Evolution (Training)

[Professor Mors]

***Hyperspace, Kastolar Sector, Hutt Territories***

It was the perfect handoff- too perfect. Sa’ato had provided the promised credits, and a lower Hutt capo had delivered on five brand new durasteel synthesizers. What the Neti had missed in his various info webs however, was that the capo in question had lost a relative to the hands of Sith agents some years prior- and he had not forgotten this fact. So it was that he had played the fool, luring the errant Dark Sider into a false sense of security, which was impressive given the professor’s natural caution around criminals. Now, he could only mourn as he stared ruefully at a large boron explosive that had snuck its way onto the Mudhorn’s chief power cell. With nothing but a simple how-to guide on bomb diffusion at his fingertips, Sa’ato had to solve a big problem- and fast.

[Begin Force Comprehension Application]

Drawing the Force inward to drape itself over his thoughts, the Neti began to read as quickly as he could manage. Diagrams and technical maxims bombarded his mind- but they just weren’t sticking. It was not enough to digest the information. He had to connect to it, to ply the concepts to a state of higher consciousness. Laboring tirelessly, the Neti cushioned his key nerve cells with the Living Force, as if engulfing them in an additional layer of psychic mucus. This had the figurative and literal effect of creating a mental web, a layer of spiritual adhesive that kept the contents of the holobook fresh at the forefront of Sa’ato’s mind as he worked his way through the holobook.

Still, the trouble of memory remained prevalent. If the Neti released the web to focus on the task that awaited him, there was no guarantee the relevant explanations would return. Or so he thought. Caving momentarily to frustration and anger, Sa’ato blinked as the concepts he was juggling in his head seemed to vibrate- to take on heat and perhaps the illusion of color. Of course- emotion. Though it might have struck him as primitive before, the wiser professor understood: if he could not think, he had to feel. Soothing sensations for the easy terms, growls and fury for the more complicated (and often convoluted) theories and descriptions. The Neti expelled a shaky breath as he eyed the timer on the damning device. This was taking too long.

He could not rely on his eyes and mundane scanning to finish the job. Yes, his exterior senses were limited, but the power of the interior could not be denied. Calling on the Force once more and letting his energy field bristle with borrowed strength, Sa’ato looked without looking, thought without thinking. Only what was necessary entered the academic’s mind, the rest being filtered out by his net of psionically-enhanced cells. What had been web for catching ideas only moments before had transformed into something more ruthless- an attack barrier that blotted out phrases, words, and even derivative ideas that did not further the Neti’s goal. Finally, the professor concluded his reading, and turned a cold eye onto the bomb itself.

He began to work, and much more quickly than he could have hoped for. After several agonizing seconds of cutting wires however, Sa’ato hit another snag. Two power lines, nearly identical in cover and markings, different only in the end plugs and where they were attached. He let his sheers hover over one, and nearly wretched with nausea as a psychic wave crashed over him. Of course! The truth- or rather, its unique signature in the Force, and the Neti's mean to sense it. Even without calling to mind the exact specifics and model of the two cables, the Neti had internalized the information, and given it new depth and meaning with the power of his thoughts. Now, the Force was rewarding those efforts, and providing a meditative sixth sense that reduced the need to summon forth long paragraphs of text.

Centering himself mentally and physically, Sa’ato breathed out once more. Letting the Force and his new mental database guide him , he cut the upper wire with one swift stroke, and waited…

[End Force Comprehension Application, 541 Words]

The explosive device whined, and for a moment, the Neti thought he would finally meet his ancestors. Yet it was not to be. The bomb interface squeaked and sparked for a few seconds more, before fizzling out into a silent, non-volatile demise…

[Professor Mors]

***Northern Temple Complex, Yavin 4, Grid Coordinates P-6***


“Again”, the Neti groaned with disdain as a combat droid blinked indifferently in his direction. Though his biology was inviolably distinct compared to his other humanoid colleagues, Sa’ato was still, unfortunately, susceptible to the technological staple that was the stun baton. He’d allowed himself to be bludgeoned and electrified for the better part of an hour, working tirelessly to find an angle on how to resist the stupefying pulse. He had not progressed quickly, but now, as his mechanical associate wound up for another assault, a strange confidence washed over the professor. Perhaps he had, as usual, been overthinking things. That was the hope anyways, as the first blow struck home…

[Begin Resist Stun Application]

As the cruel baton connected with the Neti’s midsection, he fought to keep his mind afloat as his stance faltered. Fortifying his mental faculties had to come first. Staggering back some, the professor fought to augment his methods for staving off unconsciousness. Summoning the Force back to the crown of his head, Sa’ato infused his thoughts with a cowl of pure energy. Unlike when protecting himself from the influence of another Force User, this crude helmet had a much simpler function- to defend the Neti’s focus and clarity of mind. Thus, when the next blow landed, the retired teacher’s physical form demanded that he kneel down from the strain. And yet, Sa’ato’s powers of perception and reflection remained sturdy and intact.

The many joules of numbing discharge were certainly painful, but the Neti refused to let that agony harm his intentions. What’s more, the discomfort of the weapon could be a tool unto itself. Opening his feelings up to the full breadth of the latest attack, the professor tracked the vicious cascade of sensation as it caught him in the arm and set his cell walls ablaze. Indeed, the paralyzing energies did seem to splash across the Neti’s flesh, like cold water tossed out of a bucket. The next task swiftly became clear. Sa’ato didn’t necessarily have to soak up the entirety of the vile wave, merely blunt its impact. Emptying his mind and anticipating the droid’s next plan of attack with thoughts, the professor took his mental and physical stance, and waited.

Snapping his eyes open just as the stun baton made contact, the Neti inhaled deeply, and with the course of his breath, absorbed the titillating crest of the oppressive energy. It was not a perfect success. The numbing effect was not avoided entirely, but Sa’ato could feel it had been partially mitigated. Immediately after the impact, he retained some semblance of feeling his arm and hand. The question remained however, whether or not he could go further. The professor endeavored to do so. Sensing an inbound blow to his right thigh, the Neti exhaled audibly, and let the energy field surrounding his leg flutter outward.

The invisible wall of Sa’ato’s spirit made manifest wriggled and stretched, imitating a small forest of hairs. They did nothing to slow the baton or change its trajectory. They did not even fight to absorb the inbound energy. Instead, they modified it. Altering the flow of the crackling rod just before it rebounded off flesh, the professor robbed it of all its disabling potency. The heat and force of the weapon were very much felt, but the Neti had full control of all his faculties. It was not a limitless ability, but limitless was not the goal. Smirking, the Neti stepped forward with a hint of curiosity. And as the droid stepped forth to strike again, the Neti gave its processors a run for their money.

Grabbing the vengeful top of the baton with his hand, Sa’ato forfeit the use of his right arm to contain the virulent storm of electrons. Holding on only through the prior melding of his fingers into a loop, the professor had turned his limb into a containment field- a living battery outlet to entrap the stultifying current while shielding the rest of his body. And, with his shielded mind and the remaining strength of his psychic boundary in the Force, the Neti drank deeply of the baton’s own meager reserves. It only took a minute to drain the weapon of its vitality, before it lost integrity and detonated loudly but harmlessly between the pair.

And that was that. Another obstacle accounted for…

[End Resist Stun Application, 605 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Edusa System, Morshdine Sector, Grid Coordinates O-5***


With the recent, and violent shifts in political climate, the acquisition of Imperial intel was of the highest priority for both Sa’ato and his overlord. Infiltrating Axxila or Tangrene was out of the question, nearly impossible. The systems in between however, were more sparsely defended, and ideal targets to intercept communiques from the larger military bases. The Neti had slipped into Edusa’s orbital defense platform an hour and a half prior, and was nearly to his goal when he encountered a single navy trooper guarding the entrance to the comm terminals. The hallway was narrow, and offered little alternative. The professor furrowed his brow. He needed a distraction- one that demanded a certain complexity…

[Begin Dim Anothers Senses Application]

Slowly snaking telepathic strands from his mind to the bucket helmet of his would-be foe, Sa’ato sought to infiltrate their thoughts and play on their imagination. Meditations on hunger, foot-ache, fatigue, the professor presented these vile gifts to the trooper’s consciousness, slowly withering his focus and opening himself up to further disruption amidst the cloud of negativity. The academic had created a need for mental relief, and now he meant to provide. Transmitting flashes of yearning and material desire to the incredulous soldier’s brain, Sa’ato’s oblivious target began to ruminate on the latest T-36 and when he might have shore leave to inspect a dealership.

With this basic framework in place, the Neti moved to press his psychic attack. Though he was hardly skilled enough to shatter a mind at will, Sa’ato had adequate experience to alter the flow of his target’s mental energies, to empower or drain as he saw fit. Slowly and steadily bombarding several regions of the frontal lobe with the Living Force, the retired teacher succeeded in giving the trooper a nasty, unnatural bout of tinnitus in both ears. What had been a series of minor discomforts became something far more tangible. And, as the hapless guard smacked a hand at the sides of his helmet in vain, the Neti eagerly enriched his own power reserves, feeding off the man’s pain and anguish.

With this added boost, Sa’ato turned to harass his prey with a more physical emphasis. It took only a moment to channel the pyrokinetic force necessary to overheat the man’s face and bring an unhelpful slurry of sweat rebelling from his pores. Likewise, the Neti applied a delicate, frigid affect to the knees and other joints for an added touch of agony. Now, caught in a feedback loop of real and imagined pain, the professor deemed it time for the coup de grace. Expanding the edges of his mind to the consider myriad natural energies, Sa’ato closed his eyes and worked to feel and identify the sources and streams of light that illuminated the corridor.

Once he had locked onto the lone pair of ceiling lamps and tracked the progress of their pulsing rays, the Neti furrowed his brow in anticipation of his next maneuver. The professor needed to find the exact point that the photons entered his struggling target’s pupils, and slowly evaporate all light from striking home on his retinues. If Sa’ato performed the feat too abruptly, the soldier might panic and call for medical assistance. Conversely, too little interference and the dog of the Empire might still catch sight of the academic. Exhaling low enough so as not to draw attention, the Neti summoned forth all his focus, and ever so steadily pinched off the confluence of energy as it reached each eyeball.

The effect certainly wasn’t total blindness, but severe blurring was handily achieved. What’s more, growling with frustration, the soldier took to rubbing his eyes from desperation: all too easy. With a smirk, Sa’ato leapt out from his hiding place, and kicked hard off the ground. Corkscrewing seamlessly through the air, he landed only a few feet past the ambling trooper. He remained none the wiser…

[End Dim Anothers Senses Application, 528 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Centares System, Maldrood Sector, Grid Coordinates R-7***


“Gentlemen, it was a fair hand I can assure you-”, the Neti tried to assuage his fellow sabacc players in the round, “I’d be happy to show you the math if you-”. Sa’ato just nearly ducked in time as a wooden chair crashed overhead. He had joined this game simply to pass time before meeting an informant. Now however, it seemed his quick distraction was about to pay ill dividends. “Well”, the professor growled with a grimace, “If that’s how you want it-”. Cries rang out as a puff of searing flame erupted from the academic’s wrist launcher and crashed onto the table, “Then that is how it shall be!”...

[Begin Force Level 5 Application]

Six denizens of the cantina bared their fists against the professor- he needed a distraction, and fast. First things first, the Neti channeled his own fury and indignation into the air. Like a malevolent vapor, he guided his malevolent thoughts to pass through every other ruffian in the establishment. Bit by bit, Sa’ato telepathically imbued his vile miasma onto the minds of his would-be diversion, before moving addressing one final touch. Flicking a finger out toward the large glass belonging to an even larger Wookiee, the professor summoned the Force to super-heat the exterior until at last it shattered into a hundred shards. The Wookiee, understandably, did not know who to blame, but did his job well by slugging the nearest patron on instinct.

The room erupted, and the playing field leveled. Bobbing and weaving between fists and the stray kick, Sa’ato emptied his mind of all thoughts, and let the mounting violence and rage-filled atmosphere coat his very essence. The primal aura of it all was drenched in the Dark Side of the Force, and provided the professor more and more strength as he began to fight back: crushing limbs and dolling out wounds to heighten the intact of negative emotion. Still, the time for fun and games had passed, and the Neti was in for a rude surprise. Knocking aside a jabbering Huk, the professor was unprepared for the Gamorrean behind them, who brought both meaty fists cracking down onto the retired teacher’s noggin.

Sa’ato could feel his mind collapsing in on itself, but did not give way to fear. He let his body fall back with the blow, but worked tirelessly to keep his thoughts active- to let his essence continue to spin like a psychic gyro towards the wall. And, while his body would be sore tomorrow, with the Force, the Neti’s efforts to remain conscious bore fruit. His energy field and sense of self eventually achieved equilibrium, and the professor finally repaid the initial favor by righting himself and sending a fist into his attacker’s face with all the power of a durasteel piston. There was little time to appreciate this smaller victory when several sizzling spikes nearly struck Sa’ato in the chin.

A Rodian, armed with electrified knuckle dusters, and clearly knew how to use them. The dark-eyed thug took to a series of feints, hiding his intentions so expertly that the Neti’s danger sense barely alerted him in time to evade each strike. Sa’ato needed greater clarity to find an in, one that only the Force could provide. Even if his foresight was limited, reaching out with his mind, the professor was able to ascertain the ‘false’ nature of the feints, and was steadily able to cut inside the man’s guard when sensing the ‘true’ assault. From there, all it took was a hardy right hook to lay the martial artist low and proceed. A Drall wielding a vibroaxe far too large for his person attempted to impede the Neti as he finally neared the door. They received a harsh flash of Force-imbued light for their trouble.

And yet, just as Sa’ato was crossing the threshold to freedom, the Wookiee from before decided to throw a more portly patron right into the Neti’s back. The two tumbled out the saloon door. The living projectile rolled to a stop, but the professor was thrown straight through the dock railing. One of Centares’ many acid lakes bubbled grimly up at him. He had only an instant to act. Thrusting both hands forward, the academic engorged his energy field with the Living Force, and fought hard and fast to slow the movement of the caustic surf below. Waves receded, then molecules, and even atoms, until Sa’ato landed mercifully onto a sheet of yellow-brown ice of his own making. One grateful Force-empowered leap later, and he was finally, thoroughly home free…

[End Force Level 5 Application, 644 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Ossus, Auril Sector, Grid Coordinates R-6***

To call Sa’ato’s latest endeavor grave-robbing would have undermined his academic intentions. Nonetheless, with a shovel and pick firmly clasped to his shoulder-bag, it was hard to deny a certain resemblance. First things first however: the Neti still had to access the graves in question. While the native Ysanna had not gone to great lengths to improve their technology over the course of several millennia, as one of the ancestral Force Sensitive races of the galaxy, they were not to be trifled with lightly. With the aid of macrobinoculars, the professor easily identified four sentinels guarding the nearest funerary burrow. A cloaking shawl or other device would be useless for the purpose of besting the Ysanna’s inherent psionics. If Sa’ato was to succeed, he had to fight fire- or the Force, with itself…

[Begin Force Mask Lvl 5 Power Application]

The Neti quieted his mind and shook off any lingering thoughts. He had to become empty, hollow. More than that, Sa’ato needed to become a vacuum, an innocuous prism that could absorb and refract energy as if there was nothing there at all. Outstretching fingers and exposing his palms toward the thicket ahead of him, the academic drew in photons, air particles, heat; he absorbed them, let them pass through him. Then, he toyed with their trajectory, feeling each phenomenon gust over and around his torso with his body as much as his mind. Bit by bit, Sa’ato altered the flow of nature to disregard him. But that was not nearly enough to do the trick. An open wound in the Force was more suspicious than the electric field of one at its disposal.

Sa’ato realized he had to dig deeper, to a more fundamental plane of existence. Indeed, he had to adjust the very frequency of his own energy field. With some coordinated breathing and clarity of focus, the Neti succeeded in withdrawing the invisible shell of his essence closer to his mortal frame. That was no guaranteed disguise however. The ‘truth’ of the professor's attunement to the Force was still hanging out in the open, easily sensed and detected. If he was to pass unseen, he had to mask that as well. Sa’ato himself had to buy into the deception- and that was where telepathy came into play. Coordinating a sort of self-hypnosis, the Neti clung to the goal of concealment in his mind, but let a subliminal tide of vague, emotional disinterest wash over any thoughts that referenced the Force.

The Neti had begun to operate on instinct, and in retrospect, his more logical, waking mind would have it no other way. Though not consciously aware of it, Sa’ato slowed and steadily narrowed his intake of stimuli, forcefully dimming his own senses with a legion of mesmerized neurons. That which he ‘felt’ became limited to the base and animal. The sensation of the wind, the temperature in the air, the feeling of soil under his feet. The predatory instinct to hide oneself before striking at flighty prey consumed the academic’s whole person. Eventually, even his own sense of self became suspect. Carefully, he began to advance toward the burrow and its keepers.

What momentum drove the Neti onward had become nameless. Further still, his own name had grown distant, almost forgotten. That internal vacuum the retired teacher had cultivated at the start of his intense meditation had transmuted after so much meddling with Physical and Living Force. Any onlooker attempting to ascertain the ‘truth’ of Sa’ato’s existence at this point would have little to show for it. Like a hooded cowl, the very reality of his life was cloaked in denial- a psychic facade painstakingly built to deny all but the air and earth that gathered where, by rights, the professor ought to have been. Still, wandering without wandering as he was, the Force seemingly endeavored to put a single test in Sa’ato’s path.

The Neti had just about reached the ideal vantage point to await the changing of the guard when he unceremoniously snapped a twig underfoot. The nearest Ysanna heard the sound, and immediately jerked his head toward the noise. Sa’ato felt that he was being watched- in fact, the two had locked eyes- but he manifested no fear. In that instant, the professor knew neither right nor wrong, only the vague, unthinking notion of what he was there to do. If the indigenous sentry was hoping to detect malevolent will, or even a murderous intent, they would find none. The yellow at the core of Sa’ato’s eyes registered only for an instant, before they too were drawn deeper into the curtain of disbelief.

In the end, the guard disregarded the encounter as a trick of the light, and did not check twice even after his shift was over. The Neti remained watching for some time. It was not until much, much later, after Sa’ato finally slipped into the subterranean burial ground, that the mask slipped free, and any awareness of his person was restored: both to himself, and anyone unfortunate to come across the emergent Dark Sider…

[End Force Mask Lvl 5 Power Application, 703 Words]

[Professor Mors]

Perhaps the costs of grave-robbing were steeper than Sa’ato had anticipated. Now, being hunted by a small platoon of Ysanna hunters, the Neti was freely willing to admit it. Of course, it wasn’t his idea for their ancestors to brand religious texts onto the skulls of their elders, but what was done was done. Under normal circumstances, the professor would have just deflected or absorbed the discharge of their laser rifles. Unfortunately for the academic however, the Ysanna were much more smitten with their traditional arms- a hybrid between a slugthrower and an automatic crossbow. As the locals also called the Force their ally, their aim was deadly- and the acidic arrowheads at their disposal, deadlier still. Sa’ato needed a deterrent, and he had just the thing in mind…

[Begin Telekinesis Lvl 5 Power Application]

As a fresh trio of bolts whizzed toward the professor, he began to reach out with his mind and track their trajectory with his thoughts. He could sense the air velocity, the normal force exerted by each projectile as it barreled forward, and the violent psionic spasm that telegraphed danger as the last shot grazed the Neti’s outer forearm. Sa’ato had to focus, to cultivate his technique one stage at a time. By altering the flow of the Force and manipulating his own energy field, he could stop a plasma bolt dead in its tracks: with a physical object, the execution would be different, but the core idea was the same. One of the hunters began to make gains with his war beast, and fired another salvo at the Neti’s right flank.

Turning his torso to the side, the professor eyed the danger, and reaching out with a hand, sent the host of his mind barreling back to meet the crude weapon head on. Like an unseen tendril, Sa’ato extension of the Living Force encapsulated his target, seeking to supplant its own cosmic signature with his own. Whatever will or intention the hunter had used to guide the arrow toward the Neti, the academic needed to claim full dominion over the object. Channeling his frustration at this turn of events, the retired teacher smothered the lone bolt in an overgrowth of malevolent thoughts. Then, like commanding some great hand, he began to squeeze. Tighter and tighter he plied his mental grip, until at last, the arrow hung sadly in the air.

Releasing his concentration with an exhale, the professor smirked as it fell piteously to the forest floor. Sa’ato did not have time to celebrate however. Snaring a rope tripwire, the professor lost his footing, and a dirt maw opened before him to reveal a series of cruel metal spikes. To avoid being skewered, there was one recourse, and it needed to be perfect. Outstretching both hands as he fell, the professor sent his psionic coils downward to constrict around the vengeful peaks. This time, he worked in reverse. Blanketing the trap with mental purpose and raw fury, the Neti formed a new metaphysical connection. And, once it was charged with the Force, all that remained was to reverse polarity.

Now tampering with his own bubble of living energy, Sa’ato manifested an inversion to his psionic charge. Having brought two ‘positives’ to bear against each other, the Neti repulsed off of seemingly empty air, vaulting to the far end of the pit and landing somewhat clumsily on his feet. Still, the pursuit was not yet over. In the time it had taken the academic to complete his stunt, a second hunter had closed the gap, firing off a perfectly-aimed duo of bolts straight at Sa’ato’s torso. There was no time for fancy theatrics. Sweeping an angered hand back toward the inbound projectiles, a small but forceful wave of the Neti’s thoughts sent the pair spiraling wildly off course as if they had been caught in a freak gust of wind.

The first hunter wasted no time with a follow-up shot- but this time, Sa’ato was prepared. This trio of arrows had anticipated where the Neti was running toward, rather than where he was. Angling out three sinuous fingers, the academic knotted the outbound bolts with his thoughts, and began to turn his body to the left. While the acidic arrows were firmly in his ‘grip’, Sa’ato had no need to enhance or decrease their momentum. The professor was simply their guide, as he pointed ruefully at the legs of the adjacent warbeast and sent a nasty series of surprises plugging into its flesh. The mongrel cried out and bucked its rider, and the Neti would have smirked with satisfaction had the bitter taste of danger not flashed through his mind.

He ceased sprinting just in time to avoid flying headfirst into an open ravine. Alas, in moments, Sa’ato found himself surrounded by four very angry locals, three still mounted, the last now on foot. Sneering, the group took aim from a concave formation, ready to fill the errant professor full of holes on all sides. Regardless, he remained calm, and snapped both hands forward as the group opened fire. Expanding his energy field outward like some oversized shield, Sa’ato ‘caught’ each virulent bolt with his mind, to the sheer disbelief of his attackers. In an instant, the Force gave him command of each airborne arrow, and he bade them all to about face. Flicking all ten digits forward, the Neti sent each and every projectile zipping back to their original owner with twice the stopping power.

Immediately moving to slide down the rocky slope, Sa’ato did not wait to observe his handy-work. There was no missing the myriad shrieks of agony, however…

[End Telekinesis Lvl 5 Power Application, 802 Words]

[Professor Mors]

Having gained some distance from the natives navigating along the valley floor, Sa’ato had assumed he was home free. It quickly became clear that this was not the case upon reaching the clearing where his ship was hidden away. At least one probing Ysanna guarding the loading ramp, more than likely several more inside. There was a small orbital station high in the stratosphere, but regardless, the Neti’s only way to leave Ossus with his prize was to reclaim the vessel he had arrived in. The was no turning back, only forging ahead, carefully…

[Begin Force Level 6 Application]

First things first, remove the possibility of discovery on approach. Exhaling as he sent his thoughts spinning out to touch every nearby tree and stone, Sa’ato called upon the Force to investigate his immediate surroundings. Content that there was no wandering sentry lurking around the corner, the Neti decided to make his approach from on high. Funneling raw aggression and willful emotion into his legs, the professor executed a Force-assisted leap. Gesturing arbitrarily before kicking off to the next tree, the academic bent light and shadow to will in order to visually mask his deciduous progress. When the retired teacher became convinced that he had fallen within earshot of the stone-faced guard, he held out an open palm, and began telegraphing ripples of feeling down to the clueless male.

Nervousness, flighty sensations, a general air of confusion: bit by bit Sa’ato imparted these things onto the sturdy but youthful patrolman. Eventually, these tumult of emotion gave birth to a more potent element- fear. The professor absorbed his fill of it like a mosquito drawing blood, until empowered by hapless man’s fright, the Neti performed an especially long jump, dropping down just behind the guard. Well-muscled as the Dark Sider’s victim was, caught unprepared, his neck was as easily undone as a dried reed. Looking down, the Neti eyed the kinetic bolt thrower that had fallen beside its former owner. Using local technology would surely complicate the chaos Sa’ato aimed to sow.

Taking the exotic weapon in its hands, the Neti let slender fingers slide over the muzzle, barrel, and stock on autopilot. Without giving much thought, Sa’ato initiated a full psychometric examination of the device, the Force steadily guiding his digits over carved notches and crude magnetic pins. And then, quite without meaning to, the professor slipped into a whirlwind summary of the life he had just taken for as many moments as it had possessed the weapon. Religious ceremonies, wild animal attacks- arrests for public indecency! It was all crowding the Neti’s mind much too fast. The power of the cosmos had pulled a fast one on the wandering teacher: but though it had caused his ire, it would soon prove his salvation.

Fighting to focus with all his might, Sa’ato channeled the Living Force as it inhibited his mind to sort the various stimuli, and focus his comprehension on what he needed most: battle experience. After a few more seconds, the academic hefted the concussion bolter like a natural, and advanced into the cargo bay of his ship. Middling by several large crates, he sensed them- two life signs, about the same build as the first unfortunate interloper. Not wanting a fresh arrow-wound that would require healing later, Sa’ato sent a cruel, psionic tentacle snaking out toward the second man, further to the back of the bay, to plague his senses. An awful ringing in the ears and bright, spotty vision provoked a growl from the warrior, causing his closer comrade to turn his head-

And that was all the opening Sa’ato needed to send two bolts into the un-afflicted peacekeeper’s chest. He ragdolled in an instant, but the whining sound of the rifle firing was enough to throw the surviving man into a panic. He fired flimsily from the hip, and faster than the Neti had predicted. One arrow was zooming dangerously close to the professor’s leg. Extending a free hand, the Neti endeavored to freeze, rather than slow the errant shot. Altering the flow of humidity steeping within the ship’s interior, the academic narrowly manifested a blunt, cyro-kinetically frozen cap for the acidic head of the arrow, which plunked harmlessly against his thigh. Sa’ato quickly dispatched his frenzied opponent thereafter.

The Neti had almost breathed a sigh of relief, when his shoulders grew rigid from another premonition of danger. He did not have time to turn and look, but the sound gave it away- the sickening crackle of a stun baton. He could feel the heat mounting in the air as if it were an extra limb: the blow would strike at the center of the professor’s back, between the shoulder blades, he was sure of it. All he could do was breathe, pump oxygen into the ventilated breeze. One breath was all it took. Inflating his energy field to mimic a cylindrical sponge, Sa’ato took the full blow, stumbling forward as he did so, but remaining upright. Like a microscopic fire brigade a million neurons strong, the professor’s Force-enhanced nervous system distributed the stupefying discharge through his body, where it exited harmlessly at the end-points of his limbs.

Turning around in spite of the slight charring that had blossomed over his tunic, the Neti regarded the look of bewilderment on his final foe with cold indifference. Drawing on his borrowed knowledge of the native firearm, Sa’ato swatted aside the measly baton with the butt of his rifle, and proceeded to bludgeon the poor aggressor as if he drilled it countless times at some academy. At last, a swift arrow brought the squad leader’s life, as well as his trachea, to a semi-merciful end. Tossing his weapon aside, the professor observed his fresh supply of plant food, and readied himself for departure…

[End Force Level 6 Application, 866 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Caluula System, Tion Cluster, Grid Coordinates T-6***

Sa'ato growled as blasterfire raked the edge of his cloak. A stray bolt very nearly missed his scalp as the Neti took a hasty turn round a faded metallic bend. The professor had received intel on a derelict Separatist bunker deep within the rugged mountains of Caluula. Unfortunately, in the pursuit of old tech and forgotten knowledge, the academic had awakened far more than he'd initially bargained for. No less than three IG-100 sentry droids had risen from their sarcophagal charging stations to offer battle to the Darksider– each armed with a dusty but functioning sidearm, as well as a phrik-alloy electrostaff that was commonplace for their time. The academic blinked and cursed as they found themselves in a large, but ultimately sealed-off dead end.

Glowering at the clank of metal feet just behind him, Sa'ato turned about, and thumbed the power for his primary lightsaber. The bright orange blade crackled and hissed to life with some unease– its edge occasionally struggling to achieve definition owing to its unorthodox crystal matrix. The sentry droids stopped short, and recognizing the chosen weapon of their timeless jedi foe, activated their polearms with a trio of static whines. Sa'ato narrowed his eyes. This was no technical rehearsal with his training bot back at the temple. These automatons could and would see his millennial existence ended if given the chance. The professor needed to move carefully, and quickly if he was to prevail…

[Begin Skilled Lightsaber Combat Level 6 Application]

Sa'ato steadied his breathing and opened his being to the Force. He set his feet apart on instinct, and let his blade hover downward nearly parallel to the navel. The classic low-guard of the Niman was not the academic's usual stance, but he felt it might embolden his droid aggressors. The professor's intuition proved true, as all three rushed in to finish things with a cold swiftness. However, when the closest IG-series was nearly within melee range, the academic flung a sinuous hand out toward their metallic torso, bidding the Force to knock them back by the slightest of margins. Careful hours of telekinetic experimentation and study of the sixth form had refined the 'strength' of the professor's ethereal grasp. The droid reeled from this sudden magnetic pull. In its attempt to remain on course, it overcorrected, giving the Darkside the opening he desired.

Altering the flow of his more rigid motions, Sa'ato let his saber hilt slide through his rootlike digits into reverse grip, and struck out at his attacker's wrist. Flexibility came easy to the Neti's kind– but precise locomotion took time and effort. He had practiced adjusting grips many times, until the motion became as natural as possible. Now, the blazing tip of orange light, no more than a fistful, passed cleanly through the IG's joints at the crossroads of the forearm. Cho mai : regularly rehearsed on a practice bot, brought to realization at last in this derelict cell. The automated vanguard could easily fight ambidextrously, but it was forced to temporarily draw back lest it lost hold of its weapon altogether. This did not mean Neti received any sort of reprieve. Drawing back into his ready stance, an overpowering sense of danger flashed across the academic's mind. Sa'ato instantaneously drew the Force to his legs, making an enhanced leap into sai as the second droid's wicked polearm swept low.

That was only the beginning of the professor's troubles. The last droid, not willing to gamble that their sibling might miss their strike, brought their own staff careening toward the airborne academic in a diagonal overhead. Summoning the Force to encapsulate his own weapon, the Neti hissed, and telekinetically hurled his saber to intercept this second attack. The professor hadn't much experience with this technique– but trusted his instincts to guide him. Sa'ato felt the tendril of thoughts still clinging to hilt– how this maneuver was a mere extension of the saber, and of himself. The blade required just under a full rotation to meet its foe, bouncing forcefully off the crackling peak of the electrostaff and staggering its owner. Channeling his aggression and a desire to retract his phantom limb, the professor recalled his weapon to the palm of his hand, and ignited its diminutive twin in turn. The academic was, of course, still falling back to earth from his initial jump, and the second droid had nearly stood back up to their full height.

Fortunately for Sa'ato, they had not yet set up their next attack. The Neti seized on this opportunity as gravity drew him back down, and let the Force guide the end-point of his shoto through the armor plating just above the droid's secondary photoreceptor mounted in the chest region. The academic's shiim was neither lethal nor particularly widespread in the damage it caused but it was, again, enough motivation for yet another droid opponent to give ground. There was obviously no fear or sentiment on which the Darksider could feed on to empower himself. Still, cosmic momentum was with the academic. He could feel it in each strike, and his nerves flared with the psionic foresight that now was the time to balance the scales. The first droid had begun to advance again, perhaps to buy time for its allies.

In an effort to prevent the Neti from pressing the advantage, the IG began to spin their staff at inhuman speeds with their offhand, clutching the polearm in the dead center. Sa'ato brought his main saber into an upper guard and mirrored with his shoto in the lower position. The seconds dripped slowly as the violet tempest of the electrostaff whirled closer and closer. Finally, the Force compelled the professor to act. Sa'ato's body and spirit moved in perfect unison. Orange blades flashed out and caught the errant staff close to the poles, locking it into a mostly-vertical axis. The Neti could scarcely afford a long clash as he measured his strength against tireless servos. Instead, he focused his thoughts on his main weapon arm, and letting his emotions reach the boiling point.

With one fierce, furious motion, the professor forcibly wrenched the staff to a horizontal latitude, and initiated shun. Spinning on his heel with a Force-endowed grace, Sa'ato let his shoto slide into a reverse grip, and brought the main saber around to sever the already-wounded droid's head. The IG's fizzling cranium had not even touched the ground when the follow-up arrived, the orange plasma of the Neti's second blade striking true through the droid's secondary eye and auxiliary systems. In less than a minute one of the three relics had been rendered into a smoking heap. The remaining duo, no doubt calculating their lackluster odds, surged forward with renewed effort, putting the academic back on the defensive.

It was not the strength, so much as the speed and range of the electrostaff strikes that reduced Sa'ato options for counterattack. And yet, his mounting confidence could not be undone. The Force guided his hands from one parry to the next, self-assurance and calculation plugging the few gaps that remained. Still, the professor needed a decisive moment, an alignment of metal and plasma that would allow him to finish the fight in a single, empowered flourish. Letting his limbs run on instinct, the Neti expanded his thoughts– opened his mind to the primordial energy as it surged through and around his person. 'Lifeless' by definition, the cosmos twirled and spun around the droids in a less fluid manner. Yet the psionic tide still acted upon them– informed, and was informed by them.

Sa'ato decoded that arcane pattern strike by strike, until finally, he felt it– the exact instance he was seeking. Slashing out horizontally with both blades, the professor robbed both automatons of their center guard, and began to twist with his strange arboreal momentum. Angling his weapons at diagonal vertices, Sa'ato became a gale of light, a hurricane of crackling blades– the rising whirlwind. With one pass, he took a leg, part of a shoulder. On the second, an arm, a head. By the third turn a sad, metallic buzzing had replaced the crackle of the electrostaffs. When the professor came to a halt, he stared coldly at the desiccated pile of spare parts twitching at his feet. The Neti had risen to new heights- but there were echelons of skill still to be reached. With time, he would attain that mastery. It was inevitable…

[End Skilled Lightsaber Combat Level 6 Application, 1156 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Planet Ylesia, Hutt Space, Grid Coordinates T-12***

While Sa'ato's investigation of a local temple had proven the absence of an old psionic cult, the same could not be said of adjacent fauna. Having completed his work, the Neti had unintentionally wandered into an underground kennel, whose 'livestock' was still very much at home. A juvenile Reek, incensed at the uninvited, arboreal visitor, had utterly bodied the academic, and would have gored him had the Darksider not leap up at the last moment to take the impact via its chitinous forehead. Still, for the beast's trouble, it had sent the professor's various articles flying this way and that, and effectively disarmed him. Sa'ato was well aware the chances of avoiding impalement a second time were slim to none in such tight quarters. He needed a means to fight, and fast…

[Begin Orb Level 5 Application]

Reaching out with his thoughts, the Neti searched desperately for any hint of moisture in the dimly-lit chamber. Alas, the air was drier than the mightiest Tatooine sand dune, and manic slobbering of the inbound Reek too minimal and far off to weaponize. Patting himself up and down, Sa'ato growled as he stumbled across a patch of his oaken flesh that had been bruised and torn from the initial assault. Verdant chlorophyll, the academic's very lifeblood, glittered up at him with lethal potential. Growling, the retired teacher channeled his pain and frustration through the locus of the Dark Side, and steadily began to alter the flow of his very veins. In the brief time it took him to bleed sufficient ammunition, his foe had already crossed half the span of the room.

Exhaling slowly and concentrating on the exertions of his wound, Sa'ato began to steadily levitate and shape his liquid essence. Raising it aloft with telekinetic fervor, the academic likewise huffed cryokinetic breaths to give it greater structure and integrity. In particular, the Neti sought to keep the interior of the quivering payload chilled. Once he was satisfied with his progress, the professor swept a commanding hand in front of the brilliant green mass, and switched gears, rapidly spinning and heating the exterior. As a gyroscopic tide roared into being and writhed below the surface, Sa'ato's aquatic warhead at last took on a proper, spherical shape. At this point, the charging Reek was barely four meters away.

Snarling with his own sense of bestial survival, the Neti mentally swatted the glistening orb toward the Reek's lower left horn. It vaporized much of the hard bone on impact, and traveled further, before exploding against the beast's unarmored kneecap. Crimson mist and pained cries filled the air as Sa'ato's would-be slayer careened past him, their balance shot from the fresh injury. The Neti knew it could and would recover, and set his mind on preparing another strike. Closing his eyes, the professor sought another source of plasma with his mind, thought not quite as much as before. Eventually his thoughts guided him to fresh material, though he was not certain whether it originated from him or his foe.

Wasting no time however, the professor telekinetically called the fresh bead to the palm of his hand, and quickly molded it into a superfluid no bigger than a marble. Next, Sa'ato extended a limb, and let his instincts guide this next instrument toward his enemy– right through the modest, but open wound he had only just inflicted. From there, he let his mind's eye, and the Reek's circulatory system, guide the spherical infiltrator. Every so often, the Darkside would flare out a finger or clench his fist to expand and contract his lilliputian weapon as the beast's interior demanded. All the while, the Neti could feel the beast cleaving the air ahead of him- feel the heat of their exertions as they too raced for the kill.

Unfortunately for the brainless brute, Sa'ato sensed its very lifesource at precisely the right time. The bead had reached its target: the beast's gargantuan heard. Channeling all of his thoughts into the orb, the wicked educator stretched its surface to the utmost, until, with a clap of his hands, he detonated the infiltrator. A sickening pop filled his mind as the reverberations of the deed washed over the Neti. He could sense the rending of the flesh and seizing of organs long before he heard lifeless hulk crumple to the ground. Opening his eyes at last, Sa'ato eyed the fresh corpse that lay before him with mute indifference. Instead, he looked ahead to a large stone door obstructing his means of final escape.

Emboldened by his deeds, and presented with an abundance of fresh material, the Neti employed the Force as a pipette, drawing forth what he needed and gathering it between his hands. This orb of deepest crimson far surpassed the others in size, and reaped the benefits of Sa'ato's unencumbered malice and concentration. As the sphere expanded, so too did its surface blur from the blinding increase in telekinetic rotations. Content with these preparations, the professor confidently dragged his hands apart, and in so doing, affected a dynamic mitosis. The one orb became two, and narrowing his gaze, the academic threw forth his limbs and let fly his sinister creations.

The first impacted near the floor level of the blocked exit, with its twin hurtling up to blast apart a section of the ceiling. Deprived of foundation, the middle bit quickly crumbled to pieces. After so many hours of exertion, the Neti at last stepped forth into the fading Yselian sunset, and contendly breathed the fresh air once more…

[End Orb Level 5 Application, 785 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Trandosha, Mytanor Sector, Grid Coordinates P-9***

A truly horrendous situation had gone from bad to worse. While on a covert operation three systems over, Sa'ato and a small team of Massassi warriors had unintentionally retreated through the sudden, and violent eruption of a gang war. In the ensuing three-way conflict, a team of elite Trandoshan hunters had succeeded not only in subduing one of the academic's Massassi guards, but capturing them alive. The Neti could by no means afford to let the Massassi's unique alchemic and biochemical secrets be auctioned off at the nearest slave market, and had thus pursued the reptilian foe back to their homeworld. That was his second mistake. The professor's natural scent, akin to sandalwood, had clearly registered in the nostrils of the Trandoshan leader from before.

Once they were wise to their arboreal opponent, the hunting party quickly laid an ambush, which Sa'ato only narrowly sensed after having walked straight into it. For his trouble, a third of his midsection was pulped by the lead Trandoshan's favorite toy. An exploding flechette rifle, a cruel and excessive weapon, much like the locals themselves. Ball bearings with numerous, razor-sharp scales had torn ruefully through the Neti's oaken flesh before detonating beneath his upper dermis and flooding his internal pathways with shrapnel. It was only with quick thinking that the wounded and enraged Neti avoided his demise in the following moments. Using the Force to affect a makeshift flashbang, the professor unleashed flames onto the surrounding flora and fled into the shadows.

The struggle was far from over, but Sa'ato could feel his rootlike sinews tear and crumble with each step. He needed a fix, and he needed it now…

[Begin Repair Level 5 Application]

To subdue a wound via the Force, even temporarily, was no small feat. It would require augmenting the Neti's own biological processes in otherworldly ways he had never considered. But the time for consideration was long passed: now was time for action, and so the professor shut his eyes and let his feelings guide him. First things first, Sa'ato required fuel, and plenty of it. At this point, he was accustomed to feeding on the suffering and anguish of others. This time however, he had only himself to rely on. And so he looked within, fixating on his own agony, his frustration, his fury to those that had so wounded him and dragged him into this manhunt. Shouting, screaming out with his thoughts, he cursed his foes, swore vengeance, offered some sliver of his soul to stall those slivers that festered in his side. And the Dark Side heard him, reinvigorated his pained spirit, and granted him malevolent clarity: a cold, focused, and empowered rage with which the Neti could work.

Concentrating thus, the Neti bade the cosmos to give him greater surveillance, and he closed his eyes, probing for each lethal shard with his thoughts. When he had done so, Sa'ato moved to immobilize the shrapnel, lest his chlorophyll-rich lifeblood drew it endlessly through his weaker, internal cell walls. This he achieved by altering the flow of his own verdant plasma, creating whirlpool like anomalies around the metal detritus. It required all his mental fortitude and presence in the Force, not just for the complexity of the act but also the great discomfort the deed caused him. It was unnatural- the motion, the effect; a supernatural disruption and slowing of the academic's regular 'pulse' that, in spite of its purpose to preserve, made him feel as if he were sliding closer to the netherworld– closer to that of a half-living corpse. Bacta or some Jedi mystic could soothe, numb, extract– even the professor's natural regenerative powers would have sufficed given time

But time was one thing the Neti lacked, and pain was the cost of progress. And, having temporarily tended to his internal injuries, Sa'ato moved to handle the external damage. The hideous gash in his side wasn't likely to close anytime soon. To amend this, the academic hissed and drew upon his personal energy field, absorbing a small donation of his signature in the Living Force, and scattering it carefully across his ruined exterior. The oaken flesh born from this act was thin, brittle, and raw to the touch, like one great searing scab. Under better circumstances the professor's dermis would draw strength from the sun and airborne moisture to pad the injury with delicate, rootlike sinews before expanding into a hardened, barklike carapace. These replacement growths, in contrast, felt rushed, cancerous, like a rash that took as much as it gave. The sensation only contributed further to the professor's physical fatigue, but he had to fight on.

The pain was dull, aching, and unceasing, but kept in check by the confluence of his bitter feelings and mounting wrath. Yet, just when Sa'ato thought he might be getting out of the woods, both figuratively and literally, his senses flared in warning. He leapt high into the air just in time to observe an electronet swoop fly through where he had sat only seconds before. The winded academic immediately regretted the act as soon as he touched back down to earth. Breaking into a sprint, he could feel his hard work- his very flesh- splinter and melt away at an even more precarious rate. The professor's focus had lapsed for the slightest instant, but that had been enough to let the horrid metal twist its way deeper into his body, and for the parent wound to gape crack back open even wider than before. Now, ever more exhausted, he began to feel the tendrils of unconsciousness lap at the back of his mind.

But no, this awful swamp would not prove to be the Neti's grave. The professor labored to resume his repairs even while in motion, feeding this time not on his anger but his passion- his desire to seek knowledge, to serve, his refusal to yield. He would not succumb to this crude injury, and bit by bit, willed the vile shards to halt with singular, telekinetic purpose. Likewise, Sa'ato forcefully manifested layer after flimsy layer of wafer-like bark over the entry wound, stretching his essence far beyond its capacity. To exceed his limits, the Neti began to tap into the incantation and spells of those ancient mystics that had worshiped the Great Sith Freedon Nadd. With sorcerous overtures he invited- then demanded the spirits' council and knowledge. In whispers, rasps, cries, and curses the academic gradually received instruction, knowing full well the future haunting and sleepless nights this entreaty would cost him.

Still, with his concentration almost maxed out, and his escape incomplete, the professor could still feel his unnatural first aid slipping, receding with every stumble suffered and meter he traveled. He needed a bandage, a psychic gauze in which to tie things together. To that end the academic centered his thoughts on the malicious, metaphysical mesh of emotion and rage plastered both inside and out of his person. Zeroing in on a plaster of pure energy with his mind, Sa'ato spun unseen threads and applied them like supernatural sutures. As he had once utilized the raw amalgamation of the Dark Side to bind otherworldly foes, the Neti now drew these calcified, malicious thoughts given form round his torso again and again, as if to duct tape his necrotic handiwork with the fabric of the universe itself. This, at last, seemed to do the trick. Though his countermeasures waxed and waned given physical, and mental excursion, with his concentration unbroken, the Neti was free to attend to other, equally-lethal obstructions…

[End Repair Level 5 Application, 975 Words]

After an agonizing, interminable amount of time, a watery bog opened up before the withering Neti. Without hesitation, he drew in as much air as he dared, and plunged beneath the surface, content to hide where his scent was moot, and he could properly heal before seeking his just recompense…