There was nothing in the universe more enticing than potential prey eliciting a fight or flight response. Every inch that Malfearak staggered back made her tail twitch in excitement. His slight movements transformed her mischievousness to a much more serious urge to cause harm. The stillness of the Black Hand made him retreat to the background, he faded from her peripheral view. The sweet taste of fear turned to a deeper savory, irresistible to a predator.
She inhaled the void and found it to be full of life. The ink of her alchemical skin was nourished, toxins seeping out from the Bleeding Willow’s long roots, drinking and drinking to cleanse itself. The well of the Living Force felt limitless in this realm as she siphoned from it with every fiber of her being like she was at an ‘all-you-can eat buffet’.
The malignant laughing was infectious. It tickled her nerves like an itch that could not be scratched.
Aphotis tilted her head to one side as she recognised the desperation in Asvraal’s pleading. Then she peered down at her own, still empty, claws. There was no weapon in her hands.
’Why was he the one backpedalling with his blade drawn?’
The sheer excess energy of this domain coursed through her two layers of skin. Her breathing became shallow and her rib cage tightened. Sparks of electricity ran over her slender, black-clad arms. Her cheeks flushed and felt warm. The nails on her fingers glowed white-hot.
“Why do you make this so tempting, Malfearak Asvraal?” Her speech was strained, as her jaw clenched from the yearning to release the power all at once.
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“Tempting? TEMPTING?” Malfearak snapped, silver eyes bulging and wild, his Kessurian fangs on full display between curled lips. There was so much he wanted to say to taunt her, to reason with her, to sway her, the words warring in his throat, nearly chocking him. He snarled instead.
You are not yourself, a voice said in his mind, his master’s voice, from afar, beyond the ether.
He knew it to be his subconscious, reason battling raw instincts, but it was the truth. This was nothing like him, a scholar, a thinker. He wasn’t himself, an understatement in and of itself, he had known it for some time, mind disconnected from his body, watching from afar as raw emotion overtook him like water flooding his lungs. Whether by the Black Hand’s machinations or the influence of this place, he could not tell which, but forces conspired against him, weaving doubt and fear through his mind like a Dathomiri spider, making it harder and harder to think, to control himself, he could feel it. Were they affecting her too? Closing his eyes once more, he sucked the air in through clenched teeth, struggling to wrest control from his emotions, and he felt the tension leave his shoulders, his grip loosen around the lightsaber. He blew the air out through his nostrils, a soft breeze. He set his feet at shoulder width, lowered his lightsaber to his side but did not extinguish it. Not yet.
She is my ally. She can be reasoned with, he reminded himself. After what they had been through, not just here but on her own homeworld, surely, there was a chance… Surely it meant something.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
The sound of Alaisy’s heels reverberating against eternity were like a stone cast, breaking the calm, reflective surface of a pond. Like the spray of spume and grime from this pond, emotions flared and drenched him. Rational thought abandoning him, he let out a savage roar as instinct launched him towards his former ally. Mid-stride he twisted the lightsaber hilt, split it in two, a second golden blade shrieking to life in his off-hand.
His fierce reaction stirred something within her chest, muscles twitched and pulsated in quick succession. The Kessurian was behaving like a cornered beast that fought its own nature. Tir’eivra recognised the danger, comparing it to the hostility of the Bane Back Spiders that she had learned to hunt with her Clan—but instead of spitting poisonous saliva, this one spit super-heated plasma.
He had to be tamed in a similar fashion. She could feel her pulse quicken as he lowered his weapon. It was as if his inner turmoil radiated out of him, goading her to move closer. Aphotis did so, but let her emotions coalesce in the palms of her hands, focused and primed. Her tail waved in smooth arcs, with occasional convulsions rippling over the shining black as it was ready to reach for the cold metal of her lightwhip hilt.
Aphotis could smell the decisions between fear, malice and madness. Like a stew of bantha-veal, but then it warped into pure, distilled hatred—hot spice that set her tongue, lips and throat ablaze. .
Malfearak’s ravening howl hollowed out her heart, sending adrenaline pumping through her body. Muscles and ink-like alchemical skin tightened. Electricity ran over her slender arms with a low-frequency buzz, crackling and sputtering wildly as it coiled over her fingers and seeped into vibroclaws.
Both of her hands drew to her side, nails lit up like starlight. She thrust them both forward as Asvraal split his hilt and leapt at her.
Hiss
A realm-shattering thunderclap followed the sharp exhalation from her mask. A stream of cerulean lightning crashed into the Kessurian in mid-air. Alaisy grit her teeth and felt her whole body tingle as she poured every bit of vengeance into the stream.
Asvraal was flung back as an ocean of dark side power crashed onto him. Nerves shattered upon impact. Intense heat and cold at the same time. His blind rage was replaced by a heavy daze and the smell of singed flesh. His ears rang and his vision clouded. He couldn’t even feel the fall as unimaginable pain overtook it. Somehow his hands still gripped the hilts. Instinct took over and plunged the plasma into the silver bridge.
Aphotis twisted the discharge until his golden blades began to funnel the jolt into the runes. She could see the smoke rise from her companion as she heaved and her masked hissed. Her tail slid towards her lightwhip on her hip.
There was no thought. Only pain. The stench of burning, bubbling flesh, his flesh, wafted into his nostrils as darkness descended on him, eternity stretching its great maw, eager to devour him. Like red iron branding him, lightning scoured his body. Through the dark side they were connected, predator and prey, witch and scholar. He could sense the raw, unabated pleasure coursing through her overwhelm him almost as if it was his own, all of it entwined by tendrils of mutual hatred.
He knew then that he would die.
An ignominious end to pathetic existence, one of desperation and strife and deception, only to end as a stepping stone in another’s story, a pawn to the minions of darkness.
With every lash of dark side energy, he felt his life force fade, felt the end drawing near. So he called upon the Force one last time, begging it to grant him the strength to endure as he recited the tenets of the Wayseekers.
Flowing through all, there is the Force
There is no love without passion. There is no passion without desire. Through desire, the strength to act. In our actions, we are reborn.
There is freedom in life, There is purpose in death.
The Force is all things and I am the Force.
His fingers twitched around his lightsabers.
I am the Force.
Despite his fading lifeforce, despite the pain, despite the electricity scouring his body, lashing at his organs, searing his flesh, he climbed to his feet.
He would not grant her pleasure. He would not die by her hand.
Through the Force, he knew strength once more. He looked at her, fading silver eyes locked on blue and he smiled. A soft smile, one of kindness, one of forgiveness. One of pity. Something changed in Alaisy’s expression, her barriers fell and with them the electricity lancing from his fingers faltered and sputtered, if only for a moment, but it was enough. In one final act of strength, Malfearak swung twin golden blades downwards and bisected the pathway at his feet, a blast of energy as it shattered. It gave away beneath him and he fell back, arms outstretched, releasing the lightsabers from his grip, for he was at peace and soon there would be no pain. Lightning arced after him from above, but the pathway continued to fall away, collapsing like shards of glass, picking up speed and momentum, forcing the witch to retreat. She ran and leapt, but there was no escape. She too fell.
The Black Hand was nowhere to be seen.
As eternity descended, Malfearak closed his eyes and let out a long, drawn-out breath.
The Force is all things and I am the Force.