Blood had intent to talk to his Son more than a plenty of times within the range spectrum of him retuning to his side. There were promotions lined up for him, special missions to begin earning his trade on, different things he had planned for his Son to try his hand at. However, with the burden of responsibility came the burden of loss and gain. Loss of time, gain of members, intel, victories and other learning experiences that he needed as he grew to fit a role that was inevitably for him. Tormentous had made his appearance again- this provoked a change within the Sithian. It forced him to remember from what hand he was spawned, from what trials of fire, warfare, and mercilessness he had been born from. It forced him down a memory lane that he had seemed to have forgotten. Blood, the true heir of Tormentous' legacy, had stood longer and survived compared to the peers he had been surrounded by. Ambition had taken down Dastan, a Lord who conquered what he could, but had disappeared through the veil of unknown, taking Mercy with him. Her loss. Kroxata had been there because of Tormentous, so much to the point where he knew nothing other than Tormentous. Because of Tormentous' absence, Kroxata too had found himself at a loss of purpose, and gone adrift the winds of absence, as well. The Beta had ruled, no more. His loss. But Blood, the last trained purely by Tormentous, and
only by Tormentous, was the sole survivor. He sought to reign in the mastery his own Sire had within him, but he stood by the conflict that came from both loyalty, and arrogance.
Had the Dark One felt this conflict, as well? To either cast Blood down in the inferno of battle as they fought for leadership of the Pack, or to accept him as leader who ruled in his stead? Which prevailed? Blood knew well enough as strong as he had become, his experience in battles and cold murder was equivalent to that of a newborn in regard to the Dark One. If pitted against the Dark Lord with nothing holding either of them back, Blood would be slaughtered within the first series of blows. Even in comparison of Force power, Tormentous could craft stars and control them- Blood hadn't even made his own holocron. He was vastly outmatched.
As Blood sat there in the frigid frost of the uppermost mountains, he recalled the lessons his Sire had invested in him, and how little leadership he had been shown. Tormentous wasn't ready to leave as soon as he had- that was apparent. But despite it, Blood wasn't ready to give up the small legacy he had invested his time in. He absolutely loathed wasted time. Simply handing over the mantle was speaking of nothing more that wasting time. The time he had spent gathering his packmates, instilling his own flavor of teaching into them, to show them the Force and how to deal with it. To begin his own build, without even knowing
how or even
what he was doing. Blood had worked hard on his slight title, and though he went by Lord as a ranking still, he knew soon ran the time where he would be expected more of. Stagnation meant death. And what he had brought to life would not be killed by his lack of action. He would not dishonor himself that way, nor would he dishonor his Master that way.
In his revelation, Blood had come to realize he held a special place for Tormentous in his heart, but more importantly, in his mind. Respect was there, of course. He looked up to Tormentous as a child would a father. But as Blood had come to learn, all children grew, and they all left their parents when the time came. In this case, Tormentous had instilled enough in Blood so he would be capable of passing through time with his own teachings, still wiring Tormentous' teachings while crafting his own. His legendary status was secured through Blood making his own. But Blood knew he hadn't invested enough time nor teachings into his Son. His own heir, his perfect specimen. His prodigy distanced from him, and Blood knew his lack of interaction, his focus on the handlings of business rather than time with him, it strained the youth. Raphael was falling away from the Sith; Blood felt it bloom in a fester through the silvergold thread between him and his spawn. Raphael no longer came to Blood for teachings, but Blood felt within the harbor of Raphael new branches, the little he had shown him had branched out to reach new limits, new levels of Force ability. The webs within Raphael had gotten their own trend, and once set, they were liable to not chance.
Blood was losing his hand in his Son.
Even now, he felt the youth near him, but the distance felt closer than the bond they shared. Blood was in a snowballing turmoil of the emotions that ranged between 'Abandon' and 'Rectify'. Did his Son not see what he did was
for all of them? That the struggles he fought through were to benefit the Sith? Blood felt his insides begin to curl at the condemning questions. With youth came ignorance. His Son knew nothing of his plight, his mind focused on the here and now, his opinion of the present. Blood knew as an instructor. He understood much, but had the time to act on none of it. Just as swift as the morbid array came, Blood's rile by the self reflection went, dissipating into the atmosphere as smoke that escaped the built heat of his body. Too many things swirled within his mind, and he was exhausting himself simply addressing them.
Blood now understood why dragons preferred the mountains as a place of rest...even on ground, the ground was high, and the atmosphere was light- it was almost like they rested in the skies. He needed this respite. But the true rest he wanted was from himself. And that was a gift that would never come...especially since it was this conclusion that he was seeing brim over his horizon.
He had undergone enough of a change where he needed to be the man Tormentous was once was, and better himself. He would have to force himself to grow, and in turn grow his followers in the same manner. If they stayed, they stayed because they knew where legends were born. Diamonds themselves were crafted in the immense pressure and he would herald no more simple pieces of coal. His emotions would have to be gristled, hard, determined. He would have to be exactly what Tormentous had expected of him, and exceed those expectations. Everything would have to be either taken by force, or guiled with expertise. There was no more hiding in shadows and waiting for opportunities to strike...Everything would be his, and anyone who planned to stand in his way would either yield or be struck down with the unstoppable dragon that lie in his bosom. Bringing a clawed hand to his chest, Blood felt the Dark Side respond almost instantaneously. It rose in dark desires, swearing a plethora of fealties to him, whispering of all the victories to be had if only he committed to evil doings. He wouldn't deny them, as they and witt were what kept him going this far. Slade was too weak to embrace the desires, to follow the streak of red he walked so confidently. Slade was too ready to submit, when in fact he didn't know what properly needed to be submitted
to. Slade never had the ability to appreciate his success, to take in power. And even now, that damn persona tried rubbing off onto Blood. Well, those days would fade into oblivion, and from the void would rise the monster the Sith needed. And he wasn't going to stop until all of it was his.
All of it.
The first thing that needed to be addressed was his Force ability. In order to compete with the best, he would have to fight hard for his ability to do so. No longer would he allow time to pass him by. Tormentous himself took time for studying and preparing his abilities, to hone the edge of vicious abilities he flaunted so perfectly. Blood too needed to take this time to bring himself to mastery of the Force. He wasn't too far away...but every step taken was a step gained.
-----Level 12 App---
Blood pulled forth from his innermost deep harbor of creation the feelings and memories that spurned him to fight through each day. The battles he had fought alongside Tormentous, the lessons in which he felt himself grow, the things he had taken to teach himself. He took the painting of timeline and bled it into a flurry of colors and feelings on how he got through each scenario. And from each, he addressed them as they came. He knew his abilities as they couldn't increase anymore than what they had currently, the ability to Alter the world around him successfully, the ability to Control the essence that raced through his monstrous form even now with complete ease, the ability to Sense everything around him with such remarkable and now instinctual practice. But he wanted each head of the triangle of Force to harmonize yet again, to increase his abilities and knowledge as much as possible. The desire bubbled within him, curling around his fractured mind as it held him together on this singular track with extreme perception. The Force itself had helped him to be as great as he fought to be to this point, and there was no stopping. There was so much he had left to accomplish, and just referencing the future in such an unknown manner had tightened his need for this to be real. The Dark Side too had caught wind of his desires, already moving in on the hunt with it's wily mannerisms. Promises that rang into unspeakable deeds, deeds that needed to be accomplished before he attempted anything. And he confirmed it. He would bring forth the destruction and fury across worlds. He would be the Nightmare that plagued millions and billions of individuals, and the Dark Side reveled in his return of words. It cascaded over him in a firefall of passion and ecstatic reason, of triumphant ambition. And he drank it all in, absorbing the virile desires with such eagerness that his irises morphed to that sickening sunburst yellow, the pupil eclipsing within the yellow which was rimmed by that hungry red. He was the centerpiece of the Dark Side, it's chosen harbinger, and he would oblige as long as he received the glory he was meant to have.
He sat within the hellfires which became all too real. His immediate embellishment in the dark grasp of the evil ambiance surrounded him with his own known ability. With such mastery, Blood had managed to surround himself in fire, the frost rock around him heating up and bursting into flames as it spread from where he sat. These fires were uncontrolled, erupting from the near rock to him and blazing away from him as his desires grew. His essence and willpower spread from him, igniting wild fire as he ranged through the array of accomplishments he wanted in his name. And writhing in it all were the malevolent intents that he wanted to sum them all up with. This anarchy he would spread, this corruption and chaos, it surged a venomous set of fangs into the atmosphere around him, and the shadows of the flames stretched unnaturally. Blood felt the level of burden put on his shoulders from this explosion of ambition, but remarkably it felt lighter than what he expected it to be. However he didn't want to lose the momentum he had going, yet even as he focused on one ambition, another came to be. The shadows danced around the flickers of ember and cinder as Blood imagined himself simply stepping onto a planet, and it's inhabitants bowing directly in his presence. He felt the illusion spark deep and primal lusts, his want to be recognized, feared, obeyed without question. But from it was the ability to get there. The illusion was so vivid, he could feel the heat of battle as he tore down walls of homes and dragged several members out, slaughtering innocents and punishing their protectors. As he spread his despicable wrath across it's wastelands and owned it all, he felt it. Riding into battle on some carnivorous beast which shredded and burned, the heat, the passion, it escalated into such a seizure of bliss! Blood felt an exhale escape him as he was drowning himself in this sight, in this future, and the Force rammed through him with vivacious power. It enhanced his body, pumping his already bulky and tankish body with it's abilities, an adrenaline that pounded him with destructive possibility. The madman knew no bounds, and felt none hold him back. He could topple buildings with just a thought as this ride promised him such. This high forced him to see what he wanted, and the illusion pared him in it's sensual roller coaster of enchant.
He was breathless, feeling this storm of emotions run over and around him. The flames bled into new territory, rising higher as they fed on the oxygen and were bathed in his determination. He included more and more into the festering furnace, and soon anger showed it's scarred face. Anger at his Daughter for leaving from legend to lost soul, from choosing her fate to be in her own craft as opposed to those of a Master. Over taking all that he invested in her and throwing it back in his face. The fires around him began to blacken the rock they touched, to darken the flat steep of the mountain that it burned upon. The rock reflected this as his fury seared it to be. His fury at the absence of his Master, the reappearance of the demi-god just as Blood had chosen to take that place he wasn't even sure he could. It was livid at the indecision the Draconian King had before he reached this point. It curdled and broiled with scathing hisses and bubbles, and the shadows underneath the flames actually mocked it, distorted spheres bumping along the flattened ground. The power of his mind, his will to make it seen, to make it real, it escalated into a natural illusion around him. Natural, but illustrated the unnatural. Bubbles like black tar became what was once plain shadow, hot, sticky, viscous and tar-like. A cesspool of Dark Side making itself seen through the powers he emmanated. His own shadow cast in the flames warped and he could imagine it in all it's horrid glory. He could see it as clearly as he saw himself, and the shadow obeyed his will. It coiled and stretched into a clawed and dripping beast of Void, congealing and twitching, a terrifying and undetailed head swiveling to look for a meal to suffocate in it's sticky embrace. He could push his limits of the Illusion and Darkness further, but he reserved those anticipations.
The Sithian then recalled the betrayal of not only his former apprentice, Mercy, as she left to put herself beside that Dastan, but of his Daughter who left him, as well. The betrayal stung him repeatedly, and it sizzled in acid as he knew the same fate was coming to haunt him again with his Son. He had given his Son a home, fed, clothed, he had given the youth weight behind his name. He had given him studies which would only increase his power, but the paranoia of this looming befallment cast Blood into the category of forsaken. Forsaken by Tormentous until now, forsaken by his own spawn, and the only followers who remained had looked to him for answers. The Force imploded within him, and the 'whoosh' that came of it was the illusion disintergrating as the fires which fed it were snatched away and reabsorbed by the Sith Lord. The awful pressure of energy was held as a gun would be to a temple, and he found himself feeling drained, weak, and teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Some irrational thought came to him, laughter, tears, screams, chants, all of it tore at him from within, saying how little control he truly had over the arising situation. It swore if he released his breath, it would all go away. Danger sense however told him this was a ticking time bomb within him, and if he so much as let go of the hold he held, he would cease living. There was some premonition that told him this build up was capable of ending him, and faintly he wondered if this same ball of Force within him was the star Tormentous had crafted so long ago.
It began to fade as he picked at it. Breath still held, he held himself up from the sitting position with a slouch and one arm, then reversed his capacity by dispersing chunks and pieces of the Force ball through his body, trying to stabilize himself. To hone it all to a calming point, he brought up that trust he shares with his recruits, that bond they all harbor. The loyalty they pledged to him, and most of all, the man became submurged in the cooling relief of it all when he pictured the face of Rahab and her modest relief. He had never known chains off of his shoulders to be so great when he had imagined the darker youth, her face painted with those contrasting colors, thick dark hair locked forever in a heave of braids, her ornament to decorate it a veil. Her meek and open disposition, her stature, those silver eyes. Her purpose.
And how he lived to bring her out of that shell of hers, in exchange for the comfort she gave him.
The warm feelings blessed the cracked and marred temperatures within him, and he felt everything come together in a smooth pudding of spiced treat. He kept the delicacy warm from the passionate cinders in his core, while it remained grounded by remembrance of that cloaked Sithette. And from the stressed webs he had fell within, all became real to him again, as he took that breath. Blood had come to learn exactly how dangerous it was to love, to hate. To grow tired, to overburden. And he was on the cusp of balancing it all enough to be in his favor,
And fuel him enough to take over the universe.
---End of Lv. 12 App---WC: 1699/1200 ----
The Draconian Sith laid himself back on the mountain as he recovered from the intense surge he had just undergone in the Force.
