A Heated Escape [Slade]

[Xendiss Rayne]

"I AM NO PAWN."

The small hull of the Sith Infiltrator shook with the roaring scream of the kidnapped apprentice. A Sith warrioress, with extreme potential, made it more than clear that her power was not to be underestimated. That she was no thing to be bargained and traded amongst masters, or even worse, stolen from like raw contraband. Yet a surge of power kept her from exploding in an absolute flurry of rage - she was wanted for a reason. Stolen, for a reason. Such a rapid change had naturally failed to bode well with a deranged, warped youngling, whose vulnerable mind was teetering on the edge of mental oblivion. And like a sulking girl, she displayed her dissatisfaction in a manner which almost seemed to display fear. Far from broken, but confused, stood in the rear corner of the interior hull whilst passion, rage and impatience rang through her restraining veins, causing the tension to tremble at her fingertips. Sweat dripped from Xendiss' forehead and lips, giving rise to the moist, infernal red heat upon her dainty lips, flowing down the patterning of her facial scars from days long gone, where she had once trained as a Jedi. Weak...

Salty tastes and sensations upon her tongue almost sickened her. It was excruciating to stand by with one's captor piloting a ship to hell knows where, standing so close. Sultry heat pummeled in against her body, protesting her control. It weighed down massively on her chaotic aura of a red and black vortex that materialised and spun around, pulsating every so often in whirring rushes of the dark side over her body, teasing the release of her rage to kill him there and then. Xendiss would have attempted, were she not being kidnapped for her power. Or so she thought. That, and the alluring draw to Lord Blood was a strong one... it had tantalised her mind before, thinking about him. Yet this was not the way she wished for. To be stripped away against her own will. Xendiss was her own girl.

Or was this Sithling just being thieved for the show of power? One master taking an apprentice from another? Or was it much less than that? Did he see her as some... damsel in distress?! A girl to be pilfered to satisfy his carnal desires and lusts for debauchery?

"NO!"

Waves of cocophonous sound almost seemed to have shook the ship itself as it slid away from the Dreadnought from which Xendiss had previously been stolen from, shaking it madly right in the hovering phase of drifting through space, no matter the speed they were travelling at. Both arms were crossed over her front, grasping the frontal seems of her black hood to drag it down across her face which had been flushed with the red heat of hellfire, stained at the cheeks by rising blood, accentuated by the shadowy, glistening drips of sweat and emphasised by the throbbing veins which slammed against the caging skin of her small face. Such a mighty scream emanated from such a small girl, and even then, it was not heard in its full might. Some of its true power in the sheer screech was muffled out by her dragging the hood of her acolyte's cloak over her furious mien, over the side of her face. It had to be released in some way...

One hand lashed out, scratching the frontal metallic plating of the terminals ahead of her, claws scraping with a disgusting feeling. Not that she was affected by it in any way. She herself was mentally tortured by much worse. Each sharp nail that dug across the metal in one fell swoop left its mark over hardened metal itself, and held a true testament to the anguishing rushes that coursed through her mind in titanic slams, over and over again. Every single day. And it was moments like this that heightened her descent. Myriads of temptations of insanity tore away at the silky fabrics that blanketed the last tethers of delicate sanity that lingered within. And each time they spoke, she panted, more and more, respiration heightening to a dangerous level, escaping her breath and pounding chest like an ecstatic dog. Still, Xendiss faced the corner, and the heat from her breath turned it into a boiling mist which evaporated into rich amounts of condensation in the metal surface ahead, which repeatedly, she slammed her head against in defiance, starting in idle bumps to full blown whacks, like she was trying to gore through the wall like a bull and charge out into the freedom space, taking her captor with her. In her breath, the breaking, coarse sound of her voice after so much screaming, ever since the day where she was kidnapped from her parents who were slain before her. This was just that same experience, recycled. Triggering her flashbacks and panics.

The pain.

The sweet, seductive pain. The horrific, agonising pain...

"NO!"

[Slade Xandir]

Blood heard the screams, and over and over again, the 'No's sounded to echo the very ones on his own mind. Either that, or he was losing it just as much as she was. She held similarities that even rivaled what he and Slade had shared. But the emotions are what tore them in two, the goals, the madness that sparked just enough to evoke a small smile onto his warm lips.

As Valkyr drove them directly to his moon, Blood took no more than a second to ensure they were well on their way before he turned to face the curled up ball of a little Miraluka. A delicate thing, youth was. A tiny pup surrounded by murderous and conniving lupines, and him potentially being the most masochistic of them, all. He enjoyed causing grief to others, especially when only elongated his might, his majesty, his power.
He was a vile thing.

However, as the Sith Lord tilted his head to study her further, he felt the intense roar she bellowed out, the cries that were burrowed beneath the skin, the rage that writhed within her very essence. And he found himself not interested. Her self agony was not something he gained his usual pleasure in. It was not his high, what she was currently feeling. His ecstasy was not stroked, not even glanced as her screams tore the morals from any kind hearted man. He watched her internally shred everything around her, only for her to look for something that would stand against her pain.

He wanted her. But he wanted her not to spite Kroxata, not to prove he was a better mentor; all of that was a lie to ruse wrath from the horned fool. He wanted her simply to have her. Plain as that. And things he wanted, he would not be denied.

Before the tantruming Miraluka, Blood sat. Despite him being bruised and bloody, the man sat as if he were in no pain, at all. In truth, he felt none of it. He simply analyzed the girl, so dainty, so exuberant. So alive.
And finally when the resounding echos of her last 'No' scatted through his ship, he opened his mouth, and finally spoke to her.

"Xendiss..."

[Xendiss Rayne]

The very scent of him so close aroused a concoction of emotions. A sickly one. A tasteful one. A delicious one. Lust to strike, but... a strange instinct to act so innocent. A desire to prove power and strength, yet a yearn to act endearing. Her mental state did not settle in well with her young, volatile age and state.

Like a cat, Xendiss shied away, turning back against the terminals at the call of her name. It seemed almost soothing to her, but infuriating at the same time, for him to dear usher her titled name from his rotten lips. The turn was swift and the growl resonated, vibrating at her broken esophagus, whilst also contorting into a twisted, innocent, tender mew, the hand clawing at the metal surfaces yet again coming up to the side of her hood to further shroud her face, despite her blindfolding veil proving to be enough of a substantial vizard to cover her face and absent eyes.

"Leave." In one burst of speech, she issued her desired decree, like a spoiled teenager not getting what she damn well wants. But the persona was short lived. Once more, she cascaded into the pool of suffocating mania, screaming like a lunatic whilst he lingered so close. Xendiss didn't bode well with new environments that were to become visited on a bountiful occasion, or worse, permanent. Travelling somewhere to massacre? Lovely. But this? This was her cage again.

"WHAT?!"

[Slade Xandir]

It was almost as wretched as peeling the skin from your face just to lack the feeling of being safe. No prescription nor psychiatrist could right the wrong placed in the recesses of this girl's mind, as 'mad' was an understatement.

'Yₒᵤ ₜₕᵢₙₖ ᵢ'ₘ cᵣₐzy.
Yₒᵤ ₜₕᵢₙₖ ᵢ'ₘ gₒₙₑ?.
ₛₒ wₕₐₜ ᵢf ᵢ'ₘ cᵣₐzy?
ₐₗₗ ₜₕₑ bₑₛₜ ₚₑₒₚₗₑ ₐᵣₑ...'

His own monsoon of thoughts swam mercilessly through his crown, the manipulative bastard taking his time not only to be slow with her, but with himself. She was a new creature, one he too was unfamiliar with. The same approach could not be used as he had with so many others. Animal, alien, human, they had a variety of mindsets, but this one was awash in the same whisper he too sang himself to sleep with.

'ՏӉѦҬҬЄГ ӍЄ...'

Blood felt the shackles she had placed herself under, but he could not figure out what they were. Did she miss the Zabrak? Back to where her self loathe and endless fury was born? Impossible. Both impossible and unfortunate because he was not going to oblige in such an idiotic notion. What was the truth that decayed underneath this morsel?

Instead of speaking, words only seeming to be out of line to the Miraluka, smoke and mirrors were his next and more comforting reserved card. Deceit, but could it really be labled as such if he meant it honestly? And once he had gotten comfortable with performing his little magic tricks, Illusion was second nature to him.
Clearing his mind, he took the stage by the neck and started the show.

Within his head, the Pied Piper began to play upon a tale, and in this tale, Xendiss and Blood were seen atop the crest of stairs, marching down monumentally, proudly, and regal in each step they took. She was covered in a robe, the silk a dark garnet and trimmed with gold borders. Her vizard was decorative, beautiful, and matching her apparel with gems that twinkled elegant in the rays of sunlight pouring down. Beside her was Blood, himself donning a matching garb with slacks that were black with that same dark garnet sent into the pants by form of decorative sigils, High Sith inscribed on the bottoms of the slacks cuffs with the glimmer of gold threads. A matching blouse of ebony silk with added sigils of garnet and gold peeked underneath the cape that flowed etherally behind him.
They were a sight, and the mass of men, women and aliens before them, an army collected to serve and expand their legacy, bowed before them in homage to their rulers.

A swirl of velvet smoke dissapated the vision just as smiles synonymously graced the both of their lips.
The next vision which came was one more shrouded in darkness. It was clear time had passed, but not much. Xendiss was a slight more grown in this illusion, body no longer holding the minuature and meek stature he recalled her to have. She was dressed in scarlet bands, the tied off ends fluttering behind her like streams of freshly spilled blood, her front and back long loin cloths dancing with her movements. Currently, Slade watching from the shadows, arms crossed with a sonfident smirk on his face, though only his illuminated gold irises were visible. He watched the scene unfold before him as the battle was ovely one-sided; it was clear who was winning.
Xendiss whirled in the air, a nimble and untouchable bird above the brute she once served. The hulking Dreadlord was too slow for the agile Jar'Kai Sithette, his saberstaff landing on cooling air where she once was instead of heated flesh. The Miraluka twirled between the jabs, pivoted around the slashes and avoided every blow thrown in her now empty direction. Kroxata was wearing himself weary pushing powerful strokes which landed empty, and soon Xendiss grew tired of toying with her meal.
She slowed down purposefully with a perfectly aimed riposte across the front end of the saberstaff and the vixen disengaged her left to skewer the Right Hand of Tormentous. Piercing through bulky armor, the perfume of seared metal and crisped flesh wafted through the walls while the Zabrak stood there, stunned. Recollecting his fury, he attempted a downward thrust of his staff which the minx bypassed on nimble toes, and wound behind the mortally wounded alien. Now standing behind him, her speed was returned as she severed the head of the mountainous beast.
Hitting the floor with a thud which was echoed by an even heavier heft as the rest of the body met it, the image that was last seen was the delicate Miraluka triumphantly standing, illuminated by her dual sabers.

Lord Blood washed away the rest of the vision softly, the fade back to reality less harsh now than what it had felt to be, before. And his attention agains returned on the Miraluka, his final thought sliding over him as he stared at her.

Now what possessed her?