01-18-2021, 09:00 PM
The banter between Carpenter and Nox was natural enough. Playful even. Subconsciously he filed it away and focused on the words. He kept a smirk from forming on his lips at Nox's words. He might have skill. Marcus was not stupid enough to dismiss people as threats because it injured his pride. But any attempt of Nox's to "put him down" would be met with the quickest and purest expression of the power he would experience. No matter what he thought, Marcus was not going to finish his life down here. He didn't come this far to die in the tunnels, a sacrifice to keep the world safe.
If he wasn't alive to enjoy it, the state of the world really didn't matter to him in the slightest
Nox took the lead and Marcus was content to follow. He did unclip his lightsaber and held it firmly, ready. Despite his work over the last few weeks, his one concession to himself had been taking up kendo. And while he was still a relative beginner, the instructor Samu-san, told him he had good instincts and form. Marcus did not feel the need to tell him he had been practicing sword fighting since he was a kid. Sticks, cardboard wrapping paper tubes, fiberglass rods- one time even a couple of fluorescent tubes he and Andre found near a dumpster- whatever he could find he had played with it. But he knew better than to think that had given him any kind of skill.
Nor did he want to be laughed at in the class. It wouldn't do to have to kill them for his own foolish slip of the tongue.
The tunnels seemed to press in around him and Marcus felt the anxiety rise. A memory flashed. He was locked in a closet. The smell of eggs and vomit filled the air. It a took a moment to place it. Denise. He breathed, trying to exhale away the tension he had felt in that confined space. He wasn't a helpless little kid anymore.
But he did not let go of the fury that went with it. He almost channeled to give himself red eyes as he did when he hunted there toward the end. His rage was an old familiar friend, the one he used to call Malik. He welcomed it and felt it suffuse him.
The discomfort fled. Instead, the angel of death descended into the bowels of hell. The Force carried the sounds and smells of the tunnels, the whispered words and steps- and something else. A buzzing droning he felt as much as heard. Felt, more than heard. Tendrils of the Force spread out from before him, questing threads of spirit. Of all the flavors, spirit seemed most useful, as if it was responsive to his very will. With them, he could 'taste' what was out there, feel reverberations that went beyond the physical. Spirit was almost an interface of the power in and of itself.
They walked on, lit up by the lights created by Ascendancy. Which was fine by him. Adding more illumination would do no good. Instead, his threads 'tasted' the wrongness descending on them. He'd not bring his blade to life until it was time. And he had room to use it. He had no desire to cut he own companions down.
Instead, he prepared nasty weaves of his own, a barrage of fiery whips and tendrils similar to what the blade of his lightsaber did, but to be launched in a spinning motion to the center mass. He waited, hunger whetting his tongue. It wouldn't be long now.
If he wasn't alive to enjoy it, the state of the world really didn't matter to him in the slightest
Nox took the lead and Marcus was content to follow. He did unclip his lightsaber and held it firmly, ready. Despite his work over the last few weeks, his one concession to himself had been taking up kendo. And while he was still a relative beginner, the instructor Samu-san, told him he had good instincts and form. Marcus did not feel the need to tell him he had been practicing sword fighting since he was a kid. Sticks, cardboard wrapping paper tubes, fiberglass rods- one time even a couple of fluorescent tubes he and Andre found near a dumpster- whatever he could find he had played with it. But he knew better than to think that had given him any kind of skill.
Nor did he want to be laughed at in the class. It wouldn't do to have to kill them for his own foolish slip of the tongue.
The tunnels seemed to press in around him and Marcus felt the anxiety rise. A memory flashed. He was locked in a closet. The smell of eggs and vomit filled the air. It a took a moment to place it. Denise. He breathed, trying to exhale away the tension he had felt in that confined space. He wasn't a helpless little kid anymore.
But he did not let go of the fury that went with it. He almost channeled to give himself red eyes as he did when he hunted there toward the end. His rage was an old familiar friend, the one he used to call Malik. He welcomed it and felt it suffuse him.
The discomfort fled. Instead, the angel of death descended into the bowels of hell. The Force carried the sounds and smells of the tunnels, the whispered words and steps- and something else. A buzzing droning he felt as much as heard. Felt, more than heard. Tendrils of the Force spread out from before him, questing threads of spirit. Of all the flavors, spirit seemed most useful, as if it was responsive to his very will. With them, he could 'taste' what was out there, feel reverberations that went beyond the physical. Spirit was almost an interface of the power in and of itself.
They walked on, lit up by the lights created by Ascendancy. Which was fine by him. Adding more illumination would do no good. Instead, his threads 'tasted' the wrongness descending on them. He'd not bring his blade to life until it was time. And he had room to use it. He had no desire to cut he own companions down.
Instead, he prepared nasty weaves of his own, a barrage of fiery whips and tendrils similar to what the blade of his lightsaber did, but to be launched in a spinning motion to the center mass. He waited, hunger whetting his tongue. It wouldn't be long now.