Clowns and popcorn? [Elisii, Tormentous]

[Jacobi Wylcott]

“Had you known,” he replied in kind, “then you wouldn’t have shown me a glimpse of what you can do.”

He lowered his head in acceptance of her salute and likewise her feelings of regret. He would not dwell on her striking him. He had chosen it to be so and would not allow her to carry these weaker emotions. In an instant he moved on and forgot the issue entirely. She had done well in not begging his forgiveness. Had she done so then it would have meant her resolve was lacking and a strong will was key to being Sith. Yes - she was already on the right track.

“Now, we must see exactly how sensitive to the Force you are.” Typically it was easiest for this very first step to be done in a comfortable position and so he offered his hand to her and he took her to the center of the room and offered that she take a seat. It did not normally occur that he’d sit on the floor as well with a student - but the rare ones like Elisii were worth taking the extra time or going through with a little extra display of interest to really capture her willingness to trust. And as such he too took a seat in front of her. His cape formed down around him and he rested his hands on his knees.

In that moment he thought of her own expressions in flashing her teeth and the like. He felt like giving a snarl himself for sitting down this way turned out to be not as comfortable as he’d thought. He shoved these pointless thoughts away. Comfort or not - she needed to prove herself here and if it meant for Tormentous to have a moment of discomfort then so be it. Elisii - he felt - would be worth the effort.

“The Force,” he began with the basic descriptions and moved to theory as necessary. He only hoped she’d pay attention and be able to execute when he needed her too. “It is energy that accumulates around the things of this world. It is as much within you an I as it is within,” he pulled out a simple knife and flashed it to her, “this. We as Sith learn to command it and use the Force as a weapon - be it used as a literal weapon or to augment our abilities doesn’t matter and depends on what type of Warrior you choose to be. Know that the power we wield is capable of so much if only we are willing to reach out and take it for ourselves.” (Cryokinesis) The entire room dropped in temperature in an instant but it was the knife itself that was touched by the cold grip of only a fraction of Tormentous’ consciousness. Hoarfrost bled across the knife and made the blade appear as if it was shattered glass while cold frozen steam wafted from the steel. “The only limits are the ones we set upon ourselves.”

It was but an minuscule display of power but for one to never have seen such things it would be a shocking experience and possibly an enticing one. “All you need to remember is that you aren’t going to create anything nor will you be doing anything new. You’ve always touched the Force in your youth. It has always been there. All you are doing now is opening yourself up to it and recognizing what it feels like.”

He took her hand and placed the knife in it. “Close your eyes and I want you to feel this knife with more than just your hands. I want you to see it for the first time. It may take a moment to recognize these feelings but to as I have said and you will see.”

As he waited for her to accomplish the goal he continued speaking. The more knowledge she’d receive the better understanding she’d have. “Do not try to over achieve, keep it simple. One step at the time. Listen to the Force around you as it flows within your energy field and down into the energy field of the knife and even as it flows to my own energy field. Listen to these things and open your mind to seeing them. If you can do this then you will have proven your worth in ways that so many would sacrifice multitudes to do.”

OOC: ---FORCE SENSITIVITY - 100 WORDS

[Elisii Wylcott]

If her thought process was anything to go off of, she'd found the place she belonged. The Dark Lord confirmed the assumption an apology would have lessened his opinion of her though this would only lead to Elisii to having a bigger ego with the others she was to meet. Lowering her hand from the salute to accept his outstretched palm she followed quite obediently to the center of the room though from the way she watched him with quick flitting side glances it was evident she did not entirely trust the one she now served....could she be blamed? The darkness wafting off of him was almost strong enough she swore she could smell it. Lowering herself to the floor she crossed her legs watching with a surprised lift of her brows as the large man sat with her which she had to admit was enough for her to lower her guard enough for everything he said from then on to sink fully in to her stubborn mind. (FS) As he produced the knife she focused on it her mind already working to ponder over what was said thus far....the way she envisioned his words was as if this Force were simply the atoms of the air which spun and danced around them non-stop. Even without the knife the fur on her arms had begun to rise, tingling as if she'd gotten to close to some sparking, faulty technology but it was when the warmth in the room went away leaving her chilled that she truly grasped it. In that moment there was something invisible that shifted within the man..no not within but more so she felt the air around him flicker with movement as the room grew cold. Intrigued Elisii leaned forward studying the way the knife frosted over the blade taking on the appearance of cracked, shattering ice and though she was silent it was because she was internally documenting how the electric, tingling sensation caressed her fingers when she tentatively reached a hand toward the blade as he spoke. Lord Tormentuos said she'd have felt during her youth and little did he know she had but to a much more severe degree when she'd killed people accidentally wielding it to defend herself from people wanting to beat her up. The sensation she could only describe as this hot, tingling electric current came off of the blade and ran itself through her fingertips and up her arms, she could almost feel it brushing against each individual strand of hair coaxing it to stand up and lean toward the knife.

Glancing up at him with pupils dilated from excitement she flashed him a grin, closing her eyes and wriggling upon the floor trying to ground herself. Picturing the knife within his hands she memorized the details before doing as she thought proper, focusing on the invisible energy it was filled with and surrounded by until that alone was enough for her to know every detail of it. Slowly she reached out and wrapped her fingers around the handle, cracking open one eye to give him a questioning look as she gently pulled at the knife silently seeking permission to take it. When he gave it up she closed her eyes again and exhaled slowly while leaping to her feet, the view of the knife still clear as day though with each movement there was a blurry trail of movement. Backing away so she wouldn't accidentally slice him open she waved the knife in a clumsy motion, gasping as the air around her erupted with the Force, the foreign sensation nearly causing her to drop the weapon. Regaining her composure her ears pinned to her head in concentration and she slashed the air noticing how this strange new vision and feeling seemed to come to a halt when reaching him. Trusting that he'd have the sense to see a Felecation with her eyes closed coming his way she used the extra sense to slash his way as if he were an enemy, grinning with feral glee as the air seemed to split in waves around each movement. Normally she was no stranger to a knife but this.....it was if this blade was her claws, one with not only her body but the air and even the room around her while being particularly pulled toward Tormentous himself. Going still as she neared him she opened her hand, offering the knife back and staring at him like the eager young girl she was. "It felt like it was part of me for a moment there...but like it had life of it's own too and understood what I wanted to feel and show off"
(end FS)

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Darth Tormentous sat and watched his pupil as she closed her eyes and fully concentrated on the Force. He was not disappointed at all as he felt the doorway to her mind open wide and she saw the Force for the first time and recognized what it was. Her mind was awash with a feral excitement. His eye narrowed as he watched her intently - every movement, every twitch of her bodies’ expressions of which there were so many. She was a very vocal character and the Dark Lord was entertained. Setting these thoughts away he studied her constantly and gave her the knife which she stood up and backed away.

The Force was vividly reacting to her touch and the knife responded to her in kind through the Force. Flashes of energy coursed through the air and Tormentous could already sense her intentions to advance and so he got to his feet and welcomed the attacks. A simulated enemy was a far more tentative teacher than shadow boxing was. She lashed left and he leaned away, her right swing he thought to block it but this was not the purpose of this lesson and so again he evaded the strike, she thrust and he pivoted aside,

That feral sense feeling she gave off was almost rabid and that kind of warrior spirit excited his own will to fight and duel and rend. Though when she was done he forced himself to ease down as well, she offered the knife back and he accepted the tool, sliding it back into the sheath at the small of his back.

She expressed herself and her voice seemed to tremble with fierce wonder. He knew what she felt and while his interactions with the Force were by far more - painful - he understood what she was going through. Literally opening her mind up to a world she’d been in but only now understanding how bland it had ever been and how brilliant it was now. “Your assumptions are correct. It is very much a part of you and it always has been, from here you will grow tremendously through the Force,” he paused and eyed her carefully, “if only you would listen.” He knew that she would. Just the little taste she’d just gotten of the Force was not enough and he knew she would want so much more.

He could sense well that she didn’t fully trust him and that was fine. He didn’t need that kind of trust yet. In time, he would have it.

“You have done well. But now you must go further still.” Again he sat to the floor and he awaited her proximity to tell him she’d also arrived. “Now you will discover your senses. You can feel the Force now. It comes to you easily enough. But now you must reach out and take those feelings for yourself. Seize them and force your will to command your senses to respond.”

She would now be opening her mind to the feelings she’d just learned and more. The Force worked immensely in the fields of sensory and Elisii would learn this discipline now. “Your ears looks as if they can pick up sounds from far off. Your whiskers give you the feelings of touch - examples of your natural senses. But with the Force it is more. Every sound, every movement, makes an echo through the Force. Think of it as water and each occurrence is a disruption in that water.” He moved his hand slowly in front of her face, not close enough for her effective nose to pick him up and not fast enough for her to pick up on the passing breeze. What she would observe through the Force was much in the same as she’d seen in her previous lesson but she was simply now seeking much more.

“The Force gives off a current, or a wave that runs through our energy fields. Reach out with your senses and feel these things and the key here is to watch the flow of the Force’s energy as it winds its way through the room. Recall these things and in time you’ll see - without seeing.”

There were many other things in this room to use her senses on and soon enough and given enough concentration she would come to map out the entire room - with her eyes completely closed.



---Sense 1 - 400 Words

[Slade Xandir]

Slade sat, crossed legs holding him upright and relaxed as he listened to the lessons that replayed in his mind as his former Master taught Elisii. He remembered the lessons, the time he was taken within the training quarters and beginning his own path to learning how to wield the unknown energy, energy that wasn't even his to command. Energy so freely given to him, that ended up taking over his body, stole his body-

Something inside of his chest twitched, something violent and ill. Something that had so much more sensitivity to his inner vehemence that it had startled something that had been in a coma within. He took a deep breath, and left it at that. He didn't want to push something that would break any sorcery Silas had worked to keep in place. He wasn't skilled in sorcery. Yet.

Regardless, he stayed, listened, and pretended it was his beginning, all over again.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

He sent Elisii away with a slap on the rump to his room, she had some extra training to take care of later. Then he turned his eye to fall on the Hunter. The Dark One watched his pupil for some time in silence, the Dark Side still coursed around him in a potent wash of energy but again and again the Hunter failed to grasp it - failed to harness it. No matter, once Tormentous was prepared he would be changing that once and for all. There was more studies to take care of and understand - the ways of Sith Sorcery were fickle and one did not tread its ways lightly. Sith magic always came with a price. Until then the Dark Lord could still better his son in other ways.

What better way to exercise the mind and the body though than through the training of the mind and the body? He stalked a bit closer to the Hunter, his look was menacing though there was no blood lust in it. (Darkness) And then the firelight - remained bright yellow-orange but the ambience of its flare died away and cast the entire room into the depths of his domain.

The Hunter would have to use every ounce of his consciousness to be made aware of his surroundings. He would have to remember his instincts of the hunt, to listen and to smell that which he hunted. To feel the hairs on his neck prickling when he needed to make a move. Tormentous allowed a moment for his son to stand and focus his mind. To calm down in the face of impending doom. To harness his own fate - to grab it with both hands and bend it to his will. In that time the Dark One moved slightly to the left, extended his hand and let a vibrosword fly to his hand - he tossed the sword at Slade aiming it downward to the left. If the fool jumped that way then he’d take it in the thigh but if he remained still the sword would plant itself in the ground with the hilt upward.

With heavy steps the Dark One began to move around Slade. He held no fear of Slade striking out and tagging him - fear was nonexistent in Tormentous’ life. Only the rush of the moment beheld his attentions. Moments passed and Tormentous was making his second full circle now.

Taking the Jidai Maras from his back he hefted the sword. Flipping it in a tight circle to allow Slade to identify his location through sound he twisted the sword to set the flat of the blade forward - and then he struck out and very hard in a backhand swing towards Slade’s right hip. It was time to give Slade a bit of a refresher. Now was the perfect time for a lesson in swordsmanship. Without the Force to lean on Slade would have to rely on raw talent and if he was to master the art before leaning on the Force to guide him then once he did harness he Force once more he would be able to execute with a terrifying efficiency.

[Slade Xandir]

Slade had looked up, watching the feline female skitter away with a creeped out expression showing plainly on her fur skinned features. However, as that door shut behind her, he was left alone with the most powerful being of the Sith less than a planets distance away from him. Slade felt his former Master waiting, his gleaning gaze feeling Slade in ways that he could no longer truly feel. But the Emperor of the Red Cauldron did not get what he sought. And almost painstakingly, Slade believed it to be Silas' works being confirmed to have worked, yet they had not. Perhaps, his final thought slammed between the both of them as that contact was broken, and the lights vanished around them-
Perhaps this angered Tormentous? Or was he disappointed? Was there anything that would indicate anything to Slade, -anything- that would make this slavery any less disdaining on Tormentous?
The world fell away as his sense zoned in to a claustrophobic level of nothingness. He heard his own heartbeat louder than the Dark Lord's breathing, even with it being mechanized. He was not fearful, no...He had nothing to fear about his former Master. Slade Xandir was the Tormentors Last, and after what he had been through so far, should he be slain by this man on a whim, then it was meant to be. Be damned fate, or fantasy.
His eyes were completely incapable of adjusting in the dark, and thus his ears fought harder to discern beyond his petty mortality. His breathing slowed as he knew the steps, listened for the steps, attempted to avoid the direction of the steps. His initial seating lurched into a crouch as he moved away from the last known zone, a habit of someone just trying to get out of the way of danger. Almost immediately, the hum and whizz of a sword scored the air where his leg would have been, sinking into the floor without remorse. The Hunter could not see it, but he had heard it, and made a note to retrieve the weapon in slow motion. He didn't exactly know that Tormentous had offered him the weapon, let alone that this was another lesson, but it was beginning to dawn on him as his death was not immediate. The Xandir was fully aware that the Dark Lord could clearly see everything about him, possibly as clearly as a creature born in the shadow of eclipse itself, and that only made it solidified for Slade- this was indeed a lesson.

His mind was whirring with all of the noise of other things, of his breathing, of the creases in his clothes that moved with his own motion, light ruffles of the fabric even as he carefully picked the weapon up and immediately backpedaled from the area. But the noise then stopped as he froze.
More noise, and it almost hurt just to hear. There was something just shy of ripping existence apart in reality as it swung heavily in the fold between them. Slade's own natural reaction to the sound was to want to be away from such a horrid thing. It had a repellent to him at the moment, as opposed to his draw to it when he was with the Force. No...now? He was sincerely wanting to be away from it. The footsteps are connected to the feet of the man who wields this sword. Wherever those footsteps are, the sword guards. The steps rounded him again, and this second bout coursed him to follow, not wanting to be in the last known zone for anything other than to die. The whoosh of physics pushed almost past their own limits was a awful sound, but it rotated just across from him, and he was only just growing somewhat decent with his bearings. But time continuum as it was had been seemingly bisected in a cleave towards Slade's right side. It sounded as though it was fighting against abrasion of the air, as though it's level of aerodynamics had been evaporated. What mattered was that it sounded, and Slade knew then the sword was being held on an opposite angle of how it typically slices through people. His paranoia however forced him back, his mind tricking him into believing something with that loud of a sound could nowhere nearly be blocked with this medium and plain vibrosword. It sounded much too intimidating, too massive, too lethal, and made this formerly dangerous vibrosword look like a childs toy. More than that, he didn't want to misjudge the height or angle in which to attempt a block, as he could lose a hand, or fingers, or his whole arm should he misjudge it by even a pinch. He took another step back, then off a pinch further to the right, using the silence of bare feet to comfort his racing mind to some poor degree. He wasn't panicking, but his senses were being overloaded so swiftly by something as well paired as footsteps and a sword's swing. The dark played tricks on him, teased his senses and lied to him. And he hadn't been able to hear the truths between the lies in a very long time.

Plain and simple, Slade was rusty. He had even gotten skewed through by Silas at his failed attempts to match such methodical swordsmanship. He had lost grip of that analytical par he once had in swordfighting, and only barely remembered his zones. Blind, without any sort of Force capabilities, and with an instinct that had been dulled for 5 years, he was going to have to be careful until muscle memory jump started his ability to build a defense, then eventually some semblance of an offense. Here, however, he'd have to pick it up, and pick it up fast.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

“You are trusting your eyes when they clearly are at a disadvantage. Where is your will to fight!?” He snapped and swung another flat, this time towards his son’s head and if it made the connection it would clobber him good - and Tormentous would not care. If Slade failed then he would be rewarded with a failure’s gift - and a concussion. “Too long you have relied on your station and that high lofty position has made you soft.” (Create Light) In a burst of radiance the Darkness was quelled and light shone into the room. Disorientating and bright the light would gift the Hunter with a means with which he could now see if only he could survive the next set.

Tormentous did not wait for Slade to recover from the sudden blindness and he fell on the taller man with a vicious assault Beginning with the flat of his blade he swung to the chest of his son, he was counting on Slade to block the strike. Once he did Tormentous would not relent and strike elsewhere but rather he would pivot to his right - Slade’s left - and rotate his sword on the vibroblade as a point of alternation. From here he would send the hilt of his sword slamming down on Slade’s shoulder. “The blade isn’t the only part of your weapon that you can utilize against a foe.”

Recoiling away the Dark One made a quick circuit of the Hunter like a predator. Jidai Maras whispered to the wind its desire to take Slade’s life as the tip was dragged along in a circle behind him. “You are capable of so much more than the trivial efforts you’ve given me. Yesterday and today you only hand me this withered and dried up husk of what you once were.” He lifted the sword and lashed out to cut his leg off from the knee down. “Are you done? Is there no drive? No desire to be more? Where has your fire gone? When I found you - you had the urge to ascend to heights not yet fathomed. Now all I see is a broken Warrior that cannot see beyond what he was.” Another strike leapt out accompanied by a set of three to the midsection.

He bellowed in anger at Slade. “More! You have to be more than you were. Blood is dead and buried. You must seek to be greater than ever if you are to survive and do not dare tell me you can’t - Can’t is a choice. Won’t is a choice. You are Sith! You will find a way and your choice is either victory of death! Now show me, Hunter. Show me you still have the drive to stand up and take what is yours.”

[Slade Xandir]

The deep baritones slashed across the void like some entity made real, as though his own conscious scolded him, aloud. Immediately after, something hellish flew heavy through the air, his head's height, and out of the barest of instinctual wit, he ducked. It sailed over his head, the winds sending ebony mane swimming in it's corrupt breeze's aftermath. "Too long you have relied on your station, and that high lofty position has made you soft." The painful accusation was punctuated with a scalding sear to his corneas, the luminous pressure pushing his arm up to shield the only proper eye of his from frying where it lie. Taking a step back, he couldn't have remotely been prepared to stop the wide edge of the weapon from slamming into his breastbone. It hadn't hit hard enough to shatter the strong bone, yet the Hunter swore his heart stopped for a good 3 seconds, his lungs afraid to move lest they implode from the impact. The man was reeling as it seemed the tirade had no cease, another damning blow savagely dull smashing against a now bluntly pained shoulder. The words echoed against his skull, almost whispered as an engraving against the throbbing meat of his brain. However, Slade had grown frustrated, incapable of resisting the dun möch his former Master courted with his beating. He had his own problems, then having to defend himself against the many who aimed to either purge him now, or purge him later, or even have him accused wrongly of anything to merely be rid of him, the only thing that had gotten him this far in this gruesome existence within the Sith was not his strength. It was his wit. He had to be wily enough to avoid those multiple plots, wry enough to be untrusting to even the lunch matrons on any sith owned land, whether they be organic or droid. Nothing was capable of being trusted in this faction, and damn it if this bastard was going to be the pillar he'd lean on to gather any sort of strength! "Strength isn't the only thing you need to defeat a foe-" he countered, his hand having swapped the vibroblade into his non-dominant hand, and skating it atop the length of the blade in a slice that threatened to remove the Dark One's finger's, yet in the nick of time, the heft, hilt, and pomel had vanished as Tormentous pulled himself low and away, orbiting the Hunter as though he wanted to find which hunk of meat to cleave first just as Slade reset from the crisp favor on his wounded shoulder's side. But the Xandir was already angered, completely past his calm and careful placed mindset as he had been impacted too long in the aura of Tormentous. Feelings unchecked, he snarled back. As the blood-marinated blade swiftly checked to delimb his lower leg, he was able to jump up and away from the voracious crescent the Jidai Maras had made for his leg. With the Dark Lord now on his left, the same non-dominant left hand of his own swiped three clear chunks into zone placements aimed to trianglize the Dark Lord. The left shoulder was immediately capitalized upon as it was the furthest away, but of course the Dark Lord would be able to block something with such reach on Slade's end, and with the Jidai Maras being such a long sword, Tormentous had reach. That diagonally blocked slash was immediately sent sideways as the vibro angled just enough for Slade to near 90 degree crossover Tormentous chest. And should the Dark Lord be able to reach high enough to stop the quick sword from swivelling against it's upper right corner and end it's last trajectory up and towards his crown in prevention of losing his right arm, the heavy and mighty blade and equally heavy and mighty gaze would not make it back down fast enough to stop the Hunter's left leg as he lurched it up in the space between the tightly guarded lock, and gave a hateful front kick straight to the Dark Lord's gut.

It bought Slade space, but he was already moving back in to find another opening. That long sword could only maneuver so much in a tight space, and needing both hands to wield it period allowed Slade to access his own other hand. The Vibro was light, easy to balance, and a swift weapon that colorized well with his versatility. He simply needed to get inside of Tormentous' space, and not allow the tyrant and distance to bisect the Hunter.

"I was not even your chosen! I was a gift from Kroxata! Another failure of your's who I put to the sword and ended blightful existence of! Your first! Did you expect legacy from a pebble who'd you'd not prepared to be a mountain?!" He was bold enough to block the first two strikes of the medianed blade, but it began to bend under the second strike, and without missing a beat in the dance between them, he stepped back from the fray of the last strike, allowing the pause of the next charge on the Dark Lord's end to guide his own curved weapon's cue. He could not block any more hits or this blade would be finished. He'd have to look for more alternate means to domaneer Tormentous' space. He just needed to get close to him. His frazzled mind, however- "A guppy does not survive among sharks by strength, Tormentous!" He could not be a shark right now, he surmised as he avoided another nearly beheading carve to shut him up by the hellforged sword. But the momentum again he sailed up from his duck, and dragged that sword, now in his right hand, up with the action. To reach the top, he would listen to muscle memory and prepare a block, rather than his instinct, which told him to make a swift analysis of where the sword lie now. It's tip rested on the floor, which meant one of his former Master's hands only needed to hold it. One other was free-

And a gauntleted fist slammed like a ship's thrust into hyperspace straight across the jaw of the mere man, careening him in a clean arc across the floor. Blood splattered from something in his mouth, but he was too disoriented to care what. If he could just have both... both cunning and strength, a lethal meld of both Krynn and Tormentous, he would be indomitable.

"Blood is not dead-" he spat dribbles of red from a now swelling side of his lip. He churned the blade back in a backly held grip in his right hand, preparing himself to use the barely hanging on weapon as a knife more than a sword. "I have never said that. I have never said that to you. Even as you snatched lessons away from me in a selfish absence, I still took the throne from you regardless of who's help I had. Should you have been able to kill Kenobi, you could have finally been appreciative of me. Blood brought him straight to you!" His perspective cartwheeled out of proportion as his head began to thrum. Not just the pain of the blows, but something painfully pressurized threatened to end his existence from the inside, out. It coiled and clawed at the underside of the forefront of his skull, and his vision swam. Something begged him to drown. He heard it.
Shaking his head, trying to regain his ability, he prayed the Dark Lord didn't see whatever sloppy swing he had just thrown somewhere, but how could he not? "I handed him to you on a silver platter, and you claimed treason. But desertion of the heir to your throne is not?! Where is YOUR drive!" he roared back, throat growing raw from the intensity in which his cords were used. Slade was almost never loud, and to hit such a timbre hurt. But his mind was not there to register it. His mind was not there to react to his body losing the red of flushed skin, instead growing paler, as though the very vitality of his life was being held hostage by something. Who knew what it was? His only other eye felt scratchy, like something hot burned behind the lense, and he knew he couldn't reach it.

His hands felt cold.
They soon stopped feeling, at all.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Secrets were betrayals in themselves but as power begat power the secrets one held were as ones own power and strength combined. The Jidai Maras was massive to one single man and could not be held in the grip of one hand for the weight of the tainted steel was far beyond what was real and tangible. Yet the Dark One hoisted the sword of damnation as if it weighed as much as a foil. He denied its steel bound weight by his command over its elements - transmuting its very elemental creation and structural make-up into something nigh weightless.

In other words his massive hunk of steel and solid matter could be utilized as handily if not more so than a lightsaber which beheld actual weightlessness. This mastery had come over time and through great knowledge through study as much as martial training. Slade was right. It took more than strength. Tormentous belied typification of his ilk and he carried knowledge that was forbidden as well as the arcane.

With these things he wove his blade in elegance rather than pummeling strength as if he was the mirrored perfection of a Form II, Masashi bladesmith. Slade's very impressive tirade was sectioned, quartered and submitted before him on an elegant platter before pivoting and watching Slade’s frontal kick go by him in slow motion with enough time to mockingly rotate his sword around and slap the Hunter's knee. Not enough to cause damage but enough to invoke a stick it in your eye effect.

Tormentous danced away which did buy the Hunter space. The Dark One moved in swiftly, not allowing his son any space. But once more lying in the face of what Slade believed - one handed, as elegant as a fencing sword. "Kroxata failed because he lacked the power to stand before his betters. You were nothing, less than a slave. You rose above all and destroyed the one who was your better - Kroxata - in your superiority you toppled a mountain. Do you suppose a challenge given so easily? There are always obstacles to overcome. Do not plight me with a rubbed pride. You took, you earned. That is all." He truly did not care for Slade’s damaged pride. Let the Hunter seethe - his choleric fit would do him well here.

Wherein Slade left himself open and the Master punished the Student, slamming home his fist into flesh and bone. Slade was fortunate not to of been the recipient of a broken jaw.

"Don't try and spin his as if you are a victim. You weren't bringing me that Jedi bastard as a gift. You brought him to use the Wall of Light. I call you traitor not because you attempted to oust me - but because your effort was lacking enthusiasm. You didn't truly believe in yourself, you didn't want it bad enough and were willing to cut corners to get it. You weren't willing then to kill me and take what was yours. Somewhere your resolve was lost." He came at Slade, allowing weight to touch his sword in that it beheld power enough to crush his opponent's defenses. Swing after swing came hurtling in, Slade danced and dipped, parried where able. Tormentous kept coming with relentless pursuit. "I never deserted you. For my drive is in you. To see you overcome that which should destroy you. Can you not see? I do not test you - I obstruct you with crushing defeat and every time you stand back up and defy logic and reason. Each time you stand where a dozen times you ought be dead."

"Have you forgotten? Nothing is given - everything is earned - be it the sweat of your brow or the blood on your hands. In my hands I mold a king above all kings. But one strong enough to rule an Empire cannot be crowned freely. A price must be paid. A heavy price. One that you pay daily - and someday, it shall be paid in full." He glared at Slade’s lack of foresight. And he came at the Hunter like an angry bear. During one such sloppy swing. The Jidai Maras cleaving the used vibro in twain. Shouldering into the smaller man he allowed his sword to stick into the stone floor. They were both unarmed now.

They rolled to the ground but the Dark One rolled over top the Hunter and came up to a fighting crouch. Moving on the Xandir he kept his martial guard up until in range where he began firing jabs from the pistons that were his arms. Powerful and accurate the wind cut away from his strikes but sheared away once he threw heavier haymaker or straight punches.

"Are you not chosen of me, Slade? Do you really believe that? In the beginning - you are right. I didn't choose you. But you rose up and took that which was yours. You have become chosen because you were worthy to stand and take it. Not because it is given. You are becoming that which you must be, because you will it. Not because I erect an avenue for you to walk upon."

"I will not give to you - because you were always my greatest and most powerful. And even as you are now - it still rings true. I will not lessen your stake nor your burden - because you have come to stand over all else. Why should I not believe you shall overcome this too and become ever more from it."

[Slade Xandir]

He was face up, water slamming over the dirty black cloth, everything seeming dull in the world as the towel stuck to his face, his eyes, ears, his nostrils. He almost couldn't hold his breath long enough to not succumb to either drowning from an exasperated inhale, or pass out from lack of oxygen. Either was death, should he fail. But there was no rest from the hardship, the torture, the test. His wrists burned, being bound behind him against a metal rung of the chair's back. He had only been able to suppress the urge to not carve himself apart to rip the cloth free, to end this deadly game and be free, alive. But the ropes held longer than his dexterity, and soon wrists stung as he naturally struggled from a base instinct he no longer had control over. The sound of sputtering and gagging foretold his lungs occasionally failing to forbid water entry, nose burning as the cold liquid shot up and into his system. Spat and hurled and gagged back out, only to repeat until his head pounded. But he did not cry out. He did not beg, or plead. He had nothing to say, as this lesson was delivered to him. As his test was soon to be over. His wrists free, his face uncovered, his point proven. He would remain, perseverance being his last good ground which he was able to have pride in. He would not give up, those blasts of water fading from his mind as gauntleted fists replaced the cold wash with hot pursuit. Forearms burned, his block keeping forth as some cool wave of energy came to console the mortal's growing pains. Not to heal, but merely illude his mind into believing he was able to take what was being dealt. Unconsciously, he was simply absorbing the kinetic energy from the blows. The occasional curved punches to his sides and his ribs hurt much more phenomenally, but other than the dribble of blood from an ear and his mouth, he was fine. Possibly concussed, sure, but he was keeping up. "I don't-" another punch landed on his right side, and he groaned. "-even know what-" he barely missed the shot aimed for his face, a hand of primed knuckles slamming into the floor and denting it like a childish pally of stardough. "-wall of light is!" The rest of the tirade Tormentous had thrown at him was a malicious onslaught back to a man who grew tired of not knowing any better. Of not being any better. Atleast not in his mind. He couldn't pull truth from things he knew no better on, and doubted himself even more in Tormentous' words. There was no way, as he was still at the bottom of this pathetic rung! He gave up everything for this man- thus he glared back, even through a mirror stare. "I want to do more than stand!'' It was almost pouty how he said it, exhausted and nigh laughable how close he was to tears he could have been should his emotional stability be somewhat level. But his anger was overruling it all, not allowing him to understand how this situation was even playing out. But before he could say anything else, his body completely had fallen through the floor, as though there was no floor beneath him, carved free by his own shadow. He had unintentionally committed a walk within shadows, cast from the pair as they had devolved to personal melee. Freely, he fell through the world of ebony absence, until he flailed just enough to land. Something peered through the darkness, silver reptilian eyes staring at it's new treat from Lord Blood, seemingly. Slade had accidentally stuck himself with Raphael's Reel, the pet Blood had gifted his Son ages ago. Apparently he had tried transporting it through the shadow walk effort, but was unable to pull the snake with him. Now, stuck here, it swam about with no leash.

It had noticed him, and waited for a command. But the sweat, blood, lack of affirmation within the Force ticked the Reel off that this was not it's usual master; no... it smelled nice. And it had to taste even better.

Slowly, the gigantuan snake advanced, pairs of silvers low and determined to remain locked on him until he no longer existed.