12-27-2017, 12:51 PM
Darth Malik was death made flesh. His rage and fury coursed through his veins, pure plasma, igniting every part of his body. He roared as he drew on the Force, more power than he had ever before channeled. He felt his skin near to bursting, as when his muscles were so engorged and tight, he very nearly fekt his skin split open, unable to contain it.
Betrayal burned across his mind. What he'd seen was perversion of the greatest kind, a complete upending of all that was right and ordered, even in this dark world.
The man stumbled to his feet and Malik saw the flows coming at him. He sneered. Andre and he had played this game. Once Marcus found his brother could use the Force, he knew he would meet others. He needed to be ready. He'd not sparred since coming to Moscow- Pyotr couldn't even control himself- but the reflex was there.
More importantly, part of him was always immediately categorizing weaves. He didn't always know what they'd, but he saw their form. The man was stronger than Pyotr and his weaves carried a punch. Still, he held an ocean next to this lake. Malik threw up a pointed barricade that split and funnelled the weave off to each side of him into the walls and the building shook.
Before the man could act again, lightning shot from his fingers, this time tinged with earth and fire so it glowed blue, a pure expression of his wrath. Drunk with power and the image as he saw it, Darth Malik wanted to laugh in sheer pleasure.
Pride, he knew. He spotted the woman and her wallet. A sweep of air slammed it into the wall, crushing it, even as flows of air grabbed and bound her, dragged her through the air to him like a rag doll.
The man was the more dangerous. And he had questions to ask. So many questions. He was torn. Kill the man and focus on her? Or injure the man enough to stop him from channeling. There had to be a better way to subdue channelers. Later though.
For now, the lightning played and the girl hung in the air. He squeezed for a moment, hoping to hear her screams, her sweet singing screams, full bodied, ripped from her throat. The threat to the man plain.
Betrayal burned across his mind. What he'd seen was perversion of the greatest kind, a complete upending of all that was right and ordered, even in this dark world.
The man stumbled to his feet and Malik saw the flows coming at him. He sneered. Andre and he had played this game. Once Marcus found his brother could use the Force, he knew he would meet others. He needed to be ready. He'd not sparred since coming to Moscow- Pyotr couldn't even control himself- but the reflex was there.
More importantly, part of him was always immediately categorizing weaves. He didn't always know what they'd, but he saw their form. The man was stronger than Pyotr and his weaves carried a punch. Still, he held an ocean next to this lake. Malik threw up a pointed barricade that split and funnelled the weave off to each side of him into the walls and the building shook.
Before the man could act again, lightning shot from his fingers, this time tinged with earth and fire so it glowed blue, a pure expression of his wrath. Drunk with power and the image as he saw it, Darth Malik wanted to laugh in sheer pleasure.
Pride, he knew. He spotted the woman and her wallet. A sweep of air slammed it into the wall, crushing it, even as flows of air grabbed and bound her, dragged her through the air to him like a rag doll.
The man was the more dangerous. And he had questions to ask. So many questions. He was torn. Kill the man and focus on her? Or injure the man enough to stop him from channeling. There had to be a better way to subdue channelers. Later though.
For now, the lightning played and the girl hung in the air. He squeezed for a moment, hoping to hear her screams, her sweet singing screams, full bodied, ripped from her throat. The threat to the man plain.