place, scuffles of dust and plaster heaving in, out, until she breathed no more.

Not only had he lost his spawn, but he began to lose the serene grasp he held over his calm demeanor. His own passion and rage ignited as her heart quit it's fight against the Hydra's toxin's, an inferno arising from the pyre he sat it growing on. It broke from it's chains he held it bound to, his precise column of hellbent determined destruction. It surrounded him with the power of the universe's touch, as he was one with it. A fanciful relationship where he too, became one with Dark Side Sorcery and incantations. Within the solace of a whisper, Blood chanted in timing with Warvanus' own incites in Sith, bringing forth the encouraged conclusion of this wicked surmise. His massive arms rose to the hellish heavens of the damned and torn planet, and with no more than a slipped tongue, he recited his personal command.

Desire becomes Surrender, and Surrender becomes Power...

"I desire the Dark Side, I surrender to the Dark Side, I am empowered by the Dark Side."

It was a straight totem of power within himself, and everything within was thrown upwards in a direct connection with the skies. A explosion of his might reared a fiery spiral of hell into the underbelly of the atmosphere, not too unlike Tormentous' own, and Blood felt everything that was thrust side from such a powerful calling. Clouds, any sithspawned flying fauna, particulates, all were shoved or seared in the extreme pressure he reached up to grasp the skies with. And grab, he did. With both his flex within Control and his Senses, he altered reality in a way which only Masters of the Force were allowed a taste of. He clutch held the power of the sky, and the pressure that came with it was enormous. But not being satisfied with simply feeling it, the Dragon King pulled his arms down in a demanding expression, and visibly the surroundings of atleast 8 feet with him as the epicenter. The air flushed around him, and the ground itself was forced down, cracks spreading as gravity fluxed from the torrent he wielded. Without missing a beat, Blood snarled his exertion, and ran both his mental and physical command into a helix, surrounding the trio with a maelstrom of both pressure and wind. Blood focused as hard as he could, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he built up the clouds and gusts needed to encase the three with the unstoppable nightmare of Weather Control. His spherical progression continued as he attempted to assist both Silas and Warvanus through the manipulation of the energy a tornado of storm could provide. His skill of Alteration had been peaked to withstand this, and handle it with the mastery expected of not only a Sith Lord, but a soon to be Darth.

The unification of this triangle of Power was what bound all living things, and with the commitment he held with all three, he found his solace in the calamity. He felt all of them surging in a miracle within him, a miracle that was worthy of the title he was scandalously attempting to claim today. He knew the warfare that was between Tormentous and Kenobi; he remembered from the day he had lost his 'prized jewel' how heated he was over it. How insignificant Slade felt at inadequately securing the target and preventing Neive's successful escape. How that vial of poison felt like a drop of sand to the mountain Tormentous had lost. But Blood also knew, his power growing with his confidence,

that Tormentous was no match for the Jedi, alone.

The smug grin laced his maw, and with the conviction in his research was going to be proved here, and now. He had not only heard through stories, but even in the dungeons it was spoken of, how Tormentous had even gotten his grasp on the Jedi. It hadn't even been needed to be spoken; Blood knew Jedi often sacrificed themselves for the sakes of others - what Jedi was going to simply bow to a Darth? To be taken captive voluntarily for years on end? None. And that only solidified the connections, gluing all three of the Triangle's heads in the Force into a thick and steel-rigid cord. Greed blossomed within him, his own lust for power, desire for the throne, the urge to be rid of this careless man brewing a toxic slew within him. It encouraged much of the Dark Side to feed not only on his emotions, but to take snippets of it from the environment around them. From the power of the beautiful floating spheres of Bombs, from the dragons, from the massacre that had taken place. All of it condensed around him, and allowed him to prosper in this battle. Hopefully, that was enough for Silas and Warvanus.

________________End of App____________________[-1948/1300 WC-]

Among the duress Silas had placed himself under, Blood chose to reinforce the harbor of strength the wickedness of Dark Side presented to him through his trials of both successes and failures.

____________________Electric Judgement App________________


Blood allowed the current of the pressurized helix of air surrounding the triad of Sith to be something much more valuable to him than simply a barrier. He commanded his own internal storm to conjoin with the power of the Weather, giving in all of his strength to be refunded the power of the Storm's. It was a recycling of the power, as it was both fueling and sapping from everything in the room, everything above and below it, picking up more and more as it spiraled further and further out. It fed itself, as Blood fed it, while it fed him, as well. This revolution of power, once breathed back into his body, was much more than he expedited, as it grew. And with the energy, came the vivacity it was profuse in. His body was already primed for something as extreme as reaching as high as he could within the Force, but with such a level meeting him, he felt much more power than his body was used to. This charges of energy were within him, firing through his muscles with chaotic twitches and spasms, blaring through his arms and only just attempting to extend itself just outside his body. He knew he would have to form both a conductor and insulator for it, and with such a notion, he recalled the sphere of storm whirling hazardously around them.

Bringing his hands close, he focused on the tornado of storm around them, visualizing the effects, feeling them within himself. He felt the mad spirals shift in and through his body, despite himself being the calm eye of the storm. And with the buildup of internal energy, those sparks of life became much more pronounced. The Dragon King felt a shift as the pressure built up so intimately that he was shocked at the immediacy and unpredictability of it. It bolted through his system as a squeezed balloon would hold pressed air, air particulates bouncing around in a mad frenzy to escape the compression. Blood knew the feeling of fire and it's capabilities. Knew much more of the pyro lifestyle as he lived it every day, playing with fire, enjoying his control over something as dangerous as an element. However this energy inside him was nothing like it...

But he knew of it, as well.

Returning his focus to the storm around him, Blood felt the Thought Bombs through his Force Connection with being in Silas' company. From it, he felt the devoid of life Bombs as they hungrily absorbed what was happening to them, the sheen on those terrible orbs seeming to glow brighter despite being held at bay with Dark energy. The Dragon King felt exactly what the Thought Bombs were meant to portray, but his intellect worked around such a façade. Those bombs were not empty; they were directly connected to Tormentous, working of his own power. And if he would feed himself off of this, then it would be through that same power.

Outward Blood thrust his arm, a glare focused on the Bombs that readily tried to inch themselves neared the group. And ripping free the connection he was sustaining himself with as far as he storm was concerned, just to prevent anything from swaying the near self propelling storm, Blood released the pressure, the build up of storm that itself ran through him. Almost nothing visible happened, seconds ticking by, but then the floodgates shackled through. A gate of his own opened, allowing a wave of discharged and directed power to scour across the front of him, and he felt every thread of it in his mind, zipping through his arms and leaving his fingertips. It actually hurt, feeling as though his hunger grew with every strand that was shot outwards. And then, he could see what truly was happening.

A speckle of lights darted across, high caliber bolts darting back and forth between himself, and the Thought Bombs. And with every touch of one to another, they tightened, and he felt his grip tense, as well. He fed upon whatever the threads of red light cast his way, and hungrily he searched through the Force for it to be much more provisional. He needed more, as his energy was much less than what it had been. The Sithian pushed harder on the pressure within him, and as responsive as what he had been hoping for, a thicker shard of light was emitted from his finger's tips, flying forward so much faster than what he could catch with his mortal eyes. It was then he had come to realize, the pressure, the light the speed,

This was Lightning.

He could feel it's influence within him, as it took only slightly less energy than what it returned to him. This was what drove him to continue the pursuit of trying to steal the energy from the Thought Bombs, and whether he was successful or not, what mattered was him taking something away from the dangerous orbs, along with attempting to assist Silas, and empower himself in the process. Atleast long enough to either Drain Tormentous of his energy, or for Kenobi to finish the brute off.

Rather than being generalized with the feedings, Blood narrowed his eyes at one of the orbs, the one nearest and more often than not, potentially made for him. Again he coiled a tight weight around the deep pressure within him, and again the pressure intensified as it was compressed. He continued to push harder and harder, feeling atoms themselves within his very being bounced in a vibration that was atomically dangerous. Volatile it was, and so condensed that the Dragon King felt heavier than what he originally was. It felt as though even the gravity he had intervened with had grown twice as demanding. But as much spurt as he was dealt, the Sith Lord delivered the pressure back through release, and forward it slashed out from his fingertips as the man's exhaust grew into crimson determination to finish this task. A zagged path towards the silvery ball, and more than enough energy was returned to the Sithian to ready another zap. It took energy, but returned a bit more than what was expected of him.

Gritting the daggerous fangs in his maw, he exhaled, and tried it once more, trying to quickly get the feel for this newfound replenish and assist his team. Albeit this was a shaky power, it would probably be more useful than useless. If Silas had control over Lightning, then it was obviously a power worth reckoning. But he had to understand the exchange, and this time, for good. So the Sith Lord summoned more of the Control he had stockpiled within his body, pulling it back into a whomping weight in which he pressed directly over the pressure in his chest. Harder and harder, he pressed down, forcing the edges out as wide as they would go without nearly suffocating him. And Mentally, he prepared his aim, focusing directly on the silvery power source of bomb. With those Senses honed in on that capsule of destruction, he shoved the pressurized energy once more outside, and it ripped it's starving way out, directly latching onto the nearest source of it's meal, that terrible orb. And within that millisecond of direct connection, Blood once again, felt that rush of relief, that refill that intoxicatingly made him feel this was a good choice, this was something he was meant to do. As long as he mentally did not touch this ball and allowed his powers to do the work for him, this would prove much more useful than dangerous to him. The Sithian felt the conversation of exchange through him, and wondered how Silas did it in a continuous feed. Was it even voluntary ? Or was it something he automatically had to succumb to to simply keep himself alive?

Blood attempted to control the sprites of red lightning in a continuous flow. He figured he would need to eliminate a step between the stop/start of him and the exchange of himself and the orb. Attempting so, would it cost him?

He took a deep breath and held it in, feeling the drainage return to him with a wave of uneasy starvation. But instead of starving it further, he immediately addressed it. Instead this time the Sithian allowed the hunger to build the pressure up for him. This would create an equal advantage to him as he drained from the Sphere of Dismay, He allowed his Senses to give away the hunger he was feeling ravaging more and more within him. And naturally from it, the pull grew, and from that, the electric energy forced itself harder out of him. The body was feeling it, and that coerced much more determined pull from the Orb. He realized he didn't have to push...his body, his own Force energy did this for him. However letting it run out without his pressure made it much more volatile, and it began to spark other places. Latching onto Warvanus' orb, Silas' orb, it wasn't stead. So with the leftover pressure he had previously used to press upon the self, he used it to steer the majority of the sprites of electric touch back to his center focused orb. So much easier, and much less strain. This also capitalized off of the energy he was capable of weaning from the orb.

Mentally, the sly Blood kept taking more and more notes as he learned what he could from practice.


_________________End of App_______________[-1588/1100 WC-]

[Professor Mors]

[Hard to port Black Five!], Vassyl spat over the comm as he and he associate missed a near-collision with an erratic Sith fighter. Clearly, Tormentous' vanguard had not be want for practice whilst sitting on their hands. Indeed, the various spacecraft danced a deadly dance around Doren's strike team. Despite the Imperial's technological edge, the fanaticism of the enemy pilots was clearly lethal, nigh suicidal in potency. Strafing amidst the larger volleys erupting from the Malevolent, the Proudclad bucked and weaved its way towards a cluster of hostile Toscans. Unleashing a two-shot burst, the XM-1's main turbolaser quickly encouraged the group to break formation, and even succeeded in landing a shallow glancing blow.

Deeply satisfied by this development, the Captain smiled as a superficial smoke trail began to traipse from the side of one of his nameless foes. [The bombers are ready to begin their assault], the giddy voice of Major Frass announced with a static crackle, [Where shall their sights be set?]. [All scimitars are to engage the enemy cruiser], Doren began, [Primary targets are shield generators and life-support systems]. Silence permeated the cockpit as Vassyl awaited his comrade's reply, which arrived in the form of a brief [Acknowledged]. Under any other circumstances, Doren would not have gone for the throat in terms of collateral deaths. In the given instance however, there was little time to spare. Vassyl needed to keep a path open to his age-old foe, and with the Avengers escorting the bombers on their attack run, the devastation was all but assured. The sun had long set on any hope of high morals.

[Kell Sangros]

He had closed down his lightsaber and clipped it to his belt. He could he surmised quickly re-draw and ignite the crimson blade. He had heard his Master’s words they were now to help the Sith Lord Silas Karn, at this point any rival of Tormentous’ was a potential ally and because his Master commanded it of him to join him in lending Silas his power, he would draw on the Force at a level he had never attempted or had done before.
“Yes Master” he said, only Blood would be able to hear him.

It was strange how one minute a person an enemy and the next was a potential ally. Chaos was indeed rampant in this place. He would do what he must.

=Level 12=

The Force was very strong in this place. It was alive like a raging current and he the War-Bringer standing in the middle of its’ path. He could not hope to diverge its’ path. To think so would be vanity, and the mistake of one who was newly initiated into the Arts and Lore. Warvanus was not a new initiate; he had not been in some time. He had never joint his power with that of another. This proved to be an interesting twist and a new feat if he was successful. The Dark Side continued to school him, that not all battles would be fought with brute strength, ferocity and or a lightsaber. This battle would be waged through the currents of the Force. His very survival depended on what he was about to attempt to accomplish. Through his growth he had learned that he inadvertently placed mental barriers limiting his power, limiting his growth, with each successful feat, he destroyed those barriers one by one. He was on the cusp of Mastery, He still had steps to go but with each success, with each secret he wrestled from the Force the closer he approached the goal.

He took a deep breath as he knew this would be more than taxing to the Sith Lord. He drew more heavily upon the Force, gathering its energies in a way he had never done before. He gathered the Force around him, as if he was willing it to be absorbed into him, his presence would look like a brightening beacon of terrible power if one peered into him through the Force. He would normally stop at a certain point, as his mind would warn him to not draw in too much, and his body would feel like it had enough, but this time though he pushed it beyond his known tolerances, It was a difficult thing to do, as his auto-pilot wanted to cease drawing this heavily on the Dark Side. He knew this was dangerous as he began to feel shaky, and as his skin began to feel tingling, he was almost certain his skin was beginning to glow, as if his vessel was not used to containing the amount of power he was gathering to himself, The alternative danger was more grim, and final, he would push the thought aside, the impulse to draw away would be suppressed. The Sith Lord found it difficult, as he had never drawn so heavily on the Dark Side. The longer he did this the more intense the tingling and the shaking got, his body was not accustomed to summoning the power he had been drawing to himself.

He knew the mental barrier was there, one that he had placed on himself. He offered his passions to the Dark Side fueling his command of it, fueling the gathering power under his control. He had folded his hands , pressing the index fingers together, his thumbs side by side, it was a useless gesture but one to help him hone and focus his power. As he gathered more and more power he could feel himself hitting that barrier, that urge to pull away becoming much stronger, the impulse to cease growing stronger, the ability to push this aside, was getting more difficult to do. Warvanus cleared his mind pushing all mental distractions away from his conscious thought. The only limit ones power was in the Force was the mental barriers and blocks the user placed on them. Whether, it was deliberate or not. He cleared everything from his mind. The doubt, the orbs, the possible outcome if he failed, the chaos around him, the taint of the Lightside of the Force, which threatened his concentration it was a distraction to his Dark Side aura as it stuck out like a throbbing sore thumb among the strength of the Dark Side in this place. He looked briefly down at his hands and to his surprise he could see purple-blackish veins coursing through his hands spreading almost like a disease. The Battle continued to rage on around him, his Master, Tormentous, the floating orbs, he pushed all that aside, it was the Force was all that he focused on . He deepened his focus as he continued to draw more and more power to himself, as he did so flashes of his past and present raced through his mind, like a holo-drama on fast forward, it was reminding him just how far of a journey he had been on when he first joined the Sith. Faces from the now, and long ago taunted and try to haunt him. Faces of people he has killed in service to the Dark Side like his dead wife Feluela, the woman he sacrificed to the Dark Side, the overseer whom he threw out of the airlock in the beginning of his apprenticeship he could see Jonah’s face, the people In the nomadic settlement, face of old friends, friends he had killed after his sacrifice all that time ago on Tatooine. They all held no power over him, but those faces, would give him power, he would gorge himself on their suffering at his hand. They would increase his power. Remorse is for the weak, as was sentiment, and Honor was for the dead. The physical pain becoming more intense the shaky feeling intensifying he began to feel sick he pushed those distractions aside they held no authority.

He was in control of himself, and the Force energies he summoned that he could barely contain. He did not focus on the difficulty. He pushed his will, the will to draw as much power as he could, to join it in the effort of the surrounding battle. He imposed his will upon the Dark Side. He had need of its power, he would take it, as it was his whim, his desire. He was the Master, he had wrestled the technique of Battle Meditation from the Force, he had used it to bolster his allies and demoralize his foes. Only months prior did he feel he could not learn it but he took what he wanted from the Force. He had taken the ability to use sound as a weapon with the Force. These things he did not think possible a short time ago. Now he did not think himself unworthy, now he thought what secret should he take next? The next thing he would do is cast this barrier aside and draw its withheld power to himself. He was in control, of his body functions, of the Force, of the people under him. He was a Sith Lord who only would continue to grow in knowledge and power. Nobody would steal that from him, not even Darth Tormentous. The anger at the presumption, the vanity that Tormentous would end the Sith, that he would put his foolish pride before that of the order, the fact Tormentous abandoned the order to pursue his self-centered agenda and then expected to still rule. He was indeed delusional, which only increased his anger and hatred at his former Master. He was no god, nor was he a celestial. He gave that anger to the Dark Side, fuel for his increasing power. The more he hated him, the stronger he felt,. “Through Strength I gain Power” it was the effort of drawing in all this power and the effort it was taking, started becoming easier, the power of hate was a powerful ally indeed. “Peace is a Lie, there is only passion” it still amazed the Sith Lord on how much the Sith Code continued to teach him, with each surge of growth the code imparting lessons, giving him a deeper understanding of the Sith mantra and the nature of the Dark Side.

He could perceive the orbs through the Force, better than his physical eyes could. They beckoned him, to come into contact with him, he could feel it’s’ pull on his mind. They felt like a star in the Force ready to be unleashed, much like the energies that the War Bringer was summoning, the difference was the Orbs felt unnatural, outside of the Force, almost like a perversion or corruption in the very fabric of the Force. He kept his senses at bay from the floating orbs. He made it a point to continue avoiding them, He had no problem perceiving them as they stuck out like a sore thumb. Everything else he could feel with a sharpness he had not experienced before, from the battle raging around him, and beyond this palace. So much life, there was so much power in the air. He could perceive new details, things he had in the past been ignorant of. He had mastered the ability to perceive things in the Force a couple of months ago, but as he continued to grow in knowledge and experience and power in the Dark Side the level of the sharpness continued to improve. He had felt as if his eyes had been opened for the first time as a result. He could feel things through the Force more acute, his skin while still tingling felt as if he so willed it could unleash the full power he had under his command. He felt more than himself, He felt like a god. He brought his focus on to the power, his body was barely containing the power threatening to consume his physical body, the veiny spider webs continued to spread, as the shaking became more intense, it was not a physical shaking inwardly he could feel as if he was shaky as if his blood sugar was low. He felt as if he could burst and would if he wished it, all he had to do was let go and it would be done.

How could he deal with the orbs? He could try to push the orbs with telekinesis, but it would be he deduced a futile effort and a costly one if he tried. Even if he sent a force charged telekinetic strike at them but he arrived at the same conclusion. Plus he would risk setting one off and if one was set off the others would go off and then it would be all over. He needed to avoid all contact with them, Attempting to stop them on his own was the way a brash apprentice would think. He was not that. In his studies and in his wisdom he knew The lesson he would take today was two-fold. First one is not all battles are waged with brute strength. This had gone against his core, he was a do-er , he was not one to sit in the shadows and meditate. The second lesson he would take from Korriban would be the ability to add his power and effort in the Force to others who could take his power and use it. If he could pull this off, he will have grown in the Force because of it. The choice was clear, and the most beneficial action to do. He had never joined his own power with that of another sith. He knew this was possible but he had never attempted such a feat. He never had reason or cause. He perceived their power as rivers flowing through the Force into one central point. He would add his own power and strength to the Sith Lord that his Master called Silas. Through the Force he would make his own canal where his power met that of the Sith Lord’s. He could perceive his Master’s efforts as well. He did so he began to recite the Sith Code. He opened himself to his Master and to Silas, offering his power to help bolster their own efforts. When he opened himself to them, he felt as though that mental barrier that had been holding him back had not been scaled but obliterated. His power would be available for the Sith Lord for as long as he could maintain it..

Even now in this situation the Sith Code applied here, as he continued to learn from the various situations he had been in; it continued to impart him with a deeper understanding of it. Which only furthered his power in the Dark Side; it was as if there was a new avenue to explore. Through the code and sheer force of will he had torn down the mental barrier that he inadvertently placed on himself. He did not cast it aside he tore it down like a obstacle that was in his way, and as a reward for this, he had felt he was granted a deeper understanding of the Force, and that he could tap into a deeper reservoir of power that was not there before. Through this his perception of the things he had to learn, were revealed to him. Even Tormentous’ display of power showed him that with all his power, knowledge, and prowess in battle, he still had much to learn and still a ways to go, until he could truly become a Master. Today though he took a big step of getting closer to reaching that goal, It would not be very long before he tore down the other obstacles that were placed between him and his ultimate goal.

2219/1200
End Level 12

Warvanus could begin to feel the weariness assert itself, he was no where near the ability to rest, if he did so meant death. He breathed in fatigue, weariness and exhaled them, (Battlemind) he willed himself to continue on, as if responding to an invisible command he could feel the Force wash over him, re-vitalizing his physical and mental weariness, with the Force he could keep on going and moving on he would. As he observed the events unfolding around him.

[Ben Kenobi]

***Temple’s Approach***

The turn of events was so drastically out of proportion with the natural rhythm of things that Ei’noa was held in place and stunned by it all. At first he’d stood second to the Togrutan Jedi Knight as she took to the brunt of Silas Karn’s wrath, her duelist skills far superior to that of his own and he would only serve to set her into harm’s way otherwise. Then the Thought Bomb burst and was sent careening towards each individual. Again Ei’noa had sought solace elsewhere as he made haste away from the scene alongside Asori Spero, yet, their flight wasn’t long as their previous foe out to kill them was now out to give them sanctuary.

It was all so swift and every moment just as deadly as the last. Now, ahead stood two Sith Lords standing shoulder to shoulder with the High Priest of the Sith himself. They battled the strange energies of the Thought Bomb and fought to keep all the severed parts in check. By the looks of it they were on a knife’s edge of failure and success alike. Ei’noa looked as the glimmering green blade of his lightsaber and thought about the future, its humming power strong and true. His eyes made upwards to the shining orbs of light in the sky that vied for their destruction only moments ago… and still did. Then finally his gaze fell down to the Sith trio. They were staying the hand of the deadliest technique ever known and keeping the Jedi from eternal damnation?

In what twisted nightmare was this even probable?

Did he trust them? Absolutely not. In his heart he believed that the moment Tormentous was subdued that the Sith would turn on them and murder them to a man. Did he suppose for the moment they were of sound constitution on the matter? He held his doubts. Even now he also believed once they were able to control the Thought Bomb, if that was in fact what they sought to achieve, then they’d just use it on them once convenient. When all was said and done… Ei’noa began to fall to the paranoia gifted by the cancer of the Darkside of the Force. Just being on the surface of this world and in such proximity to such vile beings and to cap it all, to have witnessed the evils already enacted… even his sanity began to erode.

He felt something was wrong, but for the moment he put it to the fault of the Sith; that they were poisoning his mind and feeding to his dread. Vanity began to seep in through the cracks made apparent. These were the mightiest that the Sith could currently muster. If he were to slay them on their own turf then wouldn’t he be hailed as a hero among heroes to not only the Galactic Alliance or even the Jedi Coalition but the Galaxy! All the glory and everything that came with it could be his…

Again he looked down at his humming lightsaber and suddenly he imagined himself bringing them down… his eyes snapped back up to the trio… not a single one of them were looking at him or paying him any mind. They were so concentrated on the Thought Bomb, it’d be easy! Before he knew he’d even made the decision he’d already taken several menacing strides towards Silas, Blood and Warvanus’ turned back when a hand fell on his shoulder like a vice grip! He spun around and saw Asori Spero looking on him with urgency.

“They got this handled Ei,” she shouted, “They don’t need us, we must go and help Master Kenobi!” Without thinking further she released him and raced away but turned back around when she saw Ei’noa was not coming. Finally she sensed the dangerous ambitions on the edges of his mind just before he pulled up his mental wards and denied her brief probe. “Ei, we don’t have time for this. We need to go!” Asori urged.

He shook his head as the veil of Darkness fell upon him. “No,” he countered and turned away, back towards the vulnerable backs of the trio. His grip tightened around his lightsaber and he continued his menacing walk.

Asori rushed around to confront him, “What do you think you’re doing!? We’re here for Darth Tormentous!”

Ei’noa sneered and shouldered his way past her. “When he’s gone who do you think will take his place? One of these three! Would they be less the tyrant that Tormentous was? If they murdered only half what he has then is that acceptable? Will we look the other way? Asori! We’re here and with an opportunity to wipe them out as one. A single blow would decapitate the entire Sith Order! We could end the war here and now!” Conviction burst from his mouth as he delivered logic, but the taint of Moraband had its talons deep in his sides now.

“No!” She exclaimed, “This isn’t how this works. Their time will come. Be it today or tomorrow, but it won’t be by our treachery.” She reached out to grab his shoulder again though the Force cried to her and while her mind couldn’t comprehend the thought, her instincts obeyed and she leaned away as Ei’noa’s emerald lightsaber slashed through where her forearm had just been. She staggered backwards in disbelief. Stunned… she couldn’t move.

The Bothan, stunned as well, fought with his base desires and what he knew was right. Ultimately… Moraband won. His eyes turned upon her and his leer flashed predatory teeth that chilled her to the bone. With speed that belied his ability he lashed out at her.

***Temple of the Dark Lord

Boots fell upon the stones with the crunch of gravel underneath. His tread was caked with visceral gunk from the courtyard though the sands of Moraband had mired it into thick paste which he tracked as he came flush with the Temple entrance. All around him the Darkness fired vicious salvo after unrelenting salvo at his mind, how the skeins of the Darkside would have loved to shout from the highest mountains that Ben Kenobi had fallen to their temptations. It was ever a constant battle to refuse their call. They had even gone so far to offer him the throne; kill Tormentous and force Blood to kneel before him… he would have it all where otherwise he’d continue the life of want and nothingness.

The human part of Ben Kenobi reveled in this idea that he’d so easily be made a master of an empire that would stand for a thousand years. That the Darkside would show him the secret to immortality and that for the promised millennia he’d be the one upon the throne. Lord and Master of all.

But the experience of Kenobi showed him the lies for what they were and he utterly refused them. In turn the spirits of Moraband cursed his name; his head throbbed with pressure as he kept his ongoing push into the halls of the darkest empire. Massive statues of warriors and champions lined the halls. Faces that Ben knew not, but upon each was the aura of something terrible; it was the single minded loyalty to the Darth and the fanatic belief in the Sith Order. The very presence of these statues signified the nature of these creatures, self serving the lot of them. Even Blood with his professed change in the course, he served himself. Ben shook his head and pressed the leering thoughts from his mind. They continued to attack him and vie for just one mental stumble from where they’d pounce.

A deep breath was taken as he entered the massive antechamber of Darth Tormentous’ throne room. He released it slowly as he brought up additional mental barriers to combat the constant pull of the Darkside.

Before him stood a true demon in every sense of the word. A man so vile that his own kind sought to stop him. A tyrant of a dozen, dozen worlds and a by the extent of his actions both personal and by his command, he was the murderer of billions. Honestly, Ben could believe the brash tales of terror by the simple look upon the infamous Throne of Skulls. A mound of polished and yellowed white piled every inch of the raised dais, skulls… Ben stepped forth into the ominous light of the hearth fire.

He had no intention of falling into some precautionary plea for Tormentous to surrender. He knew he would refuse. Again the Darkside clouded his thoughts, he fought them, “Darth Tormentous, you’re under arrest! I’ve come to take you back to the Jedi Coalition for the trials you’ve rightly earned. Come peacefully,” he stated and lifted his staff up to shoulder height and finally he brought it down to thud upon the stone floor at which time a boom echoed across the chamber and the activation of a single yellow beam of light. A humming blade burned brightly at the head of Ben Kenobi’s staff and it cast him in its glow, overshadowing the flicker of the flames before him.

“Or I shall take you by force.”

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Tremendous power raged in the courtyard as a trio of unlikely allies vied for control over that which they didn’t have any inkling to understand. Fools, they sought to seize and harness the power of Eternity, yet they hadn’t earned the right. Darth Tormentous scowled down upon them, though he couldn’t see them any longer for he’d retreated into his domain for the confrontation with a Jedi of legend. Despite his growing distance from the orbs, he held a dominant sway over their structure and existence. He could feel the bombs contort and their cores begin to waiver - the ultimate destruction was at hand and where they were once under his command, they were now moments from collapse and such a manner of banishment would set them off in an uncontrolled explosion.

Spitting with fury he was forced to concentrate on the thought bombs with ever increasing intensity. Their gambit to arrest the orbs meant diverting Tormentous’ attention towards them. While he’d managed to avoid the fatigue of creating the orbs, the process of holding them was another story and now he was forced to keep them from erupting - such levels of strength were beyond even his ability and this was a battle that the Dark Lord of the Sith would eventually and inevitably fail. Suffice it to say, however, he remained in control for the time being, though it wasn’t long for the world.

Effort swam over him and his chest rose and fell with it. This was not how things were supposed to go. Cursing himself for underestimating his opponents, he also smiled inwardly at Blood’s ability to overcome the base emotions of pride and was cunning enough to invoke a modicum of humility to work together with a foe to achieve a greater goal. For the first time since his judgment was called, he began to reconsider that Blood was worthy indeed and not the foraging whelp come to usurp that which was not his rightful claim. Indeed, he was putting everything on the line for this moment, it was a committal with no reversal and that alone put to display his dedication, a dedication necessary to sit upon the throne he sought.

Tormentous fought now to contain the bombs that they wouldn’t devour his heir. It was a specific thought. Where Silas and Warvanus were concerned, if they fell then it was next to nothing. But Blood, part of Tormentous did not want to see his son be torn by the bombs he’d created. He wanted to see him thrive and become greater than he. But his teachings screamed otherwise, only the strongest and most worthy were permitted - and so Tormentous’ war within himself began to rage.

Also, he began to doubt his own acclaim to the elevation of a deity, if he’d failed to anticipate these events then was he omnipotent? The short answer was no and a god did not have such failings. Inside his heart was a moment of relief, but his overarching desires roared in defiance at this revelation. He wasn’t a god, but rather a being of supreme power, and again - limited. He’d found a barrier he could not cross. At the apex of his day and of his kind, he’d found a plinth where no further ascendance was to be found aside from the diligent study of the arcane - not something Tormentous was good at. Rather he was the mobile fortress of doom that shadows the hopes of all and stamped them out, he was the waterfall that was unyielding. He was not the scholar despite his own holocron holding a terrible and vast amount of knowledge within it of his own accumulation.

In itself, was this not a moment of growth? The realization that godliness was not a given term and instead a blinding title of vanity? Now instead of assuming power, he would strive for further greatness. But only too late as the forces arrayed against him were mighty indeed.

Then, reality came for him.

A beacon of warm light penetrated the darkened void of his temple and amidst that light strode a legend in the flesh. He was but a humble man in the cloth of a farmer rather than clad in iron scantlings as a warrior ought. His broad shoulders carried taught yet his calm demeanor was that of a mountain that would be unmoving to all but the most sinister of trials and tests - if that. A staff of hardened alloy sounded with each honorable step he took and Tormentous gazed upon a righteous warrior of the light. Noble and kind, though resolute in purpose, Ben Kenobi - Jedi Master.

He announced himself and delivered his demand. A single offer to turn himself over and end this charade once and for all. To be spared physical defeat and subsequent judgment only to be brought before tribunal and humiliated. He knew Ben meant well, it would certainly be the most logical conclusion here. Have a Jedi Master of insurmountable authority perp walk the criminal right out from under the noses of the accusers. To say that the joy of such thoughts didn’t tease Tormentous’ mind would have been a lie. To smugly smile right into Blood’s face as he was protected by a being that could smite them all with a gesture, it would have been precious. Not so, such thoughts only brought little comfort to a pride that was just as large as this fortress. Banished into the aether, the notion of surrender shattered into utter oblivion.

Finally the prescience of his being came to the fore once more and Darth Tormentous remembered who he was. Not some mewling insect to be awed by come together moments or swayed by frivolous tag team events. This was an affront to his name and his house! Blood, his own son, had brought the arch enemy to his doorstep and delivered Tormentous up as a sacrifice. It was time to put down the worthless dogs. Very suddenly and without any such warning, he released the Gate of Eternity. With release came the complex challenge of the trio. Where the master’s controlled was no longer, they would have to intervene lest the bombs collapse in on themselves. It would take a titanic effort on their part and it would take an open mind to learn of the thought bomb with no room to make mistakes.

He looked down upon Kenobi with great disdain.

One dead eye fell on his foe with absolute hatred, the other delivered damnation.

Standing from his throne he drew away his cloak to leave his Eradicator-pattern Armor and his cape, his bald head and half covered face now flickered in the light of the hearthfire. The sound of scrapping metal on stone came forth as Jidai Maras cut a length slowly before its master where he stood until finally he brought the dire sword around and brandished it in the warming light. Suddenly its mirror finish grew a baleful metallic black and then its surface began to crack with molten jagged lines, the hue of the blade began to glow the deepest red and raw heat expelled from its surface, hot enough to burn and blister from a distance but to the touch it was severe enough to melt and slough away solid steel. Whispers rose from the depths of the blade, the Dark Side of the Force called to Ben Kenobi and hissed vile promises of his impending doom. One whisper was gentle and kind, visually in Ben’s mind it came in the form of an innocent child wrapped in a white gown and hood, lengths of hair spilled from within the color of shining platinum, her voice as precious and delicate - though as it drew close the veil fell away and eyes of red lashed Ben’s senses as the Nightmare’s Child looked upon him with a terrible scream. Her features contorted, mouth separated into a maw twice the natural size with void-born teeth of black that swallowed light and thought alike.

Then he was upon his guest. The illusion granted by sorcery and the spirits tied to the blade. He speared forth in a hammering blow that sent Jidai Maras down upon its prey, shattering through the innocent child in a misty spray of blood and fire.

And so - Darth Tormentous gave the Jedi Master his answer.

[Silas Karn]

So much...noise, as Silas struggled to gain control over the floating embodiment's of death his lessers continued to scurry about. Channeling their own profound abilities in the Force alongside the skirmish that had broken out between the Jedi of all things, were it not for the slight mitigation of Silas's task due to Blood and Warvanus's efforts the bombs would have resumed their course free of the High Priest's defenses. The ritual used to forge the bombs had also held a profound effect upon Silas as the outcry of the thousands of souls used in their creation crashed upon his mind.

Silas's mounting frustration from the ever increasing cascade of distractions compounded by the sickening display of teamwork from the 'Sith Lords' practically left the taste of blood in his mouth. The nauseating sensation was only buried by the infuriating noises that culminated with of all things the chants that emanated from Silas's own armor. 'I am seconds from simply recoiling my hold and slamming every single one of these fools with the discharge! I cannot so much as hear my own thoughts with this idiocy swirling around me!'

As difficult as Silas's maintained focus had become it was the spread of the darkside corruption that nearly ended his efforts. A stain upon Silas's right cheek emerged as it cracked and began to turn grey. Drawing Silas's sight the High Priest was enraged, 'If this continues I will become as terrifying a visage as Blood!' Surveying the crowd that had assembled around him Silas's psyche stood upon the edge of a knife. It was in this moment, perhaps the most critical for all assembled since the conflict had started, that the chorus of ancient sith fell silent.

It was such a sharp contrast that Silas's attention was immediately drawn from his struggles. 'Pity, did I not recall bold proclamations of a proud heritage? Yet it seems that did not afford much in the end.' Silas's eyes snapped into focus as a savage howl met the air. "You impudent witch! How, how has your voice found me here?" Silas waited but no reply was made, only the eerie silence as now no sound reverberated from his armaments. Silas his self then grew silent and lowered his gaze even as Tormentous untethered his grasp of the thought bomb fragments. The frightful orbs began to resume their descent as Silas's hold had clearly slipped. However, before any of those assembled could react Silas shifted his stance. Exhaling a great breath of air Silas's entire demeanor changed as the entirety of his consciousness was reclaimed not by the Force but by his birthright.

The citrine hue of the High Priest's eyes receded as the light grew pale under the influence of the famed battlemaster's greatest strength. The pinnacle of the entire Echani race took hold, a mastery of focus unmatched throughout the galaxy. All of the distractions, conflicts, and emotional instability that had eroded Silas's concentration was violently cast out. This apex of sensory augmentation was similar to the battlemind technique, however this bloodline trait was useless for morale and in no way capable of mitigating fatigue or strain.

In fact, the focus was so severe that it placed great physical strain upon the user and the ability to negate that draw a key factor in separating the echelons of battlemasters. With renewed vigor Silas allowed a vile grin before channeling visible tethers of Sith Sorcery in luminous arcs around his body. After forming a ring around his own flesh Silas then rapidly stretched out his hands as four crimson threads of light rocketed out from his position. In moments the ethereal chains reached their respective targets.

Silas grasped hold of Blood and Warvanus with ease as the pair had already chosen to aide the High Priest. Likely to the horror of the Jedi Knights the vile art of the ancient sith sought them both out and with almost no feasible defense alongside their focus being one another the binds set upon them. With great effort Silas then embossed a symbol beneath each of the four and through this act channeled his will through the bonds and forged a rite encircled around his form. Returning his gaze and the full depths of not just his own power but that which he now leeched into his flesh Silas sealed the five thought bomb fragments with a ruby light as he lifted once more his hands toward the sky.

Drawing strength from perhaps the unwitting unity of the four adepts around him Silas found in his self the power necessary to remove the orbs from the visible range of the courtyard. It seemed once he managed to overcome the resistance that had fought him earlier the combined might of his sorcery and the greatest of his learning allowed Silas to manipulate the bombs with increasing ease. Judging the distance necessary to allow for 'safe detonation' Silas pushed the orbs far beyond Tormentous's domain. This victory came at great cost.

The once proud Echani Lord was transformed. Silas's flesh was burnt to ash, his hair made brittle, the corruption of the dark side energies from prolonged exposure to metaphysical heart of the Sith's power had claimed his body. This was aside from the reality that as Silas relinquished his hold and subsequent seal over the five orbs, untethered from their creator the landscape surrounding Tormentous's temple on Moraband was soon to be forever altered. His immediate work complete Silas looked up toward the direction of the Tyrant and his remaining arsenal.

As Silas released the binds that connected his being to the four that surrounded him he clasped his hands together and brought back into alignment the gate that he had summoned. With urgent need to follow after Tormentous and the Jedi Master, Silas took one step forward and collapsed to one knee. The High Priest and Sovereign lord fell silent, the ravages of his herculean efforts denying him further action. Though those around him were likely unable to detect the truth of this sudden shift. Silas's part in the conflict might have been brought to a close.

[Professor Mors]

At first, the main attack run seemed to be progressing in due course. The Toscans were easily preoccupied by the superior speed and weaponry of the TIE Avengers, and were similarly hard-pressed to outrun the unwavering missile strikes born from the XM-1's. Meanwhile, the Scimitars poured payload after payload across the ventral hull of the Malevolent, artfully dodging its small but no less lethal point defense array as they continued to harry the primary shielding units. Vassyl observed this process with great enthusiasm, and took to haranguing the smaller turret batteries when the occasional break occurred in the migratory swarm of attack craft. For once, it seemed like the Sith battleship had lost its edge.

And yet, as one of the suddenly shield towers detonated into space dust, the Imperials' fortunes suddenly took another turn. Like a hive of Dressellian rock mites, the Sith flight group clustered together with furious speed, and came barreling down upon the bombers. The Scimitars had nary a moment to pat themselves on the back before their aggressors caught them off-guard with sheer ferocity alone. To his sustained horror, Doren soon found the bomber wing encased in a veritable sphere of Toscans, whose proximity would bar any further missile assault, ere the XM-1's risked harming their own in the process. [All wings to me!], Vassyl spat in a spur-of-the-moment decision, [We're punching a hole through their perimeter: restrict your attack vector, primary weapons systems only!]. As was characteristic of his career, it was high time the Captain made his next wager: whether it would succeed was anyone's guess.

[Slade Xandir]

With each attempt and forcible push they trio attempted as they fought for their lives and for lives of their assistance, it seemed as though the veil began to shift in the cascade from which it fell, and the teeter dance of this war began to shift to their favor. The numerous odds that had piled against them toppled by ateast a single brick. But with tisket comes tasket, and Blood watched not only the orbs recede their path, nameably the one that he knew had his name on it, but the Sorcerer which had been on their own team. In that detrimental triumph, Blood knew this ally, Silas, was powerful, but he also knew well enough the arrogance which plagued him. At the flash of rememberance, it was then Slade had drifted the vision, the platinum hair and char-platinumed armor, the icy irises of a pale and near breath-taking face of beauty and pride, one who flashed a blinding scald of lightning just before him, warning him of his actions which could cost him in the Sith. To mind himself, and though Slade's reply to the Echani was blurred, muffled by the distance of the situation in time, Blood felt the rebellion against the Echani in the heart both he and Slade shared.
Seemed what went around, came around.

His mind retunred to the present, formulas already calculating the loss of the Echnai's ability with possibilities in this situation. As of now, it seemed the Thought Bombs were out of vicinity-or so he thought- , and he would have to figure out exactly how to assist in other predicaments. He couldn't assist the Jedi; the battleground which they stood upon, the Altar, was blocked flames and booms disuading even Kraujas Ntima from checking in that direction.

A roar erupted from said dragon, as the Hydra continued it's deadly fight against his own coven of dragons. With Mercy's own deceased, Raphael's fighting to stay swift while Wrath fought to guide the younger dragon and distract where it could. The indignation roled through the Sith Lord in an unexplainable brew as he surmised this battle being potentially lost to his Master's own creation. If Wrath was struck dead-
Anger flushed any sense of reality he had, and the words hadn't properly left his maw before he was hit with a terrible and sickening wave of negativity in the Force. "War, defend-" And it began.
Blood felt the most despicable level of agony shoot up the rims of his spine, and with it, the Orbalisks suckled the waves of Dark Side which crescented from it. Multiple stabs ensued from the crustaceans as his back hunched over and he was forced to a kneel. Pain so exponentially awful bled reason from him, his back's flesh feeling as though something of it's own right rampaged from it. And it had. The husk of dried and stiff cocoon on his back began to shatter, snaps and pops ripping from him as his teeth grit. Things set in place and moved out of place, adjusted and rewrote themselves until the blinding agony left him reeling. Then, it was silent. His mind numbed, he finally found himself capable of standing, and from behind him, he felt assistance from a slew of bones that hadn't originally be used. Muscles flexed, moving, and he felt a stiffness dim as he looked behind him and broad pair of onyx wings extended. Almost immediately he felt the scurry of overcrowding Orbalisks scamper up the boned digits, forming atleast some armor on the new appendages.

Turning to Warvanus, Blood had a clear 'What the hell' face on before he turned to the rampaging war the dragons were having. Did he have to get involved with them?