Stolen to Darkness

[Rugs]

Tsubasa stalked around the Mistress, wan-shen held ready at his side. She circled slowly in the air, their paths drawing a wide circle as each sized up the other. The woman could easily have boasted — Tsubasa had never felt so dark a presence, nor one so powerful. He questioned whether he could defeat her alone.

“You could have been a worthy sacrifice, Matukai,” she said. “And perhaps, had you proved yourself loyal to our cause, I might have let you live, to find another to take your stead in the sacrifice. The Jedi — he could never join us, with his soul so tainted by the Light, but you...”

Tsubasa snorted. “Apologies, but I believe you’ll find my soul tainted too much for you to use. Now are you just going to waste time up there, or are we going to settle our affairs?” He forced a cocksure grin as he paced slowly round. “Your last lackey over there will fall to my friend soon, and then you’ll be facing us alone.”

The Mistress scowled deeply. “And even then the odds would fall against you,” she said. Azure lightning crackled, filling the air with the scent of ozone. “But as you wish, Matukai.”

Tsubasa steeled his nerves, and even that was nearly not enough. Another rush of crackling lightning seared the air, trying to tear at his clothes and flesh. He put forth another shield, a single hand held before him with fingers splayed, well the other kept then wan-shen behind him, haft crooked in his elbow.

It took all he had to keep the barrier up. If one of the cultists yet lived, they could have slipped a lightsaber through his ribs with his noticing, so singleminded was his effort. Whatever happened between Xanthran and Macen, Tsubasa could neither see nor feel through the Force. But his faith never waved — faith that Macen would triumph.

Faith that they’d both see a way through this challenge.

“How do you intend to survive this, Matukai?” The Mistress’ voice was shrill of the hissing lightning and dull roar of her power meeting his own. Tsubasa strained, eyes squeezed shut with effort as wind blasted out by the clashing powers blew at his dark hair and robes. “You can do nothing like this!”

That’s where you’re wrong.

The thought drifted, near-silent across his mind. Slowly, gingerly, Tsubasa let the barrier receded — ever closer to his open palm — until the lightning nearly seared his skin. The barrier dissipated but did not fail. Instead, the lightning pooled into an amorphous swirling mass of blue energy in Tsubasa’s palm.

Sweat beaded his brow. He walked a dangerous line. Any more from the Mistress may very well overwhelm him. Reflection was a skill he was more than familiar with, but one typically employed against simpler threats, like blaster fire. The principles remained the same--energy was energy, after all.

This accursed woman was just releasing so much of it.

Tsubasa felt his strength faltering, felt his will stretched to the limit. Now. He pushed forward with all that he had, and lightning, stored and turned back, erupted from his palm. The Mistress howled as her own lightning seared her skin and ripped across her pale flesh.

She tumbled from the air, landing in an unceremonious heap. Tsubasa stood, leaning on his wan-shen for support as he drew heavy breaths. It’d been a near thing. If that hadn’t worked... Best not to think about that.

“So that’s your play, is it?” The Mistress, hurt but far from defeated, rose from the dust. Hatred burned in her eyes as a dagger, glinting dully in Ifrit’s raging fire, dropped to her waiting hand from her loose sleeve. “I had intended to make your death easy, Matukai, but now I will do no such thing.”

Tsubasa said nothing as he lifted his weapon. His limbs felt heavy, his motions sluggish. He glanced to Macen. He hoped, dearly, that the Jedi would be free of his opponent soon.

Or things might not go well for him.

[Ysmir]

He couldn't afford to worry about Tsubasa, but even still, the Jedi flashed a quick glance in his direction just as the lightning erupted from the Mistress' fingertips.

Pure power radiated off that energy, sickly power fueled by the lifeforce of the innocents she had enslaved. It filled Macen with fury to know that she so willingly sapped from their own Force sensitivity, even at the cost of their lives. His brows furrowed as he swept his gaze back to Xanthran, a look of determination in his eyes that had been absent before.

"One last chance," Macen stated firmly, taking a more aggressive Ataru stance, "lay down your weapons and walk away, or I'll be forced to kill you."

Xanthran spoke through gritted teeth, clenched from the pain of his charred flesh. "Death will not embrace me today, dog. I will grind my heel into your neck as I watch the light leave your eyes."

Macen lowered his chin. He frowned. "So be it."

Both erupted from their respective spots, kicking up dust and soot from the duracrete flooring.

Macen flipped acrobatically and brought a swift strike down onto Xanthran, who bashed it aside with his vibroblade. The rotunda was a chorus of sparks and brilliant flashing lights as the Mistress' lightning and Macen's lightsaber flitted about. The Jedi did not cease pressing the offense, continuing to batter Xanthran's defenses with a relentless onslaught of powerful strikes from every angle. The Form IV master displayed his finesse openly and proudly as he fully ceased holding back, with Xanthran pressured into backpedaling away from the sheer aggression of Macen's strikes. The Zabrak seethed and grunted as his eyes scanned each attack, trying desperately to find a hole in Macen's patterns. But wherever one opened up, it was quickly closed off by another incoming blow. Xanthran sensed his back approaching the wall as he continued walking, the gap slowly closing. In a bout of anger and frustration, he stomped his foot forward with a mighty roar, releasing a maelstrom of telekinetic force.

The explosion caught Macen off-guard, whose eyes widened as he was sent careening back several yards. But the sure-footed Jedi maintained his balance and flipped gracefully through the air, landing squarely on both feet. Xanthran roared once more and charged ahead, speed augmented by the Force.

A clash of light and metal accompanied his vibroblade being caught by Macen's lightsaber. Fueled by rage and hatred, not to mention Xanthran's sheer size, the strength behind every strike that Macen blocked sent a shiver of vibration throughout his entire being. But he held fast, adopting a more defensive stance once the pressure was flipped onto him. He stepped deftly across the cracked and dusty flooring, eyes narrowed and focused on Xanthran's own face that wore a wicked expression.

The duo locked blades and pushed against one another; it took all Macen could muster through the Force for his strength to match Xanthran's own. Just as their faces neared one another, both were distracted by a sudden crash.

Looking from their fight, Macen and Xanthran watched as the Mistress tumbled from her perch to the floor in a crumpled heap, blasted down by Tsubasa's counterattack.

"My Lady!", cried Xanthran, genuine concern in his voice. But he could muster little else as an invisible force knocked him in the chest and sent him sliding across the ground. The Zabrak looked up just in time to block an overhead blow from Macen's lightsaber.

"You better stay focused," Macen said condescendingly as Xanthran broke free from their bladelock. The two glared at each other once more before leaping back in for a continued assault.

"Need to end this. Soon."

[Rugs]

All things considered, Tsubasa should have carried an insurmountable advantage against the Mistress as they engaged in single combat. His weapon was longer, heavier than the curved dagger she bore. He was, in peak condition, faster, stronger than she.

But even a Matukai could not ignore forever the weight of the day’s many trials and strains on his body. Redirecting the Mistress’ electric barrage had taken considerable effort, and Tsubasa felt the strain clouding his mind and slowing his steps as they engaged.

Even so, he pressed on. He called on the Force and found it ready as ever to answer him. The mystic energies surged into his body, dulling weariness and lending him strength and graceful agility that surpassed the capabilities of any normal man. Tsubasa was tired, yes, but far from helpless.

Yet so too did the Mistress call upon the same energies — dragged forth from those gathered to serve as sacrifices to her and twisted by her dark will. Tsubasa knew, even before their weapons met, that even just holding her at bay would be no easy task.

Sparks lit the air as she struck at his chest and he whirled his wan-shen to push the blow aside. Her dagger’s blade dragged along the length of his weapon and she suddenly pulled it down and free, stabbing at his side as he twisted narrowly out of the way. He spun the wan shen around, bringing the weighted end down with enough force to crack the stone floor, but the Mistress danced out of the way and circled around, stabbing out at his exposed back.

On and on they circled in a ruthless dance of stroke and counterstroke. Tsubasa pressed at first, trying to pin the Mistress down or keep her on the defensive until Macen came to lend a hand. As their duel dragged out, he found himself forced instead to defend as the Mistress’ began to find purchase against his skin.

“Matukai, you disappoint,” she said as he retreated, putting distance between them and allowing himself a chance to regain his footing. “Her blade, held out to the side, glistened wetly with his blood. “I have heard so much of your kind’s martial prowess, and this is the best you can muster?” Her eyes, glowing red and yellow in shadowed face narrowed as a crooked smile split her pale skin. “Perhaps you are not as worthy a sacrifice as I envisioned...”

“Be quiet!” Tsubasa yelled harshly, pulling a small, hidden knife from his boot and hurling it at the woman. She cackled as lifted her hand. The knife swung wide around her and circled back, gleaming in the flames’ light as it streaked at Tsubasa. He began to move out of the way — or would have, if he wasn’t suddenly trapped. The Force bound him to the ground, as surely as metal chains wrapped around his person.

The knife found him. It dug into his shoulder, piercing hard muscle as spilling blood out onto the floor and his robes. Tsubasa bit back a cry, denying the Mistress that pleasure as she watched gleefully. “I told you, Matukai,” she said, pulling the knife free with a wave of her hand, “that your death will not be an easy one.” The blade hovered menacingly near Tsubasa’s face. “Now let us begin.”

[Ysmir]

"Die!"

A heavy overhanded stroke caught Macen in the shoulder, just barely clipping his flesh and rending a hole in the tattered rags he wore. He grunted in pain as fresh crimson flowed out from the open wound, pressing his boot into the towering Iridonian's chest to kick him back. Macen had to react quickly, however, and lifted his lightsaber to catch another blow from Xanthran, this one aimed at his neck. The Dark Jedi pressed Macen against one of the bleachers surrounding the central altar, causing him to bend over at the back and grit his teeth as they fought in the bladelock. Xanthran smiled.

"Your vaunted teachings fail you, make you weak! I will cast down the Codex of the Jedi Order, and together, my Mistress and I will lay waste to your people!", he seethed, twisting the blade against Macen's lightsaber as he continued pressing down. The humming beam of energy grew closer to the gritting Jedi's face as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. "And then next, the Empire -- my Mistress will squash their precious fleet with her power, and she will usurp the Empress as the one true sovereign of this Galaxy. Her subjects will know fear! They will know hatred! They will know what it means to stare into the heart of the Force itself! And your soulless husk will not be there to see it!"

Macen's back fell against the bleachers. The muscles in his arms screamed with agony as he strained against Xantrhan's monstrous strength, his blade threatening to overwhelm the Jedi and force Macen's own lightsaber into his neck. What an inglorious end; to fight so hard, so true, sticking to the ideals of light and justice, and to be felled by one's own blade. The very thought sickened him and twisted his core so harshly a knot formed in his throat. But it wasn't anger; no, it was defiance. Macen's eyes squeezed shut as he felt the hum and glow of his own lightsaber grow closer. Xanthran's yellowed irises burned with delight as a maddened smile crept over his painted face. Then, Macen opened his eyes.

"You haven't killed us yet," he growled, but smirked all the same; and his foot lifted from its place on the ground to strike Xanthran directly in a most sensitive location.

The Zabrak's eyes widened in shock and he howled in pain as the Force-assisted kick hit its mark. Macen took the brief lapse in his concentration to thrust both hands into Xanthran's chest. His palms burst with telekinetic power as he Force pushed the Dark Warrior at point-blank range, knocking the wind from his chest and sending him careening across the ground, tumbling through clouds of dust and soot. Macen kipped up to his feet and spun his lightsaber about; Xanthran lay on the ground a few meters away, coughing and sputtering as he began pushing himself to his feet. Seeing his chance to strike, Macen crouched low and kicked off from the ground, flying over Tsubasa and the mistress as he reared his lightsaber back. Xanthran turned over onto his back, lifting the vibroblade to block the blow as Macen landed.

And just as their blades were to meet, Macen switched off the lightsaber. The vibroblade caught air, Xanthran's eyes widening as Macen flicked the ignition back up. The Zabrak twitched as he felt a burning pain sear through him. The lightsaber reignited, piercing straight through the warrior's chest where his heart would be. Xanthran glanced down at his wound for a brief moment, before looking back up to Macen.

"I don't follow teachings, Xanthran -- I follow the path of what's right," Macen said, pulling the lightsaber free. The clanging of metal rung out as Xanthran's arms fell to his side, his vibroblade landing on the duracrete floor next to him.

Wasting no time, Macen turned upward; his eyes set on the skylight that filtered in dim sun. Lifting both hands, he summoned as much strength as he could to wield the Force like a rope; lassoing the structural weaknesses he could sense in the stone, Macen let out a cry of struggle as he pulled his hands down. The duracrete ceiling crackled and groaned as it began to cave in, bits of stone rubble and debris falling inward as he tugged and coerced it out of its place -- right over Tsubasa and the Mistress.

Then, a mighty CRACK resounded out. A pile of rubble and debris fell from the skylight, letting in more of the hazy sunlight and, more importantly, giving the Mistress something else entirely to worry about.

[Rugs]

The Force weighed down on Tsubasa like a factory press trying to flatten him into the stone floor. He struggled to move, with veins bulging on his neck and forehead from the effort, but could only muster weak tremblings of his fingers. Instinct screamed to struggle, to fight his way free of the Mistress’ unyielding grip, but he slowly forced himself to clam.

He could not escape her hold; not with physical strength alone. Though exhaustion clawed at his mental clarity, Tsubasa knew the Force had not yet abandoned him. The throbbing pain from the dagger wound in shoulder was agonizing, but a sign that he was still alive. And as long as he yet breathed, he had a chance.

Trust Macen. Tsubasa closed his eyes and the Force came to him, as it always did. Trust in the Force.

“I should be thanking you, Matukai,” the Mistress said, walking leisurely toward the trapped Tsubasa on the floor. Her voice was calm and steady, despite the considerable amount of power flowing through her to restrain him. “It would have taken us so much longer, picking at the weak and the untrained, if you and your Jedi friend hadn’t come along sticking your noses into the trap like a pair of stupid dogs.

“Now the power gained from both of you will be all I need to finish my plans...”

Tsubasa’s attention on the woman broke as he saw Macen go flying overhead. What is he doing? No, focus on her. He had to keep the Mistress’ attention, preferably without getting split open like a nerf under the butcher’s blade.”

“...to be a part of something greater than you could ever be alone,” the Mistress was saying. She was close to him extending a thin hand toward his chest. The dagger, still wet with his blood, glistened in her other hand. “Rejoice,” she said, in a voice that sent shiver rolling down Tsubasa’s spine.

“You don’t have me yet,” he managed through grit teeth as he turned the Force against her. Her posture faltered as a weak burst of energy hit hear, nearly knocking her over. It was enough to dull her focus enough for Tsubasa to turn the protective energies of the Force against her hold on him, to start to rise again until she turned on him in rage and threw him against the wall.

Tsubasa curled his body again to brace for impact, this time worse than the last. He grit his teeth and bore the pain even as the Mistress pressed the Force down around him again. The woman advanced, radiating white-hot rage.

Tsubsa wondered if she might just slit his throat now--only just before the sound of cracking stone drew his gaze up. The mistress heard this and turned. Her focus on Tsubasa shattered as she saw the collapsing rock plunging toward them. Rather than hope she kept them both alive, Tsubasa jumped, carried by the Force, to safety.

Finally, he saw that Macen had dealt with Xanthran for good, leaving the Jedi free to join him. “Thank you,” he said with a nod as he lift his hand to his wounded shoulder. A subtle light emanated from his palm as he knit the wound shut. It was quick, sloppy work; it wouldn’t hold for long, but it was enough to dull the pain and stop the bleeding.

The pile of rubble surrounding the Mistress began to move, rising from within. “We must finish her quickly,” Tsubasa said, stating what the Jedi must surely know. “The power she’s stolen is incredible.”

The duracrete, lifted into a sort of dome around the Mistress, froze in space. Tsubasa frowned, pulling his wan-shen to his hand once more. And then a terrible scream sounded, accompanied by a terrible pulse of power that turned the heavy block of duracrete to dust that flew out in all directions. The Mistress stood in the burst’s origin point, with lines of pale dust on the dark stone floor radiating out from her in all directions.

“Enough of this.” Her voice dripped contempt. “I will put you both down.”

[Ysmir]

Macen rose side by side with Tsubasa once the falling debris had done its job; not the prettiest method of diversion, and certainly a bit dangerous, but now wasn't the time for caution. He held his lightsaber aloft in his right hand, staring daggers across at the Dark Mistress.

Her yellowed eyes positively glowed with hatred, all directed at Macen and Tsubasa. Macen was no skillful mind reader, but he didn't need to be; it was clear that the duo had been a thorn in her side the likes of which she had scarcely felt before. With her most powerful acolytes dispatched, standing alone, it seemed she saw it fit to truly display the extents of her awesome power. Macen felt the life forces of the captured Force-sensitive prisoners begin to wane even further as the Mistress drew from the wells of their souls, collecting their raw energy in her hands. It pulsed as purplish-black spheres that crackled with sick lightning, flashing and filling the air with brilliant light and a sense of dread that pervaded one's very being. The duracrete surrounding her was pulverized in a flash, and Macen lifted his forearm to shield his eyes from the shockwave that burst outward.

Across the chamber, Masai let out a cry of pain; the poor boy's body writhed on the floor of his cell among the several dozen other prisoners whose powers were being forcibly ripped from their vessels. Despite being free of her influence, Macen himself felt his resolve wavering in the presence of such foul energies. However, while the Mistress threatened them, Macen noticed something; a collar on each prisoner, fitted with a focusing crystal that no doubt served as a conduit for her dark powers.

Macen lifted his lightsaber in a defensive stance.

"Let's end this nightmare," he said, glancing at Tsubasa, "together."

"The only thing you shall do together is die," the Mistress roared, voice hoarse and raspy from the sheer power she exuded. From her position, floating in the center of the chamber, her hands stretched out. From her palms erupted two lines of pure, unbridled power, Force energy tainted by the Dark Side and directed at Macen and Tsubasa. The Jedi was quick to react, though his eyes widened with shock; using the Force, he cartwheeled to his right, away from the beam of energy that struck the wall behind him and his companion. The raw strength behind the blast was enough to burrow several meters deep into the duracrete, blowing the wall apart as though it were made of foam. Macen rolled his feet and looked across to Tsubasa as the Mistress began to gather more power, cackling all the while.

"The collars!", Macen yelled; he had to in order to be heard over the crackling lightning. "Free the prisoners and she'll be starved!"

Easier said than done, however - but they had to try.

To attempt to buy Tsubasa time, Macen reached out with both hands toward the Dark Mistress. Clenching his teeth, he focused with all his might to encasing her within a telekinetic prison. The Mistress fought against his hold with a seething cry of anger, stretching her arms out against the invisible walls that trapped her. The purple energy between her palms grew and grew, supplemented by her own power and that which she stole from the vessels. Macen held on for as long as he could, containing the immense power until he could fight against it no longer. In a brilliant flash of light and sound, the telekinetic hold exploded - and from it, the Mistress' shriek pierced the ears of all that could hear it. The force of the explosion sent Macen careening off his feet and into the wall behind him. He bounced off the duracrete and flopped onto the floor, his lightsaber falling by his side.

The Jedi struggled to pick himself up off the floor, shaky arms giving way under his own weight. The Mistress, with a twisted and grey face marred by pockets of black corruption, hovered over to where Macen lay weakly. He reached desperately for his lightsaber hilt. The metal cylinder twitched and jolted across the ground a few inches, but he could not muster the strength to pull it to his hand. The Mistress floated menacingly over his body, her attention fully devoted to snuffing him out.

"Now, feel my anger." She lifted her hands above Macen's body, the charged energy threatening to fork outward and extinguish his flame in an instant.