The next rung in the ladder

[Dastan Imatari]

Continued from:
https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/sithlor ... t9448.html

[Dastan Imatari]

The small room was dark. It was square in shape, but the ceilings were quite tall. Lit by a single torchlight above the door on a sconce.

A single cot that was part of the wall, no sheets or blankets or pillow. No windows. Just a single door, and the torch. The white twi’lek sat on the cot and watched the door. Hearing footsteps approaching from outside, her dulled senses and dreamlike wakefulness snapped to attention. A second later, the door hissed open to reveal the silhouette of the athletic young man who had kept her here for a few days. Not abused, but neglected for sure. At least for now.

“Come with me.” The man spoke clearly, and calm. The vocabulator on his armet-like helmet fractured his voice into something of a deep, ghostly, flanged tone. She sat in defiance. “Are we going to play this game again?” He huffed a sigh, and stepped into the room. She shot to her feet, and tensed up. “I’m not going to ask again-” He gestured a hand toward the door- “Let’s walk.”

She stood there, and glared at him with all the hatred she could muster. Her teeth clenched, and her snout slowly began to draw into a snarl. She couldn’t see it, but he began to smile. Not because she was feeling the emotions- but because those emotions fed him directly. Subconsciously drawing on the negative emotions. Fear, hate, anger.

“Fine.” He snapped without raising his voice. He stepped toward her, and reached out to grab her by the arm. He dipped back, and he could feel it before it happened. She was going to attack him. Again. As she dipped back, she attempted to kick him, to which Dastan was ready. This was all second nature to him. He reached up with the leg closest to her, and delivered a disabling kick of his own, striking the inside of her prepared leg.

She drew that leg back instantly to the ground. Dastan stood at the ready- she attempted a haymaker. He swiftly dipped back with a lean, and delivered a single straight punch, a quick jab directly to her chin. ‘The button’.

She collapsed near instantly, and Dastan caught her forward slumping body, sweeping her up and carrying her out the doorway, having to walk sideways with her in his arms to get her out the door and into the dim hallway. It wasn’t a far walk to the medical room. As he reached the door, it slid open and Dastan proceeded inside.

The familiar room- a rectangular room. Small enough for medical equipment surrounding a table on a hinged arm, and a chair on the other end next to a counter with medical supplies. Slinking over to the table, he slid the partially conscious twi-lek onto the table. He was careful not to damage her any more than necessary.

Turning from the table, he walked over to the other end of the room, hearing her gently moan behind him. He grabbed a cold pack from the small refrigerator beneath the counter, and returned to the table. Placing the malleable pack in her hand, he then moved her hand to her chin- to make her hold it there. Her arm was limp, but it seemed to understand. She was regaining consciousness slowly.

Her vision was blurry at first, so she blinked hard, and then realized where she was. Coming to- her arms sprawled out behind her, gripping the table, and dropping the cold pack to the ground.

“Keep calm and we won’t have to go through that again.” That same digitized sounding voice.

She’d have come after him again… but she felt restraints on her legs. Also, she was still a little wobbly, and she realized the immediate disadvantage.

“Damn you-” She growled weakly. Shaking herself to attention. “What else do you want from me?”

“I got a name yesterday, Calle. I want a location today. Because this evening I’m heading to V’Jun, and accessing an old archive to run a few searches. A search that you have so graciously assisted me with.”

Dastan stood beside the table, looking down at the twi’lek, supine, legs bound to the table. He bent down to pick up the cold pack that Calle unknowingly tossed aside when she came to- gripping for reality. It would be a bad move any other time- turning attention away from the subject- but he knew that Calle wouldn’t be any more of a threat. At least not right now. Not yet.

He held out the pack for her with black gloved hands, to which she scoffed, and turned her attention to stare at the ceiling. Shaking his head, he set the cold pack on the little empty table space beside her. The light in here was better. She could see him from head to waist. He was wearing his near black metallic helmet, with a dark blood red angular lens. He wore a black, rough hewn cowl around his shoulders. He wore a dark charcoal long sleeved tunic under a slightly lighter sleeveless tabard belted under two thick black leatheris belts. A utilitarian lightsaber hung from his hip, and a few small pouches clipped to the other belt shone with slight contrast in silver accents.

“Now. Tell me where is this… Annan, Anakin is?”

{begin force power application: Mind Shard (600 wc)}
“I can’t.” She responded.
“Can’t, or won’t? We’ve been down that road before, have we not?”

Dastan reached his hand out, fingers spread over the white twi’lek’s head, and drew upon the force. He felt a surge move through his body, and drew that energy through his arm out into her mind. Not unlike the ability to reach into her mind, grab her thoughts and extract them- he remained within her mind. He couldn’t necessarily read her thoughts, but he could feel it happening. He could feel the structure of her mind strain to think about nothing- trying not to remember. The force extended through his body, and was now touching her mind.

Images shot into his mind.


“Just give me a location.” Dastan growled. After a moment of attempting to search her mind, he began to think that maybe she didn’t actually know for sure. She was stubborn, and she paid for it. The dark side of the force was not gentle on the mind, and as he extracted bits of information, it was indeed painful for the victim. That fact was something that Dastan remembered well. He was able to steal information and memories from them, but it also seemed to cause some amount of pain and discomfort. Inflicting pain...


Though he wanted to inflict more. The suffering fed him. Not unlike a narcotic- he drew upon it’s energies and it fueled him, influenced his behavior and actions.

“This doesn’t have to be as quick as it was last time, you know.” He curled his hand a bit over her head.

With this action, he sort of twisted the force power that was entering her mind, and imagined that force power like a thousand needles. His hand flexed, and he pressed the force into her mind. Then he felt it- heavy resistance, and a new thought process- filled with pain, and resentment. The girl shrieked. Nothing like someone theoretically forcing a ball of needles through your nervous system. At least, that's something of what Dastan imagined.


Dastan pulled his hand away- and looked into the twi’lek’s eyes. Whatever he did- seemed to have that exact effect he wanted. Or it seemed so. He wanted to inflict pain. Not the physical pain that you can escape from if you twist, wriggle, and clutch… But a pain in her mind. Something that she wouldn’t be able to show- but something she would darn well remember.

Calle panted, and her skin began to bead with sweat at her temples, and her eyes began to redden.

“You don’t want this, Calle. But I do.” he shook his head, trying to tempt her to tell him information. “This process can stop if you give me something that is concrete.”

He found images of him in her mind, general locations, feelings, but nothing exact. He’d have to pry it out of her. He reached over her again, hand spread at her temple, before he began to control the force through himself again, and manipulate it to her, and entering her mind again. He could feel her blood pumping, her life force. He could feel the hate, the anger, the suffering, the fear. He used this, with his own impatience and loathing of this person who just didn’t seem to want to comply. He flexed the tendons in his fingers, curling, as he manipulated the dark side power through him, and forced it into Calle’s mind. Again, intending to cause pain, he focused on the power, and then made it feel ‘sharp’, stabbing. Pain, hot and searing, pricking her mind was something indescribable unless someone had felt this same sensation.

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know! He’s a Jedi. A padawan.”

“Yes. I’ve taken that from you already. Give me something I don’t have.” He pressed into her mind harder.

She yelped- and twisted.

“What? I don’t know anything about the Jedi!”

He inched closer to her, “Don’t lie to me.”

“All I know is that they seek peace, they’re religious- or - or- something! Ahg” She growled in frustration, pain, and anger.

The force power he often internalized in his mind like the flames of a dark red fire, a dark misty smoke, or black inky shadows- he imagined it slightly different here. Imaging a searing white hot formless blade, he rotated his wrist slightly to again send a shattering feeling within her mind.

Her body reacted by locking up- almost as if being electrocuted. She quit shrieking and yelling while the pain was being dealt, but her vocal reactions afterward were violent to say the least. Especially toward him.

“Then all you will know is pain, girl. The religion of the force is a difficult one. And the jedi have a heirarchy when they learn more. This Annan, he had to have someone above him-”

“How should I know?” she retorted, interrupting him through panting breaths.

His mouth pursed, “Tell me of his master. Who is he?”

She didn’t know, so she felt the mind shattering pain that Dastan was eager to deliver. Not that he was a sadist, but he was pretty excited to realize that the force was becoming easier to understand. He had discovered this capability within the force as his mind expanded. The ability to wrack a victim with pain. The ability to splinter their minds with sensations indescribable, because it had never known something like that before.

Dastan began to feel despicable. Like a boy torturing insects. She couldn’t help him. Not in the way he was asking her, but in the way that she became a momentary test subject for his weapons of the dark side of the force. But he needed this information, so he would continue. This would just be something else to keep him up at night in a few weeks, as he wouldn’t think of processing the guilt in the moment.

[/end.]

“Wait!” she yelped, holding her hand up. Dastan left her mostly unbound besides her feet. She didn’t provide much of a threat here. “A- name. A-.. a-.... A name…” she muttered.

“Give. It. To. Me..” He stood tall over her.

“Xin.. Xin! Something- Xin!” her tone was pleading. Though what he had done to her was likely the reason she couldn’t recall it properly now. So, Dastan took the liberty of relieving her of the actual name through his ability to drain knowledge through the force. Another painful task. Painful to her, at least. Though it would feel like a brief respite compared to what he had been delivering earlier.

He stepped away from the table, pacing in thought. “Han Xin…” She remained on the table, breathing heavily. Her tear-soaked face shining in the florescent light above her. She writhed a little, but not too much. It was a little too much for him. Dastan was a killer, a warrior, and a brutal one at that- but he didn’t like being a torturer to someone like this. She wasn’t his opponent, she wasn’t someone who he felt deserved this pain. That battle raged in him for long enough for him to grab a sedative, and delivered it to her thigh.

After calling in the guards, he would return to his quarters after assigning his droids to prep his ships to take flight soon. He’d to go the archives on Rhen Var and search for as much information as he could on this Jedi Master Xin. He’d also consort with the Dark Side of the Force, and help himself cope with his actions this day. He’d have to convince himself she was weak, and she didn’t deserve proper treatment. He didn’t believe that fully, but he did believe he did what was necessary for the information. So he took that morale battle as a slight win, as the ends justified the means. That was good enough for him. For now.

[Dastan Imatari]

Roon
Dastan's private headquarters.


Rare were times like these. Dastan was taking a day to himself, spending his morning in the library, uncovering secrets as he could. He hit a point that there weren’t very many Sith willing to part with certain information willingly, so learning had become more difficult. The things he was looking to do were more advanced these days, and simply asking another Sth lord was a little out of the question. Sharing was not the easiest thing for the members of the order to do, and with good reason.

So Dastan poured himself into his studies- like he did from time to time when investigating details on certain artifacts he would hunt down. Though for now, he wasn’t focused on his work- he was focused on increasing his power, and wanted inspiration for new ways to manipulate the force. No longer did he have other Sith looking over his shoulder- no. He was something of an independent force these days, thrown resources when asked periodically. Though left to his own devices for the most part. It was a privilege few Sith had.

It was the basics that interested him. How to take them to the next level. How to take them, and exponentially magnify them. There really wasn’t much in the way of that- but he did find a documentation on something happening in imperial space years ago. In his lifetime, even, which excited him at the prospect that information he’s learning about isn’t just from some dusty old book from thousands of years ago.

It was a dark apprentice who had been sent after a jedi after the clone wars purge. It was an imperial TIE factory that was nearly destroyed in the rampage. It was meant to be a black operation, but as they often do- word got out. Though as the imperial investigators came to clean up and estimate the damages- they saw that the durasteel doors had been forcefully opened, but were clean of carbon scoring. They weren’t blown apart with explosives or blaster fire. It had to have been the force, as there were lightsaber cuts in the interior, as well as several stormtrooper deaths involving lightsaber wounds.

The power that caused that had to have been some sort of telekinetic ability, and Dastan set his sights on this. He was travelling to Rhen Var soon, and he wanted a few new toys in his arsenal in case he got jedi, or imperial interruption.


(Force Power Application: Force Bolt, 800WC)
So, it began with little inspiration like that. He set of on his morning run, and went into the nearby wood. This was often where he went to practice both his martial skills, as well as force abilities that could potentially be destructive. As he ran, he went through the options in his mind, exploring the methods of calling upon the force to do his bidding. The ability to telekinetically move things was not difficult once you knew how, but being able to shed disbelief and self doubt, and hold strong with the grasp took practice. The ability to push and pull objects telekinetically was also a favorite ability of his, especially in combat. This was also something that required practice.

He found himself alone, and the sight of his complex’s tallest tower was not visible above the trees anymore. The area he was in had some natural trails, and a bit of an opening near a thicker treeline. Seeming like a natural area to take a seat and meditate for a moment.

Drawing in on the force, he felt that familiar sensation that permeated him every day. A place where flowing water meets blazing flame and molten lava. Where the life energies mixes with his passions and desires. What most dark-side adepts used when explaining this to acolytes were analogies like this.

After getting to a concentrated state, he leaned forward, placing his hands to the ground, and climbed to a standing position. Placing his feet shoulder width apart at first, he began a warm-up routine where he allowed the force to flow freely through his body. Basically it was martial arts warm-up routines, though flowing the force through his body. It helped him focus himself, and allowed him to get his grasp on the force in a more meditative way.

So it began, his eyes opened, and his body shifted into a readied stance. His right hand drew back, and then reached outward- sending a normal ‘push’ in the force outward from his body. The trees before him swayed, and the grass and leaves rustled. The force was enough to send a grown man to their back. That was his standard amount of force when applying this power.

In doing this, he solidified in his mind the sensation of that push- and it’s outcome. He wanted it fresh in his mind, as he tinkered with the ability he wanted to exponentially magnify that force. Drawing his hands inward toward his core, cocked and ready to press outward, he pulled the force into his hands again, and pressed outward quickly. Using both hands seemed to magnify the size of the push- but not necessarily the power. He imagined it like sending a fan-shaped wave out from his body. Again, the trees several yards before him swayed a bit, the leaves rustled, and the grass waved under the force.

He ran through this a few times, trying with one hand- thrusting harder, and then again with two hands, physically thrusting harder. Then applying that same technique, but thrusting outward with more telekinetic force. He still achieved the same results, more or less. The trees before him shook a few leaves loose, but he didn’t get the desired result.

Getting that image in his head really allowed him to manipulate the force much easier. Getting a much more clear idea of how he wanted the force to react to him, allowed him to try more intricate ideas. Sending out an arc, or a wave was the way he kept imagining it.

He also imagined what outcome he wanted. He wanted to level the trees before him. Though maybe he should start small. So again, he closed his eyes, inhaled, and drew in the energies… Instead of imagining sending out a wave- which had always worked for him, and was his ‘go-to’ manipulation- he imagined condensing the force into a physical form, rather than welling it up inside him, and throwing it outward. This form was spherical, though invisible, he pressed his hands closer together to ‘form’ this sphere of power, before drawing back with a single step- and using his shoulders and arms thrusting outward to ‘fire’ the ball in a pushing motion, stepping forward with the momentum.

As he fired this mass of energy, a similar result ensued, though it wasn’t the line of trees, only a few just before him. The sway was more of a ‘bend’ this time, and he heard the trunks creak under the force of the gale. So the mass fired out, and struck the trees like a rounded force- rather than a wide wave.

Funny how doing things one way for a long time, you often don’t even think about other ways to do it. When you do- it seems so easy, so effortless and silly that you’ve never thought of it before. To this realization, Dastan smiled. He was getting closer. This made him give those same attempts time and time again. Imagining that mass in different sizes and shapes. Different levels of power through them, and different applications of actual physical force put into his gestures.

He drug his feet back to shoulder width, and closed his eyes again. Inhaling, he felt the power of the force creep through his muscles, from the grass around him, his discarded jacket, everything. Focusing on a single breath, he drew all that power into himself. He drug his dominant foot back, and cocked his shoulders, and brought his hands closer together again. He wouldn’t ‘form’ this mass of energy before him this time, though. He kept it within his core. After a moment’s concentration- he shot forward- firing the blast of energy with a forward step, a grunt, and firing his hands out.

He could almost see it. Like an invisible boulder blasting forward, rolling with juggernaut speed. It left his body, and careened toward the trees, which sent them bending backward more, sending the branches and leaves flailing under the force. The sounds of the wildlife nearby stopped even. No more chittering bugs. No more family of birds singing nearby. This had got all of their attention.

-Again!- was the only thing that popped into his mind with an ambitious vigor. His crooked grin subsided as he went through the motions again, drawing into the force, empowering him with his excitement of success, and the ambitions and dreams of power. Feeding his motivation and drive. The power of the force welled within him, filling his body until it felt like it would burst without his command. Though Dastan was disciplined, and he wouldn’t allow the power to release until the right moment.

Another step forward- his hands thrusting together after having been drawn to his right hip. Impressive amounts of power were rocketed away from him. The force he pushed through his body made him almost need to take another step forward- but he rooted himself. A single blast of force energy left him- and blasted toward that treeline.

If he imagined it this way, it was unclear. But what he saw made him exhale with a single syllable of a laugh.

As if in slow motion- his mind took everything in. There was a mass of energy he sent away from him. Invisible, but rounded, focused, concentrated. It rocketed toward the treeline, like another boulder being fired from a cannon. Once the force power struck the trees, a loud crack was heard, beneath the sounds of hundreds of splinters separating. The trees in the line all simultaneously snapped backward with no delay. Leaves took to the sky among shattered bits of trunk, splinters tumbling to the ground. The sound of a tree falling to the ground- dense, loud, and crunching as branches broke and leaves were crunched beneath the weight of the trunk.

This was it. This was what he was looking for. That application was not totally unlike the ability to concentrate on his actions to enhance them. Running, fighting, writing, jumping. Now this was like the ability to become his own battering ram.

[Dastan Imatari]

[Application- Force Level 10]

It was not just a day like any other. Dastan didnt know it, but a peculiar event was to happen today.

Their victory had been solidified shortly before in massive casualties. Dastan took time to reflect as he had, from time to time. The victory of the Sith was also his own victory. It solidified for now, his foothold in gaining power in the order. That power he so desperately craved. The dark side of the force fueled this motivation like a narcotic.

So while reflecting in meditation- he began his mantra of the Sith Code. A habit instilled in him in his training under Darth Preshi's temple denizens.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me.

He felt that burning within him, the familiar fire breathing deeply within his breast. The warmth the dark side of the force provided, and the power it allowed. The infinite power opened his eyes to almost every day proving to him that there are limitless bounds. Though these invisible boundaries took hard work to pass over. Dastan was not above getting his hands dirty for that work.

Also reasons Dastan didn’t sleep much these days. Rising from bed mid-sleep with nightmares. So many times he had been close to death in incredibly stressful moments. So many faces showing up in his dreams, the faces of the weak he had culled. The sounds and visions of combat bursting into his mind, rousing him from his sleep in a covering of sweat.

He had no time for regret, not anymore. He had gone too far to realize now that maybe it was a good time to stop some of the atrocities he had committed. They were all a means to an end, to get what he wanted. Which was more power. More strength. More skill. More influence. Craving ever more, no matter how much he had accomplished. The dark side showed him this. Never underestimate the power of the dark side of the force.

He had no time for regret. Or at least- that's what he told himself. Bottling his emotions up was what he would do, and surely it would arise later down the line as a mental illness, festering until it overflows. There was no emotional reconciliation for one such as him. There was no one for him to vent to any more. This was also something that drew him deeper into the darkness, as it naturally drug him deeper, and deeper.

As he meditated, he felt the energies of the world around him. The rug he sat upon. The fire pit before him. The chamber walls around him. The tapestries lining the hallway. The surges of power he got from feeling the lives of other powerful force users in the area. He, like several others, were chosen few of the masses of beings in the galaxy who had the gift of force sensitivity. The ability to manipulate and alter these mystical energies in the physical world as tools. With this gift, he drew motivation. Every breath he took he could feel the impacts of the life forces around him. All these life energies all around him, the people, the plant and wildlife sparse around the temple grounds. All connected.

Exhaling, he felt the heartbeats of all those around him. Just like fingerprints, everyone’s heartbeat was rather unique. He could feel it, almost as if it were a part of him, reverberating in his own chest. Feeling it within his body, in his bones. Fully a part of who he was. It was special, and admittedly, something he took for granted from time to time. Since he was around other members of the order, it seemed more mundane to him. Though in reality, and especially after the Empire’s previous ‘project harvester’, the number of people sensitive to the force in the galaxy was significantly lower than it had been.

Had he been fully conscious, and not in a meditative trance, Dastan would have laughed at the magnitude of the world bubble around him that he could now feel, and interact with. Years ago upon his start of training under Darth Vesper, he was only able to reach out just beyond his own arms. Now, that was magnified tenfold. He could feel the entire temple grounds now. . .

It wasn’t without sacrifice that he had gotten here. Sure, he had sacrificed much of himself to get here. Despite his many victories, he had also known the sting of defeat. The jedi remain hard to get to to take his revenge on the verpine who nearly killed him. The Mandal or ian forceful as well went dark. It was all tallied in his mind, tingling his growing confidence, and molding attitude, and his psyche.

His sanity was not necessarily waning, but the actions he took changed him in a slow manner. The dark side had began to taint him. The bodycount to his name was substantial, and the battle before this day magnified that number exponentially. Not only the enemies he had slain in combat, and even self defense… but innocents he had slain marked up to collateral damage, and even those he killed or hurt for leverage. The things he would normally try to avoid in years past, he cared less and less about as time went on. His conscience had changed. The dark side of the force saw to it that he looked only to the justification of his own rise in power above the lives of others. Subconsciously, however, it began taking a toll. Physically, even, as he delved ever deeper.

His scleras would turn reddened, bloodshot, and his irises glow a bright sulfuric yellow when accessing the power of the dark side, or in times of great passion and anger- and surely in combat. The growing bruising and darkening of his sockets due to the lack of sleep accented the burning of his eyes. His skin had also become lighter- paled, despite the time he spent in the outdoors. The pale skin would also burn and redden easier under sunlight radiation, where he would actually hold a darker tanning in his younger years. Though these days it wasn’t as noticeable, as he was often fully covered when in public.

He allowed his mind to float aimlessly long enough. He reined in his focus. The Sith Praxeum would recognize him for his growth in power soon enough.

That instant, his door hissed open behind him. Not precedented.. Dastan stood instantaneously and spun around to find the Barabels twins standing in his doorway. They were silhouetted by the light behind them. But their forms were immestakeable.

“What have I told you about knocking?” Dastan's vocabulator creeped out his voice.

They said nothing, and then two orange lightsabers sprung to life, casually at their sides. An obvious challenge. Dastan was in no mood. He sneered at them.

“So be it.”...

The two barabels charged in. Dastan quickly applied a force bolt to one, sending him spiralling toward the doorway, and he grabbed the other up with the force, telekinetically holding him in the air. The reptillian squirmed a bit, and then Dastan gripped harder, dragging the twin closer to him. He forcefully held his arms and legs straight and spread.

Dastan applied immediate crushing pressure inward toward the beings core, crumpling the reptiles bones with a series of loud creaking and shattering snaps. The being would have shrieked in pain, however surely she shock of the speed this happened and the immense applied pressure caused the being to go unconscious. Releasing the creature’s body, it crumbled to the floor, and his lightsaber deactivated. It lie motionless in a ball shaped pile of cloth, scaly flesh, and bone.

It was that moment the other reptillian charged, screaming in a language Dastan didn't know, or understand. Dastan easily danced around its feeble saber strikes using his combat sense. It wasn't difficult at this point. The lizardman was in a full rage, and only acting on instinct, and not looking forward through the force. Using a simple force charged strike, Dastan ducked under another saber strike to pop up with an uppercut with such force that immediately shattered the strong, long toothy jaw, breaking the upper layer of teeth, sending a spurt of blood through the creatures nose, and it collapsed next to its twin brother, saber deactivating as it hit the ground rolling. The sheer force would have killed him. Though it didnt….

The combat was only a few seconds long. But long enough for Dastan to realize that these two had still belonged to caecilis and deserved no quarter... It was a shame, those two were excellent warriors, but not very adept with the force. That was their undoing. The living barabel made some rather uncouth noises, and drew upon the dark side of the force to fuel him. His body jumped up, unstable, but fast.

The body took off running with impressive speed out the door, through the halls, and toward the hangars. Dastan lazily followed after, jogging. The barabel did it's best, swiping a blaster from a soldier in the halls after barreling it over. Taking pot shots behind it at Dastan, pursuing him. Dastan reached out with a hand and absorbed the first round of blasts. Though through a final hallway before opening to the outdoor hangar, another round of random blasts went Dastan's way.

Igniting his lightsaber, he batted the blasts away, marching through toward the fleeing lizardman. It did a good job, though. Killing a few of the soldiers stationed there to make way. It ran toward an open razor fighter in the hangar. Tossing the acquired blaster away, he leapt into the cockpit amd closed the hatch.

Dastan just crested the doorway to see the barabel firing up the ships engines, and hovering to takeoff. Burning with anger and hatred, Dastan kicked into gear. He didn't think this creature had the vitality for something like this!

Dastan burst toward the hangars exit way aided in speed with the force. The razor fighter hit thrusters to take it away, passing over Dastan's head, looking to the horizon, but somehow it wasn't going anywhere.

Dastan was growling with a roar, both hands outstretched, every muscle in his body straining. Reaching out with the force, he had grabbed hold of the razor fighter as it was in the air, though by only about ten yards. It vibrated around as the engines flared, unable to go any more. Dastan called every bit of strength he had to hold this small craft in place. Wrapping his force telekinetic tendrils around it, like roots to a tree.

Slowly, it's nose turned upward, likely a final attempt to blast away. It began to work, as it slowly rose in altitude. Though Dastan wouldn't allow this seemingly random attack go unpunished. The ship struggled to move, and he gave one more roar, moving his arms in a pushing movement, he swung the fighter into the rocky mountainside the hangar opened up to. A loud explosion was heard, and a ball of flame and smoke arose from the mountainside. Truly a feat of force power reserved for those near mastery level.

Standing, hunched, hands on his knees, “That's right, you kriffing backstabbing coward.” stated between huffing breaths. Dastan reached up and undid his helmet clasp, tearing it from his head, holding it, dangling in one hand. Sweating from the heat, and the run, as well as the massive exertion, his short dark hair glistened, and his pale cheeks were flushed.

“Now why, oh why, did they decide today was their day or rebellion?” He asked himself, turning around, walking back through the hangar slowly, breathing heavily. He watched a few of his officers run to aid him, blaster slung

[Dastan Imatari]

{Application for lightsaber construction: 1k word count}

On the surface of Rhen Var, he was able to miraculously uncover the crystal he didn’t know he was searching for. Atypical of one of the Sith to have something like this in their possession- the crystal was a cool color, not a blazing red one. The color was a cyan color, a mix of both blue and green. The crystal was found in a lockbox requiring the force to open, as well as a holocron, and a suit of archaic armor.

The holocron was of no use, as it discussed the way of the light, and Dastan nor Slade had any interest in keeping it around.

The components he was going to compile the lightsaber from were originally going to be refurbished parts from his training lightsaber he made while under the tutelage of Mariah and Darth Vesper. It was still functional, and he used it for training with his wardroids. Though instead, he was able to get some good components on his last trip to one of the higher tier Sith Academies.

The power cell and crystal mount were some of the more difficult pieces to come by in the proper sizing. The external parts were just fine, he had plenty lying around that he enjoyed on his ship. Though other parts were more universal, circuits and field energizers. These were able to comy be almost anywhere that sold machine, droid, or computer node parts.

One thing he had never tried before, and would be testing, was the ability to adjust the blade length. He knew that he wanted this blade to be shorter than the standard blade length- so he knowingly would be creating a shoto, though he wanted the blade length to be variable. Anywhere between twelve and twenty-seven inches of blade length. Twelve would be good for very fast engagements, and up to the twenty seven inches of blade would be good for leverage and putting strength behind his quick attacks.

The shortened blade length would require him to be much faster- and be able to close the gaps between he and his targets much faster. Though this was no worry to himself, he much preferred getting into people’s personal bubbles and was adept at closing that distance gap. His skill in martial arts were near unmatched at this point- coupled with his experience, and the force. This would help his ability to utilize the lightsaber shoto in the proper ways.

Sitting in his personal chambers, he had the pieces laid out- and all the electronics soldered and put together as much as he could before putting the pieces together to make the whole weapon. They lie on a rolled out, thick microfiber cloth. This was before his crossed legs. His eyes closed, and his hands placed on his knees, comfortably.

He began swiftly- as at this point, he was adept at refurbishing and reconstructing his own, and the training lightsabers he had for his droids. First, he lifted the small battery-like power cell, as well as the power insulator and crystal mount- and placed them together carefully. The cell slid into the insulator perfectly, and the crystal mount stuck to the cell’s exposed end. He placed the new blue-green crystal in the mount to keep it there, before setting the focus crystal above it, and into the focusing crystal activator.

At this point, the construction was floating before him about chest high. It looked like a battery stuck halfway in a tube, with a tee-sized cone sticking to the end of that with a little crystal form sitting on it.

After the focusing crystal, he wrapped the wires through the cycling field energizer coils and attached them to the focusing crystal’s housing, as well as the modulation circuit board. Next would be the external tubing around the bottom half, which had a shrouded knurled grip for texture, allowing a great grip.

The activation buttons were placed and wired, and looked something like a speeder bike’s accelerate and decelerate buttons. Inside was the difference, an on/off bar was placed inside the buttons. This was a ‘safety’ switch for the blade. That meant only he would be able to use the blade after ticking the safety ‘off’ telekinetically before activating the blade.

The emitter screwed into the top of this, and had smaller adjuster knobs on the side. This was wired to the circuit board as well, and would allow power length adjustments to the blade. The blade emitter shroud was part of the emitter, and didn’t have any angular hiders or anything, it was merely a basic design with a flat tip housing the stabilizing ring that wound around the blade’s ‘barrell’.

Once screwed in, he sensed through the cylindrical weapon’s internals. All the wiring seemed set up. The adjuster buttons were hooked to the proper places on the circuit board, all the buttons were wired, the emitter was stable, the power cell was brand new. Everything seemed in place, nothing awkwardly crossing about inside. It was time. Telekinetically, all the pieces were then screwed together tightly.

The new weapon remained floating before him as he sat. At a glance, it looked something like the handle of a speeder bike. It was about nine inches in length, and the coloring was a solid black color. The knurling wouldn’t allow a reflective surface, and the parts that weren’t knurled were covered in a semi-gloss, though near-matte metallic paint. Another of his creations that were not ornamental but fully functional and utilitarian. This was a weapon- not a showpiece.

A smaller weapon that would require every ounce of hand wrist, and forearm strength, as well as speed. Opening his eyes, he gave a slight smirk- satisfied with it’s look. His right hand, previously resting on his knee would open fully, and turn over- palm up. The saber twisted and seemed to magnetize to his hand quietly.

Now was the time. Confident, he reached his arm out- and his thumb found the activation button. This was either going to activate the blade, or blow his arm off. He had yet to fail at building a weapon such as this before, he didn’t have any reason to second guess himself. The button was a flush switch that was force-locked with an internal safety. This meant only a user of the force, and someone familiar with his internal construction would be able to switch off the safety before being able to activate the blade.

He flipped the safety ‘off’. Feeling the ‘click’ inside, he thumbed the blade’s button. Instant euphoria as the blade sprung to life with the iconic electronic splash of plasma bursting from the hilt. The blade was set at the longest setting- which he immediately recognized that he reversed the dial on the knob. So the longest setting would be the shortest, and the shortest would be the longest. A simple issue that would only matter to ‘him’, as there was no visual representation on ‘longer’ or ‘shorter’. It was just knob twisting to the ‘right’ or the ‘left’’. Not something he would sincerely bother with replacing or redoing. At least, not right now.

Right now, he admired the blade’s color. Not unlike the crystal’s coloring itself- the blade’s core was a burning white, but the light that emitted was a bold cyan color. Just as much blue as it was green. A strange color for a practitioner of the dark side- but that crystal had a story. A story that he would now continue on- stolen from the family who owned it, and passed it from generation to generation.

He rather liked the color, but it certainly wouldn’t evoke those feelings of ‘sith’ to his enemies who would see the blade. No matter, deception was often a great thing to wield. Though if vanity got the best of him, he would always be able to swap out his blazing red crystal to this new design.

[Dastan Imatari]

[Force Level 11]
This was years in the making. A day he knew would always come, but never realized how close it was until it rounded the corner.

The yellow-orange light glinted off the contours of his body as he sat alone in the cargo hold of his ship, lit by a single dim light above the loading door that lead to the inner hallways.

The force moved near effortlessly toward him as he drew it in with an inhale. He could feel the burning sensation it gave when taking in the dark side. Lighting the coals of what seemed to remain within him. He let it dance within him like the fire he always imagined inside. Many described this like a narcotic to the soul. It wouldn't be wrong, though to Dastan, it wouldn't be totally accurate either.

It was like eating your favorite food, to him. Yes, like a narcotic it gave immeasurable sensations of physical and spiritual power. Though it sustained him like taking nourishment. His time in isolation with the darkness made him closer to being one with it. None else would console him. None else would speak to him. None else to guide and motivate. Other than the dark side of the force.

Having been freed from his cell, he was now free to roam the galaxy again. Yes, under the leash of a long corrupt and misguided order of zealous dark side adherents who craved power over all. Though free, he was. The price he would pay for his freedom came in the countless he slew on the battlefield of Ziost to free the order from one corrupt Sith to another. They were all corrupt. All using the orders denizens and adherents for their own ideas of gain.

This day he caught glimpse of something within the force. A sign. Not precognitive, maybe something sent direct to him. Never one to really understand fully at first- he took things for face value. The whills spoke and he did his version of listening. Though honestly even at this stage it was still like watching a scrambled holomessage.

Dastan could lift a fighter from its gear. Cut down scores of elite soldiers. Slay literal Dragons. Steal thoughts and memories from people’s unwilling minds, and cause them immense phantom pain with but a thought. Though when it came to deciphering complex messages sent from disturbances through the ebb and flow of force energies? He was a new knight all over again.

Though he did feel something familiar. Something he hadn't felt for some time now. There was emotion here, too. Like the message itself was just reliving a certain raw emotion, not attached to any event. Momentarily he lived in that emotion, before a rumble beneath him snapped him out of it.

The ship he was in was travelling for a planet that still housed a field of freshly slaughtered sith warriors. Malice, hate, despair, fear. All these could be felt by him as they neared. Maybe that was part of what he felt? Just the waves of dark force emitted from the surface.

Though as they neared orbit in his Yt 2000, it became clear that it was not the same. It was not the planet he saw victory on, and was about to meet colleagues upon. It was a taste of betrayal. Bitterness and white-hot rage coupled with despair and sorrow. The force guided his mind thereafter slowly being able to sift through those emotions.

Then his eyes near twitched as he felt a tug on his soul to pull him away. Away from Ziost, toward that sensation stinging bile and anger come from. A flicker in his vision. A planet he didn't recognize and a whisper he couldn't place his finger on.

After some time, felt like ages, his meditations brought clarity as they always did.

His breathing increased, his nostrils flared, and his pupils constricted, leaving his irises a burning magma color strangling a small black dot. The power of the force pumped his body full to bursting with powerful passion.

The door hissed open before him by about five yards, stretching a blue-white pillar into the room, and reached over his black clad body. In the doorway stood the black silhouette of one of his wardroids against the gray and silvers of the hallway behind him.

“*Master, we are cleared fo-*” the droid wasn't able to finish before it was lifted from the ground. As it raised quickly, a few sparks shot from it’s neck and shoulder near simultaneously. The droid then imploded inward toward its chest with a sickening metal squeak, then crunch. Dastan’s eyes would have burnt holes in the droid from beneath an angled, lowered brow. Though because the droid ‘rudely interrupted’, and he was already newly angered- he took it out on the droid… crushing it in an instant. They learned to knock or introduce themselves before barging into the training cargo hold.

Standing in a swift motion as the droid densely fell to the floor with a thud, Dastan shifted his gaze to the ‘close’ button on the doorframe and depressed it with the force. The light was squeezed away once more.

Though as if on cue with the darkness, the force spoke to him again. A blur, and a slight headache wedged in. This would be something he would have to meditate on.

Thumping back down to the ground impatiently, he closed his eyes and reached into the force pools. Focusing hard on clarifying this sense he kept feeling. Like a bad radio signal, he kept reaching out further and further to make sense of this ridiculous constant pinging in his sixth sense.

Like radio waves, he kept pulsing his force influence further out to at least get a good directional awareness of where it was coming from, and Ziost certainly wasn't it. It was like voiceless whispers that he was trying to command they speak to him. After many years with the Sith, he could tell the difference between someone interfering with his mind, and the living force itself giving him sensations.

This had its own flavor of force with it. That's when he picked it up that it was probably someone trying to reach out to him, calling him. But who would want to reach out to him with the force, and not regular comms? He could think of only a few. But only one made sense…. So continued Meditating until his ship reached Ziost’s surface.

Meeting with other ranking officials of the Sith Order, survivors of the red cauldron’s resistance. He gave them a mission that he himself was going to lead. Though he passed it off to one of tormentous’ apprentices upon realization that this previous disturbance he felt within the force was more important than chasing down a fistful of Tormentous’ enemies.

Once that order of business was tended to, he was back into his ship and on his way toward a hunch. One that took him far galactic north. He had found what felt like the tail end of a trail. Like a scent trail left by the force. As if the pings that were sent to him in the force left residual buoys, so to speak. He and the Merciless bounced through the galaxy to a Alliance space.

The trail warmed with each passing system crossed. Until he ended up outside an old droid manufacturing planet called Neelgaimon. The sense this planet gave him was intense. The dark side chilled his spine, but also there was a stale tension in the aura, as well. It didn't take him long to figure out that someone had been laying him a trap.

His ship landed on a flat, abandoned warehouse or other industrial type building. Activating his droid retinue on his ship for security, he left moderately armored, and armed with his lightsabers.

The planet's environment here was sandy and rocky. Daybreak, so the skies were a bit orange tinged with violets. No trees in sight, but there were large metallic formations jutting out here and there from the dirt and sand hills. Abandoned industry left years ago to the elements. It wasn't like Tattooine’s dunes, but it was similar in that this was a near forgotten desert planet.

The draw of the force pushed his legs onward. Signals so faint that many would have ignored as their own will. Through the hard patches of rocky dirt and sandy hills. Following this magnetism had him crossing the terrain, fearless as there wasn't any life here. At least not nearby. Taking in the force for sustenance and protection from the elements, he never took breaks. Storing energy from a more literal sense and using that to quench any thoughts or desires for nourishment as the sun revolved again. Keeping him locked to the task at hand.

He was something else now. Ever evolving to the power he absorbed. Now at this stage of life he was teetering on being a master of the Sith Order. Commanding more power as the months passed. A busybody with a goal of dominance. Marching through this wasteland was nothing to him. The force provided all things if you could envision and manipulate it to your will. For the most part, Dastan's will was near unbreakable. Though his commitment and allegiance was certainly something he worried about. Naria’s corruption in him ran deep like a poison. The poison of doubt.

Though she indeed taught him the dark side of the force, her method was often not very ‘sith’. Something they often butted heads over. Dastan was also one of the best swordsmen in the Sith, near unquestionably. His ability with manipulating the force was near masterful. It was all of these things that made him who he was this day, and every other day to come. A dark force warrior whose power was beginning to catch up to his arrogance.

True he still had more than enough to learn, but where he had reached to this point was rather lofty. Living with the force as an ally for several years. He inhaled, and could feel things around him differently. The universe spoke to him through the force. Though he only need to meditate and focus to hear. Things he used to struggle to do, he now almost took for granted. The ability to reach out with his hand, extend the force, and toggle a button, lift a box. The ability to forsee the next several movements ahead in combat like precognition. The ability to greatly enhance his physical strength in combat. One problem, as it always was with him- was making full sense of force disturbances and feelings received. It just took him longer than others at his same level, as his abilities with sensing through the force was still slightly behind.

It was clear now what he was looking for. It was always clear to him by deduction- but he had a sliver of hope that it wasn't. Dastan was not that dense. The being with a tight enough bond with him to be able to strum a chord, and be able to reach across a galaxy for him to sense it...

Naria.

A double agent of the highest caliber. A jedi who became a Sith at the expense of her conscience. Now- A shadow of her former self, as most who go undercover. Likely looking for solace with her old keepers. A final attempt to draw Dastan to the light with the doubt she seeded years ago... That was what he saw before him. To be honest he was not sure how he would be able to respond. This was someone he had a complicated relationship with. She taught him everything he knows. Naria was the only person he formed a real bond with that walked a fine line, teetering on romantic. Dastan would do near anything for her, and she knew it. Maybe he'd even throw away the life he had created with the Sith. The life that Naria herself fostered.

About the time his mind about reached a verdict was when he felt the force in waves. Familiar. . . Indeed exactly what he was looking for.

Passing between two large buildings jutting up from the sand, abandoned, dark, rusted out metal. What likely used to be a narrow street was just sand now. And before him was the broad side of a building with what appeared to be a hole in the second floor. This had to be an old warehouse complex.

Wind moaned quietly in the distance as it passed over the hole. The slight swish of sand carried by the wind brushing away at the metal walls. Looking up, it looked as if the building had endured a small explosion, but not originally, when all this was abandoned…no, this was a makeshift entrance.

Sizing the distance between he and the second story, he knew he was more than capable of making it up there. Though not knowing if there was a functioning catwalk or open floor, or what laid up there for him- he’d nimbly leap up and perch in the hole itself using the force to propel him there. His feet landed on the several inch thick lip of the singed hole, and used a single arm to brace himself, he looked beneath him. It was a large warehouse, beneath him not far was a catwalk that still looked plenty functional.

Dropping down on the catwalk, his boots clunked on the grated metallic surface. His cowl flapped quietly until it came to rest behind him. Taking the area in, it was simple. Rows of highly stacked crates separated by thin walkways. The catwalk he was on wrapped around the perimeter of the room, and crossing in a few points. Closer surveying revealed the rooms exit points. Though before he knew it, he was on the move again, following after this damned feeling.

Dropping to the lower level with ease, he made his way down an aisle leading toward a Duraglass door, whose power source for the opening mechanism was severed by a single slash in the console, made by a plasma blade. Easily sliding the door open with the force, he twitched his hand to move it.

Past this door was a small dark room, and another door- but this one was still open. Passing beneath the doorway revealed the large assembly room. Mechanical equipment and conveyor belts, disabled hoverlifts created almost a maze within. Though as he moved closer into the room, the light source was quite limited, and he could only barely see the basic gist of the area.

It was near pitch black in here, and Dastan's helmet view couldn't brighten it much more, so he drew his lightsaber to his hand. The durable metal jumping to his gloved palm, and before he ignited the blade, a voice.

“Don’t.”
Feminine, gravelly voice. Quiet, pleading. Her presence within the force emerged as soon as her voice. She had been masking herself as she hid. Dastan’s back began to burn with frustration, tingling up his spine. Having missed her, he immediately pulsed out with the force- sending something of a sense shockwave to see if there were other living beings inside the large room.

Exhaling through his teeth with a bit of a hiss, it was just audible enough for his vocabulator to pick up and flange. Furious, there were three other people inside, hiding. One female stood away from the others, and that was the one who spoke. That familiar voice that brought so many mixed emotions. Though she was no longer hiding herself. The others were still trying to hide from him. Try as they might, he was able to sniff them out- so to speak. Their force sensitivity was apparent, as well- as he could feel that the force was being manipulated by those three individuals to try and mask themselves. For now he payed them no mind.
[End force level 11]

“Please. Don’t.”
It pleaded again, and Dastan saw before him a familiar figure step out into a walkway, barely visible, though he could feel her with the force plenty well enough.

“You expect me” He gestured to himself, “to talk to you peaceably?” he gestured wildly, taking a step forward.

Painful silence for a moment.

“I assume they’re with you- as well.” His face burned with anger. How could he have been so stupid?

[Dastan Imatari]

---

There was no reply. Though no one moved, either.

“Why couldn't you just be here alone, Naria?” Dastan's voice, even through his helmet's vocabulator sounded both sorrowful, and disappointed. His hand tightened around his lightsaber hilt, the leather in his gloves creaked quietly.

The female sighed. “Take off your helmet, Dastan.” She slowly stepped closer. Dastan stood stalwart, fuming. He gestured with his offhand- as if he were making a stand against her.

“You don't get to give me orders. Not after SuSevFi.”

“Come o’-. Dastan. That wasn't easy for me, either!”

“So you. ‘You’ had it so hard, didn't you?” his left hand flexed hard, as if he were crushing an invisible ball in his palm. “Being helped out of that Jensaarai temple's depths. Then making a fun holocall to your faraway friends, and knocking your near helpless, ‘actually’ helpful friend in the head- the same one that- might I add- saved your damn skin from that Dragon, and several disgruntled mercs? Not to mention literally the only person who vouched for you when Preshi made you out the first time. Yeah. That must have been so hard on you.”

“You weren't. Supposed. To be there. I told you to check that ship on the pad for launch capabilities.”

“I trusted you, Naria. Why weren't you just honest with me from the beginning?” the venom from his voice was softening. His clenched fists beginning to relax.

“I'd have been turned in by you!” Even in the dark, She couldn't hold back the smile that quickly faded, “Or worse, and more likely- they would have killed us both.” True enough. Back then Dastan had plenty to prove to an order he didn't yet understand.

“Would have saved us both a lot of trouble.” the dark humor made less so in his vocabulator’s deep flanged tone.

Narias head dipped, pondering before giving a nod. “Maybe.”

She stepped forward toward him. He could barely make out her blonde hair, her familiar figure in different trappings. Where she normally wore black form fitting clothing with a sleeveless cloak, she wore more casual garb. Gray pants and black boots with a navy shirt and a black vest. Her neck was covered by a gray scarf.

Dastan looked over her features in the darkness. Suddenly his anger began melting away.

“We don't have a lot of time,” her left hand reached up cautiously. “Come with me and I can explain everything.”

Despite what he would normally have done, which was draw back and recoil in distrust… he sighed, and looked to her, “Of c-”

She was using mind tricks on him. Though he didn’t notice. He began raising his saber hand.

“wh-No!” Naria’s voice cried suddenly to the sound of a high pitched squealing hiss of a lightsaber igniting from above and behind Dastan.

As if coming from a confused daze, Dastan was slow to react. He didn't have time to activate his own blade, but he did spin around, and look up at the masculine figure dropping down on him from above- a glowing yellow blade arcing with it.

“What are you doing?!?” Naria shrieked.

Three more figures scurried into the view from behind storage crates- one in the same that Dastan had noticed were with Naria to begin with.

“You idiots!” She cried sharply.

Catching the first assailants saber wrist in one hand, he fell back with the momentum with a roll, and guided and flung the body in a toss over his own, his back to fu the ground.

Safe... Dastan thought, for now. He flipped over onto his belly and looked up, seeing Naria running to the two figures closest to her- arms outstretched... and seeing the glow of blue and green from different areas in the large room, divided by large metallic storage crates.

“Trying to kill me?” He growled under his breath, pressing himself up. He stood and watched the man he tossed over himself into a nearby crate dust himself off. Dastan stood silently before holding out his blade, pointed at a downward angle, flipping the activate button on his hilt.

“Time for a lesson.”
The blazing red blade sprang to life with a deep vibrato after a bassy electronic crash.

[Masterful saber combat application : 1100 words]
Naria's voice was heard in the distance barking orders, and trying to get the two (What Dastan now assumed were jedi) near her to stand down.

Dastan was standing around the edge of a large room, with railway sized cargo crates closer against the opposite walls. They were given enough space between the crate and wall to get a hoverlift back there, though Dastan's area was mostly open ground.

It was instinctive. Blade babbling, facing one opponent head on, but one more nearby waiting for an entry. The one before him wore a thin light natural-colored leatheris jacket accented with maroon... with tan pants and brown knee high boots. His hands were gloved in brown, and his lightsaber was utilitarian with a blue blade. The man was about Dastan's own age range, blonde of hair and clean shaven.

The blonde in the jacket made the first move, lunging in with a sideswipe. Quickly bringing his saber up, he deflected the blue blade with his own blazing red, and redirected it up and around him. This left a brief opening to cut his opponent in twine, but they were rather quick, and their sabers bounced off one another again.

Around this time, one with a green glowing blade dashed in, swiping for Dastan’s back. With an efficient spin, Dastan twirled the blade around his head and sideswiped the incoming attack.

He didn’t get a look at the other assailant, other than he was a brunette with a short beard, and seemed to be wearing grays and red. It was all a blur for a moment, attacking, deflecting and defending. Both opponents were rather skilled, fast, and one of them- the blonde- was exceptionally strong despite his size.

It was a turning back and forth, pressing the attack or defending one opponent before necessity dictated defending his opposite flank before being impaled, bisected, or dismembered by an oncoming blade. Even deflecting both blades at the same time.

Though from the distance, Naria kept an eye on the fight, losing hope that the other two she was talking to wouldn’t interfere. They wouldn’t watch and let their friends possibly be killed while they stood around. She was in a tough spot. If she showed too much mercy, she would be seen as unfit to do her job- which was to take the Sith- alive preferably, but another dead sith lord is still a win for just about anyone.

In Dastan’s head, he was still a few steps ahead of them. His ability to sense the flow of combat was much more advanced than the green sabered assailant. The blonde, however, was quite skilled and wasn’t as easy to manipulate and maneuver. Though as all combat did, it would not last long. There were only a few more moves left before Dastan had to kill or be killed. This wasn’t a holofilm, and fights with weapons as deadly as the lightsaber did not last long.

Naria lost grip on the two jedi that were with her. One was an older Cerean, and the other a human. A cerean male with a long moustache wearing dark violet and tan. The human female had short white-blonde hair.

Dastan hit a stalemate, the Blonde and brunette with the beard were backed off for a moment, and Dastan stood still, taking his breath in slow heaves. He drew quickly onto the dark side of the force.

“I knew this was a trap- but I didn’t expect you’d try to kill me so quickly.” he growled out- directed to Naria. She didn’t give a response, at least not that he heard.

“Teric, we’re coming!” shouted the white-blonde female.
“Hold him off!” the Cerean barked.


Both were sprinting in to surround the Sith, footfalls echoing slightly.

“You’re not going to take me alive, whelps.” His voice near hissed. He drew upon their anxiety of combat, fueling himself.

No matter the skill, the odds were not in favor of a four-on-one combat.

Naria slowly walked in, flashes of memory from her training sessions years ago with a more inexperienced Dastan. Oh, how things have changed since then.

It was over rather quickly. The bout lasted less than a minute. Though in Dastan’s mind, it lasted a lifetime, living in the moments. Relishing, and reliving- not unlike Naria- some training sessions. Burnt into himself as instinct now- those thoughts weren’t replays in his mind, to ponder. They were integrated into part of him. Knee jerk reaction and reflex.

The room was near open. Dastan stood in the middle of the four assailants. As he had remembered, it was him that needed to make the first move, because if he allowed his opponents the chance to work together, he would be dead.

His first action, proving to be an important opener. Dashing toward the Cerean who just arrived, he delivered a sweeping slash to keep the others at bay- having the cerean draw up their blade to defend- and gave them a hard kick to the midsection. The Cerean would stumble back, but Dastan’s rear was open to attack by two, but one to his right was still for a moment- being careful of Dastan’s waving blade in his right hand.

As he had experienced- and as he would do, as well- because it was an obvious move. Once his back was turned, they would lunge in for the kill, by striking his back. He needed to create distance, and try to get them all in front of him. He spun to face the two coming at him, and cross-clashed his blade with the first incoming assailant, positioning himself with a sidestep at the same time. This put him out of the ‘ring’.

Though just as he deflected and sidestepped the one, another came after him with a green blade.

**”They will likely scramble to you one after the next, out from behind and around one another. Keep them fighting for angles among themselves,” the feint echo would play in his mind, Naria’s voice coaching him as he trained against warbots with vibroblades.

The green blade flashed from overtop, and was met with equal force with a block- giving room for Dastan to kick them in the gut, stumbling back into the Cerean.

The white-blonde female charged in with a flurry of blows that pushed Dastan back as he deflected each. Though on her last swipe, he stepped toward her- not away, and twirled around her, bringing his blade down as his body spun. He heard a satisfying ‘hiss’ as his blade passed through flesh. She shrieked, and spun to the ground. It didn’t sound fatal, but it put one attacker out for a moment.

**”Do not allow a blade to lock you into place, if they attempt a show of force by pushing you back, twist your blade over theirs and make them pay for it.” the voice again- recalling the lessons on always be countering and parrying- not to block with force.

Then the Cerean came from between two scrambling bodies- light green bladed saber brandished with a roar. Dastan was in mid-movement to get them to keep moving after him, and had to bat a few hard strikes away before the blonde man’s blue blade bowed in from the side, causing Dastan to backstep. With that, the Cerean tried Dastan’s favorite move against him- the falling avalanche. Powerful downward strike that Dastan lifted his blade to deflect, but the Cerean was physically stronger, and their blades locked. With that- Dastan’s eyes flashed and he twisted his wrist with a full forearm’s worth of strength, bringing his blade’s point toward the alien’s body. They doubled back.

**”Do not be goaded into using your body to strike if you can use your blade.” Dastan was first and foremost a martial arts expert. More often than not he preferred to feel bone crunch beneath a thrown punch compared to the light resistance and smell of burnt flesh that a lightsaber created. ”Make them pay for every mistake.”

The brunette man with a green blade was back, to which Dastan went on the offensive with powerful moves to force the man back from where he came. To which the Blonde was back to him, making Dastan keep sidestepping. The female showed in again with her silvery blue blade attacking Dastan’s openings. For a moment he locked up the wrist of the blonde, to which the blonde panicked, striking out with his fist. It must have been aided by the force because even with his helmet on, Dastan needed to roll with it, turning his head.

This was an automatic hot button for him. His rage took over and the only thing he wanted to do was tear into the man with his bare fists. Though he heard Naria’s voice nagging at him to put the rage to good use.

His head snapped back to position, and Dastan twisted harder on his blade, turning the point of the blade downward into the man’s bicep. Unsure if there was any bisection, he didn’t care, he knew the blonde would disengage due to either pain- or losing his swordarm. The bark from the man’s voice was enough to allow Dastan to backstep with a sweeping blow to keep the next aggressor at bay.

**”Show no mercy. The Sith don’t suffer the weak unless they serve a purpose. In combat, your purpose is to conquer.”

The Cerean made his way toward him, as did the white blonde female, and the brunette male.

Chaos again as the three attacked him, alternating up until their last seconds. The cerean was first, lunging in with a thrust around the female. It put her off-kilter at how close he came, so she stumbled aside, which meant he had no cover. Dastan quickly took advantage and dipped away from the thrusted blade, and slashed diagonally. There was no noise other than the sound of a lightsaber’s buzzing resistance as the blade passed down through the man’s neck, going as far down as to cut the man’s swordarm off, as well.

This was when Naria charged toward the fight, reluctantly.

Taking no time, Dastan twirled around the now dead and falling Cerean to assault the brunette male with a series of testing blows before the female swiped in with a roar. Fluidly, Dastan twirled around the human male’s body, and the final spin had Dastan’s blade slash through the man’s midsection.

It was here he noticed Naria’s light yellow blade near the other human female’s silvery blue one. Though Naria didn’t stop her charge,

“Don’t kill them!” she came at Dastan in full force using the archaic form four. This allowed the other opponent to get a flanking angle on the Sith.

It didn’t work, the female charged in with an ill timed slash- to which Dastan pushed down her blue blade, rolled into her, disarmed her, and spun to face her, dragging his blade up through her left shoulder, then across to behead her.

Shoving the body aside with his shoulder, he turned to deal with Naria as she was coming in with her blade quickly.

Though at the same time, he got a tingling sense from his combat awareness. Another opponent. The one he thought he dismembered. Turns out he did, but the arm was a prosthetic- which made sense with the amount of power the guy was putting into his blows. The blonde man came in with the falling leaf technique- A leaping downward strike. Dastan was in mid-step, and wouldn’t be able to avoid both enemies at the same time.

His brain didn’t have the second to react, but his body did. Left hand shot out toward the man, and his blade met Naria’s with a splash. His left hand held the man in place with the force for an instant before slamming him into the ground, and doubling back so Naria couldn’t double strike against him.

“So the Apprentice becomes the Master.” Dastan’s voice hissed as he gave himself some room again. The bodies spread out in the center of the room.

“I was never your Master.” Naria repeated.

“Oh you think that you were my friend?” Dastan barked back.

“Those were my friends, too.” She replied, gesturing quickly to the three lying dead, and one likely unconscious.

“Then why did you bring them with you?” Dastan stepped aside, but Naria matched him for the step- not allowing him to reposition.

“They were coming to bring me in.”

“So why were you calling to me?” Dastan near interrupted.

“Calli-... You think I was calling to you?”

“I could feel something. Like you were drawing me to you. I’ve never felt anything like it.” he shook his head, and gripped his hilt tighter, squeezing his fingers a few times to keep the blood moving.

“I was certainly not calling you to me..” she replied again, though her mind began to race. She had extensively thought about Dastan during her debrief with the four here before they took her back to one of the Jedi temples. She would be processed, and either rehabilitated or exiled. Maybe the intense emotions around what she was thinking and feeling as she spoke tugged on Dastan due to their close relationship.

“You can’t beat me now.” Dastan shook his head. “And I can’t let you go.”

“Please, Dastan.” her blade went from aggressive to passive- point now toward the ground. “I don’t want to do this. I just want to get away. I can’t deal with all of this anymore.”

“So you really are a Jedi after all.” a nod. “I never knew it went that deep. I never knew Preshi would be right. In fact, I killed him in your name.”

“Not to avenge your imprisonment?” she heard about what happened after their last mission.

“Yes, that. But the last words he heard before i drove my blade into him was your name.”

It was silent for a moment. “Please, just let me go.”

“No!” he swished his blade through the air. “You left me to die! If Tormentous hadn’t sprung me from that prison, I’d still be there, rotting, because of you!”

“So you’d kill me? Is that it? All those years, just gone?”

“You. Left. Me. To. Die! Or worse!”

“Dastan that’s -”

“You can’t tell me that’s better than what would have happened in any other scenario!” He stepped toward her, his anger boiling up in him. “You know if you told me- I may have even gone with you.”

“Dast-”

“To hell with the Sith. They’re always going to be what they always have been. A swarm of self-loathing backstabbers. Every time someone tries to unite the cause - another is there to cut them down in some manner. That’s how it is- that’s how it’s always been, that’s how it’s always going to be.”

“You’re right. I should have given you the chance to come with me.”

“You didn’t even give me that. And I…” Dastan cut himself off. He didn’t want to get too sentimental. “I just can’t believe you’d just leave me behind like that, with no word. Nothing. We were closer than just being trainer and trainee.” The heat building up his back again.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see that you would have followed me anyhow…” Naria whispered to herself aimlessly.

He ripped his helmet off and tossed it aside. “But it’s all over now.” he shook his head painfully, and stomped forward again. “I can’t let you go. I can’t allow myself to forgive you.”

It was a slow build. Dastan’s rage got the best of him. It’s like it wasn’t even him anymore. The dark side of the force had taken over him. His mind, influencing and poisoning himself against Naria. In his mind, it played out differently.

Their blades clashed again and again with ridiculous amounts of speed and force. The yellow blade was faster, but the red one was stronger. Spinning, twirling, hacking the glowing blades against each other, the idea that survival was on the line kept each strike efficient.

The force flow was smooth and fluid between the two. Masterfully made strikes, quick and ergonomic parries. It was near stalemate. Though Dastan was better. He had trained with Vesper, Preshi, Naria herself, Other Sith swordsmasters, and finally with the experience of actual combat against other Jedi of differing ranks... His will, his speed, and experience weighed against Narias was near equal. Though his technique was fairly more sloppy, that didn’t mean he was a poor fighter. He just put more rage into his fight.

Different moments in their past played on in his head, the good memories of her that he was fighting for. His body and mind were locked in combat, but his emotions were drifting toward hate. Naria was not who he hated, but the dark side seemed to inject the thought.

It was all over rather quickly, however. Naria made a flourishing move, and attempted to deliver a combination of a saber slash, and hard flip kick, when Dastan caught the kick under his arm, and disarmed her saber. He drove his mind into the force, and his body twisted with the momentum of the kick, driving his free foot to sweep her standing leg. She went down beneath him, her saber scattered across the ground, and Dastan’s blade stuck her in the midsection as they fell.

He had defeated his master.
[end masterful saber combat]

He lay atop her, face to face, his left hand holding her wrist, his right hand held his lightsaber between them. It deactivated as they fell, but he knew it dug into the ground on their way down.

That was the instant, Dastan knew he had won. Survived again. The dark side felt good. That rage, the anger paid off. He had defeated his former mentor. Proven that he was the better warrior.

At what cost? What had he done? Was it through her vitals? Or just soft tissue?

Oh gods, what had he done? Was she okay? How could he have done this? Is it real? Was this a dream?

“...Naria.”

[Dastan Imatari]

[Force Level 12]

The years it has been. The power of the force commanded by Dastan was exponentially multiplied every year. Every month. He became increasingly more adept in it's use. This day would mark his day to Masterhood. Not total masterhood, but becoming a master of the dark side of the force. Knowing what it all meant, and where it would lead him. Though he never saw this coming- he should have.

In his mind, he saw it all. Dastan would speak to the force, and it seemed to speak back. Telling him of things to come. The understanding that the life energies that connected all things guided his steps in life. Giving him hints, clues to the future. Paths to truth, victory, and this case- maybe even love.

Finally having freed himself from the shackles of the thing he felt tied him to his humanity- he was free. Totally free. The last hope the force had in Dastan turning to correct his ways with the light was now gone, having done what he never thought possible. All this time, he thought the universe was giving him signs to stay with her. Go along, crawl out of the darkness and repent for his long list of sins… How wrong he was- and the realizations came…

That maybe the learning process in the force wasn’t all about something you gain- but the things you lose, and sacrifice along the way. Growth not only requires stepping forward- but also shedding the things that weigh you down.

**

His nerves shook, his guts went to liquid, and his mind raced with panic in the moment..

"...Naria!?" his voice louder, shaking, panicked.The waters of reality crashed into him.

Her eyes stared back into his, and he felt something within the force whisper to him. Cold. It sent prickles up his neck from between his shoulders.

Her brow furrowed, and she blinked. Her lips parted and she looked down with her eyes only- for a flicker of a second. She realized it, too. She croaked his name quietly. Tears welled up in her lower lids, and drew back toward the corner of her eyes- gravity pulling them to the ground. Her brow then turned up-

He could feel her fear. He felt her sorrow, her suffering. A deep sadness and regret. Being so attached to something and knowing that you were the cause of it's release began to weigh on him already. This was the language of the dark side.

"No.. no no no.." He kept repeating hurriedly, all under his breath. He heard his lightsaber deactivate, and his right hand subconsciously tossed it aside. His left hand let go of her wrist, and it moved down under her arm to pull her closer to him. She felt heavy- she wasn't moving 'with' him. His right hand cradled the back of her head and he hunched over her- and produced something of a growl, that turned into more of a howl- releasing his anger and sorrow at the same time.

**

Something felt abnormal in the force inside of him. There wasn't any conflict. No more schism. Though in his mind all he was doing was cursing in total denial. He felt hollow- empty, a huge yawning chasm cut deep into his soul. Was this a good thing, or a bad thing? Empty because now there’s room for more? Or Empty, because it lacks value, purpose, and is lacking meaning?

"We could have left..." she whispered. He barely heard her voice, beneath his own moaning, and he could barely see her, his vision was a little wobbly, as if there was something in his eyes. "We could have left the galaxy behind."

"Naria... I couldn't..." he hunched over her, and looked to her lips. and over her eyes. "I couldn't control it... " He had to huff his voice out. It didn't seem to want to come out on it's own- he had to force every word he said.

"You chose the darkness." her voice broke on the last word, her face drew up and the tears drew from the corner of her eyes down her temples, toward her ears. Dastan tilted her up, and pulled her upper body to his lap. Her face twisted in anger, then gave more of a worried look.

"I h-had to." His voice wasn't self assured as it usually was. Quiet, shaky. His placid eyes bloodshot, began to turn a violent shade of red and yellow sunburst. "You were the last thing tying me to the light." The dark side seemed to speak through him. Saying things that he didn’t want to say. Though not that it were untrue...

She struggled to find her words. She moaned a bit in pain, and gurgled over her next ones, "Or maybe it chose you."

He could feel her life force draining quickly. This may have been the only time he wished he knew any healing abilities. Though it wouldn't have mattered, he looked down feverishly to see a black spot in the center of her torso. The stuff in his eyes began to drain, and his vision slightly came back. His cheeks were now damp. Maybe if he knew how to stop time and go back? All this talk and mention of power to himself during his meditations- and still nothing could stop nature taking it’s course after taking the actions he had. Time was irreversible.

Her name escaped his lips like a whisper- and she found the strength to raise an arm up to wrap around his shoulder.

"It's okay." She swallowed hard. "It's okay." She shook her head, "It had to be this way." Her upper lip stiffened, trying to force a smile on his behalf. The path walked in darkness was one that was supposed to be alone. She tried- and she failed- to turn him toward the light. Though in hindsight she had many regrets. The darkness tainted her as well, and where her intentions were silver and gold, she turned him into something black and ichorous. Funny how the dark side of the force can take hold the way it did- warping everything just enough to turn things astray. Dastan felt it, and knew it now. It was his destiny to turn to the light, but that door seemed to close shut with a slow curtain draw.

Like a series of coughs came a sob from Dastan's breast, before it was consumed by anger, hatred. He huffed every breath through his teeth to regain his composure but he couldn't hold it. He hugged her tightly, and pressed his head into hers.

Her breaths were much more shallow now.

"I'm so sorry..." was all he could say on repeat. Whispering it into her ear. He felt her hair sticking to his face where his cheeks had been damp. He loved her, but their journey together was a complicated one. They shared several years together. Caught up in the currents of the dark side, and the order of the Sith. It was never anything Dastan was able to say, nor was Naria able to commit herself fully- due to her dual nature- one foot in the fires of darkness, the other in the pools of the light. Despite how much she wanted to take him and run from everything together, she felt it was her duty to prepare him for something. Though through the will of the force, had no real idea what that meant. So she trained him, and they both made plenty of hints, nothing was ever really acted on.

"It's okay." she repeated. "I know you love me." her pale lips curled to a smile, and her eyes softened and her body went limp.

Those were the words he had wanted to say for as long as he could remember but never could. That he loved her, and always had.

**

That was the day he knew that he no longer wanted to be who he was. That was the day that Dastan had died- on the deserts of Neelgaimon. The next step was to shed his skin and start anew. Though his focused sorrow and hatred, he came up with a different plan. The existence he lived in needed to change. Dastan would bend it to his will. He couldn't be divided, there could be no more schism within him. That fracture made him weak, the splinter of light hiding within the darkness was now gone. Like a governor removed from a small engine- now allowing more fuel to flow.

Through victory... My chains are broken.

It didn't feel like much of a victory, but something else within him felt so much more powerful. The darkness had risen from within, devouring that final shard. That day he took Naria's corpse in hand gently, and left the industrial complex. Through the force he had never felt so powerful- upon leaving, he leveled the buildings around in a fit of fury. Guided only by the force and his blinding rage, the building collapsed behind him, leaving only rubble and a large dust storm. Something of a force bolt- in reverse. Having reached out to certain load-bearing pillars and walls- he heaved down the structure.

Peace is a lie.

No words felt more true in the moments after. The life he began was to be wrought with turmoil and strife. Rage and hatred. It ignited a passion for change, a change that he had to make. Something he would usher in for himself.

He saw it in his dreams… His future- his call to power. True power.

Marching up a large set of stairs, denizens behind him clad in black armor and cloaks. Lightsabers flashing, he would take the thing he now wanted more than anything. The phoenix would rise from ash, and Dastan would take his seat of power. He would be the thing that brought order in what he knew of this life.

It was in his continued training- his sweat and blood. Nothing held him back from his dreams now. No self doubt. No more second guessing about 'right' and 'wrong'. It was all wrong, and it was apparent now. Strangely, somehow it made everything feel ‘right’. The dark side is not just about choice- once you go so far. It consumes you, and becomes part of who you are, making decisions for you subconsciously. A devil whispering in your ear, and taking hold of your wrist. The pact you made to gain the power promised.

The Dark Side of the Force began to bend to his will now. With the blade he severed his ties, and broke his chains. The force and his life was his own- he became a master. Feeling out and reaching into the force was no longer a chore. It was no longer something that required heavy concentration. Instantly he could feel the hate seeping in- like a wash of emotion and a flick of the wrist he was easily at someone's throat- crushing their windpipe- raising them from the ground and blasting them away into a wall with a force bolt. It felt like the world was all a part of him, and his imagination had become the limit to the capabilities he had with the force. Moving almost at the speed of through when trying to manipulate, sense, or alter.

**

Finally making his way to his ship- surrounded by nothing but sand and rock… But he felt presence- and even disturbance as he marched to it. It came into view, and he sprung the trap. Not caring anymore- brashly heading face first into his problem.

Six (of what he assumed to be) Jedi awaited Dastan at his ship, among a scattering of droid parts, and cast-away robes. They stood beneath it in the shadow providing some relief from the hot sun above. Kneeling to place Naria's motionless body gently on the sands, he looked up, his sockets dark, and his eyes burning like fires. Four blue, one yellow, and one green pillar sprang to life from the hands of the group wearing earthy tunics- standing in a pillar. It wasn't much of a fight. In Dastan's head- it was all a blur anyhow. Clouded by fury.

In near an instant he was at them with his blade, a quick dance with the first two in the pillar had him swat away an incoming blade, and sending a hard kick to the side of the other’s head. Sound was muted by the pumping heart in his ears the force flew through him- blazing through him like magma at the speed of light. Another charged in that Dastan deflected, and immediately turned to the first combatant, deflected another strike and grabbed him by the throat with his left hand. They dropped their weapon in the sand at their feet. Feeling the third come back to him- Dastan’s right hand deactivated his saber blade, and fired a force push at the incoming enemy. Unprepared, the man fell backward.

Bringing his attention to the one who was trying to pry his gauntleted hand from his throat- Dastan looked to the man. Human. Early twenties. Eager looking eyes filled with anger- not befitting a jedi of legend. This was a vengeance operation- one to kill the sith. Not capture him. These must have been Naria’s cohorts. Feeling his own fury pairing with the young man under his grip- he fired the power of a force bolt through the man’s head from his hand still gripping his throat... If he survived- he would be severely concussed. He dropped his grip, and the man crumpled over his legs, densely falling to the dirt. One blue saber down.

The one who was kicked in the head re-engaged Dastan’s back. His excellent combat sense having elevated- he felt it coming. Spinning quickly, he grabbed the incoming jedi’s weapon wrist, and forearm- wrenching the saber hilt from his hand, and kicking him again- though in the chest, sending him stumbling back.

The one he had force pushed was back at it blue blade waving as he re-entered the fight. Dastan used the blue blade he retrieved from the one he just kicked- and threw it directly into the man’s clavicle- aided by the force. The blade passed through him, and he fell backward instantly. Another blue down- two more, and a yellow and green to handle.

The yellow blade came after him, as did another blue blade from opposite sides. Spinning, Dastan grabbed the yellow blade’s arm, and used their momentum against them- thrusting and directing the yellow blade aside, and into the charging blue bladed jedi’s chest. He felt the blade rake across and resist slightly as it cut through light armor and flesh. The yellow bladed male’s shriek and the blue bladed jedi’s quick howl of pain fed into Dastan’s continued onslaught. He spun the yellow blade’s male around before him in a lock- like a human shield. Third blue down.

The final two charged in- , and Dastan kicked the knee of one incoming strike- and ducked under a horizontal slash from the blue blade (with the human shield bending with him). With this angle, he retaliated instantly with a quick snap ‘on’ of his red blade- shooting from his hilt in his right hand, piercing the man’s gut- exiting out his shoulderblade- giving him the chance to turn his headlock of his human shield into a hold around his jaw with one arm- though the yellow blade escaped his grip, but stumbled forward on his knees. Just the yellow and green left.

His blade reactivated again, Dastan dashed forward, using the yellow bladed jedi’s penitent position to his advantage. He used the jedi’s back as a springboard, jumping into the air, and bringing his blazing red blade up- and in a downward thrust into the green bladed man’s clavicle- killing him and forcing him to the ground. Just as the yellow bladed man got to his feet- Dastan’s blade passed up through his hip to his shoulder. The satisfying hiss, the smell of carbon, the resistance felt in his hands, wrists, forearms and shoulders as the blade passed through flesh and bone.

These weren’t the masters, though. They must have been knight level. Despite Dastan seeming to cut through them in a few moments- their ability to work together and their technique seemed alright.

No survivors. Dastan was a juggernaut of slaughter paired with his new elevation.

The fury he felt was nothing compared to the ease he felt in the force. Lubricated by experience in using- flexing this muscle. Both his ability to sense the combat he was in, as well as enhancing some of his natural abilities seemed to work so much easier. This is how Sith warriors tended to show their prowess in the force. Their sustenance was combat.

Dastan took his leave of the planet with Naria in his ship. Left the parts of his droid security team, he'd get a new security retinue. The bodies of the jedi would be lost and forgotten, buried in the sands. Or recovered- he didn’t know how the jedi worked- if they recovered bodies- or allowed them to rot where they fell... Nor did he care at this moment.

She was his symbol. Her sacrifice was the last thing he needed, and the last thing he wanted. Unleashed now into the galaxy, Dastan found new intoxicating levels of power. Each Sith has had to leap their own hurdles to find power with the force, and to seize their master-hood by force. Some of the most powerful Sith Warriors of legend had a similar moment that helped to define their place in the galaxy when dealing with Love. Darth Malgus, Darth Vader, just to name a few.

Preparing himself for his future as a true lord of the Sith- not just in name, historians of the Sith would also write this as Dastan's full fall to the Dark, and it would forever haunt his destiny. The power he had gained in this instance would wrap it's tendrils around him. This act of sacrifice to the dark would be owned up to eventually, but for now- all he felt was pain. Hatred. Sorrow. His suffering helped him seize the new power he held within him.

With this power, he would take everything. He'd seize the galaxy by the throat, and bring it to it's knees. He commanded the power to do it, now he needed the influence. This was what the dark whispered for now. Leverage was what he had, now he would use it. This was a new era. A new level for his power. The poison had been tasted, and he relented to it's taking hold.

The galaxy felt smaller as he felt stronger. Every breath he took was tiny in comparison to yesterday. His understanding of the way that the force worked in tandem with events- not causing, or affecting anything expanded. Time felt slower- and his reflexes sharper.

The dark side would be the road he walked to his victories. It would pave his way- and he understood that the force meant this for him. The fires of passion, the billowing smoke of his anger coming from the seas of magma that were his hate- Dastan was like the volcano ready to burst at any moment. Though he now had the power to control these moments. The force worked at the speed of thought for him. Calling it to his will was a way of life, and no longer a chore.

The power of the dark side was corrupting. This much was true. Now was the first time he knew how far it would go. Opening the possibility that he would now go as far as necessary- that there were no boundaries when victory was concerned. Thinking he had sacrificed things before- he had no idea it would come to this. Attachments had many meanings. Now he was free of these.

Victory required chains to be broken, and Dastan felt he had finally reached a point of victory- breaking his link to Naria. It was all so bittersweet to him. Guilt had wracked his mind, but the suffering would make him strong. Stronger than he realized.

He wasn’t thrust into a position that forced his hand to do something seen as evil. It was his own doing, by choice, to do this. Making it happen was not righting and perceived wrongs. Not setting any balances on the scales. Taking the blade himself, he made the conscious choice to cut the chaff. That was freeing him of a conscious, freeing him from second guessing what was right or wrong- to fit something in Naria’s eyes. This released boundaries, and allowed him to grow individually.

The wall holding him back had been shattered. Freed from his conscious. Unleashed now- he realized how much he had gained. That wound in his heart bled fuel for his strength. Feeling connected in new ways to the galaxy around him. The space he existed in expanded- not physically, but the way he tapped into fate, destiny, life, death, energy- the force. It was a book he could better read now.

In meditation, communing with the force for answers, for calls to action, for sustenance, but never for calm or peace. The ability to see and manipulate the relationship between objects was just a new understanding he undertook. At this point- it’s like he was no longer human anymore. When force sensitives reach a certain understanding with the universe at large, and reach a level of communication with the force- it’s almost as if their status as living creatures becomes more enlightened. Elevated. Lifted.

When manipulating the world around him, it was like lifting a ten pound weight after only lifting 30 pound weights. It took less encouraging to alter his living space. His mind was the conduit- it’s own muscle having been exercised so much in it’s use that the efforts required were lessened from him.

Hefting Naria’s body, and using the force to open and close doors was given as much effort as blinking. Entering his ship, he placed her limp body into his bacta tank- floating her in the air effortlessly into the harness. His employed med-droid took it from there, though he stood before the transparisteel tube, watching her blonde locks float as the med droid punched a few options into the node, bacta filling the tube. His vision focused on that small hole in her midsection.

Futility. Denial.

Controlling the power within him, it was like trying to dam a river for a moment until he realized he would require strength to wield control. Stability was regained upon embarking his ship. The thoughts and ideas bouncing around in his head. The guilt wracked mind was relieved. The chaos turned into control. The world around him immediately was almost a part of him. Feeling it in his subconscious. The terminals. The lifeless droids. The lifeless body in the bacta tank. The utensils and equipment around.

[Dastan Imatari]

((*Some time after the first attempt on his life from his subordinates*))
[Force power application: Affliction, level 5- 500wc ]

Learning the technique to disable an opponent was an important one. He had learned from a Sith text dated around the cold war era about a perfectly viable way to slowly infect an enemy with an offensive skill that would seem like nothing at first- then grow into a debilitating poison. Simply written in as ‘Affliction’.

He would need to unlock more secrets of the force if he were to be successful in his next big endeavor. The ever dangling carrot of power hanging just before him.

Not something he was proud of, he practiced this technique on restrained prisoners during interrogations. Though his pride mattered not to him if it meant getting results. It didn’t take as long as he thought it may, and though the prisoner survived, it was apparent how powerful this tool could be.

In the dark interrogation room, the kel-dor prisoner was leaned back, and restrained to something of an upright table. This man was allegedly involved with a dark side group- a cult, and knew of the barabel twins’ attempt on Dastan’s life. Which may provide information on anyone who knows more about Dastan than he’d like. The alien had also already been 'worked over' a bit. Bruising had begun to show, and swelling.

Entering the room, Dastan started trials immediately. As always, he concentrated on the force, and drew into his anger. The fires of hate for the two reptillian brothers he took in as practicals- like apprentices. Their untimely betrayal was an insult, and he killed them both that day. They interrupted his meditations with an impromptu challenge- which Dastan answered. Near immediately killing one, and killing the other as he attempted to flee.

“i don't care who you are, where you came from, or what brought you here. What I care about is what you can tell me about an organization that is undermining me, and -my- organization. “ The voice, as always- slightly masked by his full helmet.

The prisoner kept a closed lip. His strange masked face holding no emotion. Though Dastan could feel that there was certainly some fear here. And anger. It was always those two things swirling the room as they lie strapped to his interrogation tables. Fear for the unknown, and anger or frustration based on their own predicament- or focused on Dastan and his crew.

With the dark side of the force as his ally, the sith lord reached up with an accusatory hand, a conduit for the force to reach out to this man.
He was able to feel the man’s body, his presence through the force just like he were touching him. The kel-dor was indeed force sensitive, though obviously not very adept in its use. He could feel the man's energy. The life energy that all creatures had, shared. He felt his connection with the force, and each breath feeding his alien body.

“I know you're involved. Just tell me, and things will go much easier for you.” Dastan's signature voice through his helmet crackled.
“I don't know anything, Sith. Release me! I've no reason to be here!”

With a quick huff, Dastan curled his fingers a bit on his outstretched hand. Applying the same knowledge he had when using his mind Shard ability- to feel out the opponent’s mind, and wrack it with pain…Though he imagined it not sending shards into the man’s psyche, more like a slow-acting debilitation of the body... Trial and error would feel this ability out.

He felt the man's life force, and telekinetically pushed to the man, altering the energies to something more dark and sinister. Something of a siphon. A slow black smoke, he imagined, with the intent to afflict the prisoner with something of a poison. An Affliction of the soul, a devourer of the life energies of this man- not just their physical body.

Due to this- he felt that a slight taint had began to swell within the prisoner. The force within the man was no longer just natural- like a natural glowing aura. It began to take on something of a different signature. Dastan continued manipulating the dark side through himself and into this man in a malicious wave of invisible dark crawling tendrils. An insidious trick.

The man quivered a bit,
“What is this? Some trick of sorcery to get me to tell you something? Tell you something that I don't even know?” He leaned forward to Dastan in his restraints, as some tend to try and show their resilience, their defiance to his control.

“I think You’ll be telling me things I want to hear sooner than you think.” The arrogance permeated the masked Sith’s tone.

The kel-dor prisoner was right, though. It indeed was a bit of sith sorcery. It began as a strange sensation in his core. Though he assumed it was something of a mind trick, he was rather mistaken. The prisoner had some minor experience with lower-level force powers, allegedly being involved with a dark side cult.

Dastan continued- “Like how you know the Barabel twins.”

“The bara-who twins?” the man asked, impatiently. Maybe the discomfort started getting to him, or maybe it was more stubbornness.
It then began to grow- the taint, the prisoner again writhed a bit in their restraints.

“Or, maybe who you work for? That's an easier question… right?” He studied the man, slowly feeling the Affliction before knowing what it was. Dastan felt on, studying the effects this insidious dark power was having, slowly wreaking havoc, cell by cell.

“Please, I work for Bitrellius Shipping! I don't know about any of this! I've been telling your officers for hours!” The ridges that made the alien’s eyebrows lowered in human frustration.

“Try again.” Dastan snapped back quickly, looking on.

“Ah-ah-” the man stammered, starting to feel pain in his core. The affliction was taking root- deeper and deeper. The dark side of the force began to taint, and both send tingling sensations, and rolling dull pain. Deeper and deeper the sensations went. “Wh- what is this?” stumbling over their words as Dastan's ‘poison’ spread to the man's mind now, as well. Clouding their vision, judgment, hearing, and functioning. “Please!" then there was a brief pause-"What have you done?” the panic fed the darkness.

“Just talk to me, and we can make this go away.”

“Just stop- stop the-! Please, i-, i-, I don't know what you want!”

“But you -do-”, Dastan started,

“I'm just a freighter pilot! I do-don't know nothin’ ‘bout nnnno bare-bells.”
It was taking hold pretty quickly. Again, deeper the darkness tainted within him. The kel-dor was force sensitive, but likely lacked good formal training to resist anything such as this. The power started giving him pain, dull aching pain in his body, and slowly clouding his mind. His speech started to slur, and devolve a bit. The invisible tendrils Dastan fed began to grow like roots, winding through and around the man’s figure.

“Who do you work for? Who teaches you about the force?”

“I pilot a fffreight’r.” He winced and began to curl in reaction to the pain he was now feeling elevate. “I don’ know about the force!”

“This will end if you just tell me. The people who teach you the Force. Who are they?” the prisoner was insistent. He was likely in the sort of cult organization that was more like a secret society. A lot of the dark force cults were that way- and usually for good reason.

The Affliction spread again under Dastan’s control, from his core and festering outward again. It was escaping his core and spreading out to his arm the man couldn't feel his clawed fingers, and every joint in his body ached. Every muscle in his body strained, and an immense pain spread through his chest- though unlike physical pain- it wouldn’t be pinpointed at it’s origin. It was phantom. Dastan was altering the force signature the man’s body gave, and continued manipulating, controlling the dark side of the force- allowing it to reach from himself to the kel-dor. Gripping and crawling out from him like a nightmarish monster.

“please-” the kel-dor prisoner panted, moaning in pain. “It ...hurts, it hurts!”

“Who?!” Dastan barked. He could feel the anguish, the suffering- soaking it up like a sponge…. Like a black hole. The tone began to change in the prisoner. Pain always had a way with people. Some took longer to break than others, but through the force, Dastan could apply a pain that was both physical and mental, debilitating both body and mind. It’s not normally something anyone trained in- besides the Sith. The jedi were too conscientious to do this to one of their own, and light-siders strayed and recoiled from the darkness. So it remained a vague theory to try and ward against.

The Kel-Dor gave a growling moan- acquiescence would follow shortly. This was called the tipping point.
“They- they don't use real nnn-names! They-” He jerked to the side in pain. “I-i-, they,” he flexed, jerking the opposite way with another howl. Dastan was able to focus on letting the tendrils crawl up from the prisoner’s elbows to his fingertips. The more dark force energy he pushed in, the more the tendrils grew.

“A Name!” Dastan's faceplate was a foot from the kel-dor‘s face- peering into his eyes. He was eating up the pain, and like a cycle- fed the darkness the kel-dor felt right back into his body. Despite not knowing- he was something of a conduit for his own discomfort.

The next phrase came out with a difficult strain of voice as the imagined ichorous roots began to wrap through the man's mind.

“B-Bllllllack. B-black. B-brr-. Brrrr. B-black Broth-th-therhood.” and the prisoner punctuated his stumbling, hanging phrase with a beastly shriek of agony. The tendrils were now crawling down over his core and into his legs. His knees gave, and he slumped as much as the restraints allowed. Pain would stretch as his body and spirit were being tainted by a fast acting poison.

Dastan reached out with his other gloved hand, and held up the kel-dor’s head to look him in the eyes.

“Good.... I'm glad you're starting to see this my way.”

The prisoner moaned in pain. Unable to move, or cradle the sensations. At that time he realized it was too much to resist any more. It was spreading still, pulsating outward from his core. The pain would slowly reach out through his body after each heartbeat, like inky roots through his blood stream. All part of Dastan's design. Through the force, it would seem like he had a black system of roots, vines, and tendrils wrapped through him- starting from his core, winding and wrapping around his limbs, permeating his physical body, around his joints, and pulsating with his own heartbeat.

Though in honesty, Dastan wasn't sure how or if he could make the Affliction stop. Not that it mattered to him how to stop this power… He quit pushing his dark force energy into the man minutes ago. Though the reaction was just as desired, something to wrack his victims in pain with a little amount of effort.

He stopped before the door slid open, "Later, I think, it would be much easier for you to be a little more compliant."
The dark machinations of his mind were becoming easier to be brought to reality with his experience in the dark side of the force.
Huffing and groaning quietly to themselves, the kel-dor was left for now. Dastan would keep an eye on him through security to see when or if the effects of his affliction would wear off. He had enough information to continue on- though admittedly it wasn’t much. ‘The Black Brotherhood’ seemed super vague as it was, but someone must have heard of them. The holonet was a large place, and his intelligence were rather good at what they did.