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The brutish marshal, underestimating the wickedness of her blade, intentionally let it bite deep into his shoulder and seized her with his free hand, lifting her up to skewer her with his scimitar. Pain brought back memories of the crucible, and her daily torments there. It was a sacrifice vindicated by her ability to function in spite of overwhelming pain. In the marshal’s feverish attempt to kill her, he failed to notice the state of his arm. The flesh beneath the fur bubbled and festered with unnatural speed, and when the pus filled bubbles popped, they revealed vacant craters where flesh used to be. The failing arm collapsed through sheer putrefaction before he could go fishing for vital organs, and she slid off his blade and back onto her feet. A spinning kick to the marshal’s groin doubled him over, and a solid right hook to the head knocked the man unconscious. She whistled for deck security, and ordered them to secure and stabilize what was left of her opponent, after taking a selfie with the incapacitated opponent and sending it to the Dark Lord. She would just as soon kill him and end his suffering, but her apprentice might want samples for his studies and various… projects. For her own part, she left a deeply ingrained mental scar, engraving the illusion of her dead family on his mind. While the wound was not immediately terminal, it was certainly leaking a great deal more than she would like. Fortunately, the good marshal had brought snacks with him, in the form of a squad of Galactic Alliance marines. She perused their catatonic forms before finding one that looked extra appealing, and ordered security to take the rest away. Her apprentice hadn’t finished yet with the Jedi, so she took her six pack snack pack to a secluded part of the bay and started consuming his body and soul, while his mind was enveloped with a sweet fiction. Occasionally, brief millisecond flickers of fragments of reality would break through, but surely this was better than dying to a blaster bolt or getting disemboweled by a cursed blade? Maybe her manwich wasn’t the only one enveloped in a sweet fiction… But as she consumed him, she felt undeniably better, both in terms of her wound and her internal self. Acts of predation had always had a natural ease and appeal to her. Growing up, she had written it off as getting even with xenophobic snobs that made her life hell, but now she had to wonder if it was something else. Was the night her nature, and if so, what did that mean? She had studied a lot of religions at uni for her major, and a constant was a necessary darkness. If she was to be a righteous devil, what devilry would truly nourish her soul? ((3-day Capture and release on Mythos))