"I understand 'Us' precisely." [Silas]

[Silas Karn]

The High Priest was taken back, surely the youth held more skill than this? The thrust of his blade had been intended as a ruse to only simulate the possibility of a lethal strike. Seeing the Hunter slumped on the ground struggling to breath was infuriating to Sovereign. “You truly can’t feel, can’t sense, can’t grasp that which is all but crying out to you?” The priest awaited Slade’s reply but was not given satisfaction.

“Oh fine, as if such a meager wound could truly end a Sith!” Holding out his off-hand the Sovereign called forth luminous crimson streaks of light to his fingertips and projected the volley directly into the core of the Hunter (Repair). The youth cried out in agony as the High Priest took sick pleasure in the pain inflicted alongside the Sith’s art of healing. The already cauterized wound was first torn asunder in order to be properly mended. Smoke leapt from Slade’s chest as his flesh was charred and the damage brought back from lethal to merely serious in nature.

“You will find that the trait both Tormentous and I share, is the lack of patience. I have grown swiftly weary of your fumbling.” The void of the Sovereign’s eyes soon gleamed a ghostly citrine as the priest channeled his frustrations into yet another technique. A cascade of vibrant sparks launched from the Sovereign’s left hand (Force Lightning). The discharge swarmed over the youth’s body and permeated his flimsy clothes, knifing deep into Slade’s flesh.

Spared from the Sovereign’s hatred and worst of all the nigh unlimited fuel of the High Priest’s indignation, the Hunter would survive the assault. The magnitude of this art was greatly diminished from the peak of what the Sovereign was capable of. Nonetheless the torturous sparks bit deep in relentless waves of agony. ‘If I could not simply threatened the beast lose then I will present this Hunter with no escape!’ The High Priest calculated as he maintained the vicious attack upon the youth. “So is this as far as you go? If you intend to give up then just lie there and die!”

[Slade Xandir]

Echoes callously scored the world around him, Silas' voice flooding Slade with nothing more that noise. His own heartbeat was louder than that screech Silas had incredulously thrown at him, and it began to slow, each seeming louder than the last, but somehow a whisper. It was all dramatic, but peaceful enough to Slade that his shaking began to cease.
The meaningless world beyond began to crumble to dust beyond his awareness, and silence-

was robbed from him.
The thick and savory flesh, his final meal was yanked from his drooling maw. The Hunter was brought back to this awful memory of place, made real. The lapse was only seconds from his almost-death, to his painstaking life. His Lungs worked without his permission, pumping air into them from invisible hands spiked with razors and glass, and they burned.. They protested, groans leaving his throat as he openly cursed in so many forms of Sith dialect, he could have been mistaken for a vengeful scribe of ancient times on Ziost. There was no ability to resist being brought back. This wasn't the first time he was pulled from the depths of death - it seemed he would always be forbidden the pleasure.

Clarity rammed his body so forcefully, sick entertainment of Silas continuing as Slade fought to against odds that weren't meant to be won against. 'You heard him, Mr. Xandir - just lay there,' he heard a vile voice he recognized too well calling from the darker mental recesses. His muscles spasmed as electricity ruined their functions like some demonic puppet juttering and cringing and creaking and stretching in taunt and nasty rhythms. If Silas was expecting a hero move, he'd be sorely disappointed. Slade was mortal, and he had just been through the worst pain with Silas, alone. Stabbed through the lung, fighting tooth and nail to merely stay alive against a Force User and master Sword's man. He came form a life of using guns, not swordsmanship.

[Silas Karn]

Seeing the weakness and utter despair offered by the Hunter rather than the obstinate defiance he sought, the Sovereign called for a slave to be presented and bound before the pair. Slade, even given this reprieve, did not rise to challenge the High Priest further angering his mentor. Once the serpent’s request was fulfilled he turned back to the Hunter, “This man’s life will not facilitate your devastation. For you will be denied death and granted torment such that the Dark Lord his self would aspire to instill. Turn aside this lethargy, discard your apathy, bolster your resolve, for I will not grant you rest nor succor until that which is buried within you be unearthed and focused back upon me!”

With a vile crackle of such intensity that the very air burnt from the duress the High Priest called down stunningly bright arcs of energy bearing the full intensity of his mastery upon Slade (Force Lightning). However, this maneuver was accomplished with just his left hand and as such though still lethal in nature lacked the complete might of the Sovereign though this was of little solace to the Hunter. As the biting sting and numbing intensity of the technique took hold the High Priest extended out his right hand and tore away in equal measure the very life of the slave that had been brought before him (Manipulate Life Force).

With this stolen essence the Sovereign channeled the manacled individual’s spirit and bound Slade’s own within the burning shell of his charring flesh. In moments the divergent flow of life countermanded any permanent damage that the Hunter would have endured, though it did absolutely nothing to the torturous agony his lord purposed upon him. With an endless supply of cattle to serve as batteries for this abhorrent practice Slade was deprived any alternative than to touch upon that which was sealed within him.

[Slade Xandir]

He lay there, feeling some terrible weightlessness that was caught between this realm and the next. He was feeling so much more of a draft somewhere inside of his body, as though the words spoken before and around him, were passing through him. It would be jarring to move after just being somewhat brought back from the brink of death, yet- "-you will be denied death and granted torment such that the Dark Lord his self would aspire to instill." He was still dead?!! He was dead, currently?? He swore he was alive-

he watched this scene unfold underneathe him. There was no way. And some impending feeling held him there, as he watched some unsuspecting peon lose their own life on Silas' whim. He could actually see the wisps of swim of spirit, Silas' own terrible grasp tinging the explosive white substance with a vicious purple speckles, blots that spread considerably as the Sorcerer strengthened his grasp on the soul. Slade swore he could see a screaming face in that smoky foam-

but no, a hand instead fractured from the main score of elemental wisps, and wrapped around what would have been his ankle in his own dematerialized form, and as Silas shoved the soul into him, thus he was dragged back, as well. " I will not grant you rest nor succor until that which is buried within you be unearthed and focused back upon me!" Something else writhed with him in this body, the freshly stolen soul screams doubling his own as that searing lightning jumpstarted his heart in a near impossible rhythm. His eye's clenched tighter as his body tightened and sailed up with the tremor or lightning. His spine laid him in a crescent shape, as the rest of him contorted in undeniable pain, his own voice bleeding in and out with the voice of the other who too was made to be forcibly suffer with him.

Slade truly did not have any reason to live through this, besides being forced to. Many bodies would litter betwixt him and Silas as his mortality fought to save him from this hellish damnation, only for another to come and join the corpse party, and string him back to Silas' tethers. Until mortality was overcame by something much worse that Silas drowned it with. Sith Sorcery was nothing to laugh at-

but as he sat up, the hundredth soul carved into his own existing rooster, he shook with a chuckle that hadn't made it past smoking lips. Silas truly refused to let him go. Him and him and her and him and him agreed. They had no other choice.

Eventually Slade had been lifted up, Silas finished with his cruel experiment for now, and had the Hunter carted away to be entirely mummily bandaged. He would return when Slade awoke from the wound succumbing unconsciousness, and more would befall him. More agony, more torture, until Slade would strike back, hard enough to convince the Sith Lord that he had learned the lesson here.

There was no more running from the babysitter. And next time, he would be ready.