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Oculus

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  1. Oculus

    Cathar

    Darkness has always and will always be a bittersweet existence, the edge of fear with the embrace of the unknown. It held many realms and had many faces, from the lonely shadow casted by one's form to the enveloping depth as one shut off the lights and even more terrifying in the hearts of the wicked. And yet, it was also a idol of worship, long held in prestige by followers of the darkside and even those whom knew it in primordial cases. It was to be feared, to be known and understood, to be embraced even in death. Such was it's nature. Darkness, oh how little Shiro knew of it. Shiro stood upon it's precipice as it battles to consume him, battled to claim him, and in the end, battled to defy him. What he felt was strength was soon turned to fear, anger, and pain to which he had never known before as Hayley thrusted the blade into his flesh, the sheer acknowledgement of his form to it's pain threatening to claim his sight to the darkness beyond. And it only grew stronger as the Force thrusted it's will upon the mechanized arm and shoulder as it binded man and machine, nerves burning scorching hot with a chilling cold, the flesh of his brow sweating upon the passing breeze as the air cycled against his consciousness, and bone fracturing as metal replaced his disfigurement. And then there was silence.... The gaping maw of Chaos opened wide for the conscious of the Apprentice, craving to swallow him as a treat, the echoing of screams and shadowed figures twisting within his darkened mind. He had fainted amidst the pain of his convergence and the darkness within saw its opportunity to strike. It's eye pierced the veil of his mind, gazing upon his soul with utter intrigue, insatiable hunger wanting to claim him and the chaos he rought. And in that moment, Shiro knew the truth of fear and horror, a sensation he had never comprehended truthfully, and in his weakness, begged for the life he left unfulfilled. And it was granted... Pain surged through him again, waking him from his faint as if guided by unknowing hands, his flesh and bone alit with fire and ice as his body convulsed with fever and release, the anger within knowing no restraint, the wrath within knowing no release. For this is what he asked for himself, the moment he had wrongfully wished for, a strength granted without the knowledge of consequence. This was Shiro's desire. This was his pride. To become what he was meant to be, even if he did not know what he would bring upon himself. And as the darkness once again battled to claim him, he could not resist. Over and over again, he would feel the consequences of his wish, echoed by the Force that flowed through him and from him, the twist of the fate, until he laid in utter relief as his body fell to the numbness of the ordeal. He would be left laying unobserved, in his own fluids and blood, broken and repaired, until his consciousness grew enough strength to move. His body steamed against the cold he felt all around him and within, his flesh aflame with sensory. And in that waking moment, he understood what the darkness meant, the imagery he for seen and felt with his own senses: Power came through suffering. His voiced echoed throughout the hold as he spoke with strained breaths. "My Master..."
  2. 2nd Infantry Squad 12th Platoon 4th Company "Fang Squad" Corporal Shiro Seven Enlisted Name: Shiro Seven Aliases: Shiro Armegedon Homeworld: Odik II Species: Humanoid Age: 19 Height: 5'7 Weight: 150lbs Hair: White Skin: Bronze Eyes: Glowing Red Sex: Male Alignment: Unknown Faction Rank: Imperial Marine Specialization: Heavy Infantry History: Enlisting at the behest of Shaq'teel of House Zebeti to follow his heritage as an Armegedon, Shiro enlisted under the false name Shiro Seven rather than take up his hereditary name. After the Battle for Coruscant, Shiro took up the Rank of Corporal and leadership of the survivors from that gruesome battle. Corporal Emerald Dunstan Enlisted Name: Emerald Dunstan Aliases: Nine Lives Homeworld: Onderon Species: Human Age: 21 Height: 6'3 Weight: 180lbs Hair: Black Skin: Black Eyes: Brown Sex: Male Alignment: Lawful Faction Rank: Imperial Shocktrooper Specialization: Infantry History: Born into the Royal Houses of Onderon, Emerald Dunstan enlisted into the Imperial Infantry shortly after Onderon's liberation. Private Carrie Saldana Enlisted Name: Carrie Saldana Aliases: Trigger Homeworld: Coruscant Species: Human Age: 18 Height: 5'1 Weight: 124lbs Hair: Brunette Skin: White Eyes: Blue Sex: Female Alignment: Lawful Cautious Faction Rank: Imperial Stormtrooper Specialization: Infantry History: A new recruit after the fall of Coruscant and the ensuing displacement of Refugees, Carrie enlisted upon her arrival at Onderon. Privates Dan & Hanz Ford Enlisted Name: Dan/Hanz Ford Aliases: Geminis, The Ford Twins, The Twins Homeworld: Coruscant Species: Human Age: 19 Height: 6'1 Weight: 225lbs Hair: Brunettes Skin: White Eyes: Brown Sex: Males Alignment: Lawful Chaotic Faction Rank: Imperial Marines Specialization: Tactics History: Originally hailing from Coruscant, the Ford Twins were raised on Onderon, where the originally enlisted due to their pyromaniac and destructive tendencies. Private Phillippe Doloz Enlisted Name: Phillippe Doloz Aliases: Bacta Homeworld: Onderon Species: Human Age: 22 Height: 5'3 Weight: 145lbs Hair: Black Skin: Bronze Eyes: Brown Sex: Male Alignment: Lawful Tranquil Faction Rank: Imperial Marine Specialization: Medic History: Growing up in the slums of Onderon, Phillippe enlisted to provide a better life for his mother and sisters when Onderon was liberated. Childhood friend of Emerald Dunstan. Private Laurel Renee Enlisted Name: Laurel Renee Aliases: Bandages Homeworld: Onderon Species: Echani Age: 19 Height: 4'10 Weight: 105lbs Hair: Silver Skin: White Eyes: Silver Sex: Female Alignment: Lawful Faction Rank: Imperial Stormtrooper Specialization: Medic History: Her family can be traced back to Dxun, and later in the Beastriders of Onderon. Enlisted shortly after the Onderonian Liberation. Private Shaw Hax Enlisted Name: Shaw Hax Aliases: Tanker Homeworld: Dxun Species: Human(Mandalorian) Age: 17 Height: 6'5 Weight: 250lbs Hair: Blonde Skin: White Eyes: Brown Sex: Male Alignment: Chaotic Faction Rank: Imperial Marine Specialization: Heavy Infantry History: A member of the Hax Clan of Dxun, Shaw enlisted after the invasion and desecration of Dxun during the last battle of Onderon. Nicknamed Tanker by his comrades, he lives up to the name via his specialization with anti-tank weaponry and heavy artillery.
  3. Oculus

    Cathar

    Chaos took hold his heart and his smirk echoed of his enjoyment as Shiro heard his Master's words and gazed upon the fallen. He had started his Dark Journey as one of the Endured, those who took the will placed upon them and made it their own to Force change within the Galaxy. With joy, he took to collected what he felt was rightfully earned, carefully looking over each fallen form for what would form him, from Blasters to Chest plates, and everything in between, all while casually grasping at his deformed shoulder intermediately. From one, he unbuckled a breastplate of high quality durasteel, thickened and reinforced. Another he took an impressive Rerebrace and Couter along with a Vambrace and Gauntlet. Next came the Gorget, Pauldron, Plackart, Fauld, Cuisse, Poleyn, and Greaves until the armor had been collected and the armorweave remained. With a grin, he headed toward the ship his Master had disappeared within, dragging his collection until his sight fell upon a singular blade. It was a vibroblade, tempered and enforced, it's hilt encrusted with gems. It felt as dark as his soul, as if it cried for blood with a sentience's thought. And it was his to claim. Boarding the ship, Shiro tossed the gear to the side, taking a moment to explore the smuggler's ship. Aboard were random crates of stolen goods and supplies, a few discarded droids. Picking up an arm, Shiro wandered back to thoughts of his Master, her intent to make him stronger. Surely prosthetics would only increase his power as much as replace what was lost. He grinned, reaching out to his Master in the Force, his intent flowing across her mind. "Bind this arm to me as I would this armor, so that your warrior can bind this Galaxy to our will."
  4. Oculus

    Cathar

    Shiro yanked his blade free, the dangling head of his prey bobbling as it's limp form fell upon the bloodied earth beneath it, blood and spinal fluid coating his clothing in the back spray. Shiro grinned. He could feel the fear, taste it even, as it lingered in the air. And he reveled in it, consuming it as if he was it's center of gravity, bloodlust aching in his darkened heart. Even as he stepped forward toward the next, he saw their reaction, the jumping of deer caught in the gaze of his frozen stare. “Stop playing with your prey, boy. You give them hope… A most dangerous weapon.” His Master's voice eerily echoed across the savannah, carried by both the dead and the planer's atmosphere. Shiro's peripheral gaze briefly caught her own as a smirk crept across his face before turning back to them. Let them have their hope. It was pointless now. For he was their harbinger, their shadow of death, and their hope could not stop the inevitable, senseless to accept anything but. With a grin, he drug his blade across this chest, reaping their frozen fear. Feeling the pain flow through his form, Shiro found its pleasurable bliss surging through his form, his fingers twitching in ecstasy. Gripping his blade tight, he pushed off with his right foot, his form a hazed blur as he drove toward the final front he faced, dragging his blade circularly around arms and necks until he reached the other side, shaking hands and arms firing blaster bolts widely and untamed. As he turned, the bodies fell in a display of feverish fountains of blood, the smell of iron painting the air as his gaze caught his Master's. "And what of you Master?"
  5. Oculus

    Cathar

    Like two Wolves amidst a flock of Sheep, the two Sith beacon the call of Chaos, the herd torn asunder by the consummation of fear and anger. Some moved to attack in a last ditch effort of survival while many took the time to chance escape at the sake of those who turned toward the chaos. For Shiro, the pleasure remained in abundance. Weak prey, predatorial creatures who could not stand alone even to overcome the mundane of prey. He could taste their fear in the air and feel the warmth of their anger as Wrath and Pride bore birth a new son. And it empowered his very core. Pain flowed through his veins as every movement of his form against the tide ached, the cauterized wound of his disfigured shoulder lit aflame with deadened nerves. But his pain was his power. It marked his fall before his rise, a stain of ego upon his darkened heart. Driving forward the limp form of his first victim, he carved his path through the fray, the deadman's finger a puppet's string to be pulled against those he knew in life. It was poetic for Shiro, to use friends against friends, the look of horror upon their faces invigorating. Throwing the form forward, and a well balance sweep, Shiro drove boned weapon through the chest of his next victim. His gaze shifted, the crimson and golden mix fixating upon the onlookers with a sinister grin. A blaster bolt strayed across his wounded shoulder, sending more pain wretching through his form as his gaze flamed with anger enjoyed, and in that moment, Shiro charged deeper into the fray, using the lingering fear within the air and the Wrath in his heart to propel him, speed only one of his new found strengths. Six had already fallen, two his blades, and four to the shield he had claimed. War was beating in his heart like drums and blood covered him like paint. He could feel the power of his Master and used her brighten flames to his advantage as he became the shadow of his enemies and attacked their rear, a blur amongst the battlefield for those who chose not to flee. And even though these Wolves were injured, the flock would feed them well. In a fluid motion, Shiro attacked his next victim, slicing ligaments before landing the killing blow at the base of the neck.
  6. Oculus

    Cathar

    The Darkness of Wrath and Pride were each hypnotic and captivating within their own rights. Wrath was blinding and powerful where as Pride was tactical and subversive. But to feel both coursing through his veins were like wildfires blazing in the right spots to provide destruction of the undergrowth so that the forest could grow lusher. Shiro could feel it growing inside himself, feel his heart and mind connect so freely and clearly with his body that pain from his wounds became pleasing to his senses. He felt more free than he had in the entirety of his lifespan. His gaze was sharper, his nose more in tune. His reflexes were quicker and his thoughts processed augmentively. And the Force flowed through his entirety with every beckon or call. And it felt greater than any drug that could ever be synthesized, creating a hunger filled need deep inside him. He could feel it creeping up his throat, the salivating lust for more, the urge in his heart beating faster for substance. And he could feel his form leeching for it with every movement. Even as his Master before him fell into combat. As if in a fog, Shiro followed headlong into the fray, the Force within him flowing maniacally like a storm. The Wrath within drove for the list of blood, aching to quench it's thirst with the blood of many. And the Pride within became a double edged blade, swelling his ego with impossible temptations. But Shiro had remembered the lesson taught to him by his Master, that blindness would lead to destruction and only taming the beast would create the path, a lesson he had only recently discovered within himself with truth. No. He would not be led astray this time by inexperience. This time, he would embrace the truth of the warrior within. Letting his Master's initial distraction catch the men off guard, Shiro would let their blindsidedness be his way in. As his feet touched the ground, he would grab the closest and slit their throat, and in catching their lifeless form, use them as a shield as their fire turned his way. This would present an opportunity to use their own against them, and a chance to discard the blade and grasp at his victim's weapon to return fire. His senses sharpened by the allure of the darkness within, it wouldn't be impossible to dispatch a handful in his own initial attack. But now that he had stepped into the fray, his luck would only be a fleeting moment and his reliance on his Master would intensify. Time to truly find his place as her worthy Apprentice and as a Sith.
  7. Oculus

    Cathar

    There was a hunger for power in the chaotic eyes of Shiro as he watched in admiration of his Master's moves, the ripples of her own power and glory pulsating upon the Force as the wave of pain and agony vibrated against his own. And before his very eyes, she lept forward as a gazelle, gracefully and yet demonic, like a witch upon her prey. And in that moment, Shiro smiled. Pride edged him on. His mind reached out with malicious intent, the macabre scenery of his life flowing through his mind as he grasped upon its will violently. With a subtle bend of his knees against the pain of his disfigured form, he kept forward, but found himself sorely lacking, landing but a few feet forward. Wrath boiled in his heart, his soul lit aflame by its warmly embrace as the Sun cast upon his looming shadow across the kicked sand. What did he do wrong this time? Would failure make him or break him? Such questions crossed his mind as he gazed forward toward his disappearing Master, causing the young Sith Apprentice to give chase behind her, anger swelling in his veins. But even as he left the beach head behind, he was no closing to closing the gap than a predatorial beast after a faster prey and soon he grew winded despite pushing himself past such a feeble point. And yet, there was a voice inside himself that continued to edge him, guiding his anger and wrath past the beastial threshold and into a Master's mindframe. Part of him was anger, but another was playful, a smirk never leaving his face despite his failings as he continued his chase. It felt like a game of cat and mouse, of Bantha and Krayt, and the maliciousness within enjoyed the moment and its feel, pushing him to push farther. Feeling the wind against his form increase as the two headed toward the ongoing storm they fought back at the beachhead, it felt almost sacramental, forboding their inevitable arrival at each other or whomever they crossed paths with. For Shiro, it felt wild and free, poetic. And he felt its lust. He could feel its ache to be conquered, to be dominated. And he ached to answer its wish. Feeling his feet lighten beneath him, he lunged forward, and like a predator, his hunt to catch the Elusive one began. His jumps may not have been as prolific as his Masters, nor held the stride she could attain. But between his speed and lunges, he was quickly gaining. His smirk only increased at this knowledge.
  8. Oculus

    Cathar

    Wrath was like a storm, unrelenting, wild, and powerful. It was ample in it destruction, leaving nothingness in its wake. For Shiro, it had been his awakening. It was the flowing current ever pushing toward the mouth of the ocean, blackened and deep. But it was a simply introduction, incapable of being steered without aid. It simply swept him toward his destination, his fate. And when he accessed it, opened himself up to it, it simply took him forward in time blindly and unstoppable to the point of injury. But Pride was the oar, capable of steering Shiro even amidst the raging storm. It was the Captain of the Sea, undeterred in his war against nature. It was logic in chaos. Where Wrath would sweep him, Pride would give control. It was the perfect combination of a perfect storm, powerful and yet honed, strength with sight. Shiro could see it even as he contemplated the potential of the blade. The Force he grasped at was its Forge, and he, the Blacksmith. Yet, what would be the material? Shiro opened his gaze upon the bubbling brooke, then shifted it toward the boiling sea, scanning along the darkened beach head. The bodies along it no longer existed, nor did the materials that they adorned. A few links of wood swayed in the crashing waves further down the shore as the sea boiled with his Master. But as his gaze shifted back toward the brooke, something familiar caught his eye. His shoulder ached with grotesque pain as the memory replayed its self, the darkened maw reaching up from the bloodied sands as it swallowed flesh and bone from its socket, a worthy sacrifice made in what appeared to be vain. Yet now, the ivory form sat with inches sticking from its grave, flesh and bone boiling separate from the heat the sea emitted, the flesh leathered across the cooked meat as it dripped into the sand from bone. Shiro grinned as he Rose and made his way over, pulling his former arm from its placement and laying it before him. Gathering his blade from the sheath near his ankle, Shiro sliced away flesh and meat, stripping the white ivory bone from it. Was this the purpose of his sacrifice before he became one of them? He didn't possess the time nor care to question, something within driving him forward. Laying strips of hide to the side, he continued until only the white ivory remained laying before him and a weapon began forming in his mind at the sight of the bones, most notably the Humurus and Scapula bones. And so he set forth to forging what he envisioned. The Humurus would make a great handle, whether for this weapon or any other, a true extension of himself like his arm once was. The Scapula was more brunt than he liked, but with a few chisels of his blade, it's own edge began to form. But muscle and ligament were boiled and cooked away, leaving the joining almost improbable until he gazed at the hide he had stripped away. His blade in hand, Shiro began to carve away at the bone until the Scapula could fit solidly into the Humurus and the hide grown strong enough in the boiling waters to rejoin together. And as the last of the hide was tied tightly together with his teeth and hand, Cathar would inexplicably resound in his creation. "Bone of my bone, forged in the fashion of those who destroyed, may my Wrath and Pride be heard." The voice echoed in his head as his Maater emerged from the Sea and her cackle brough his gaze up from the ivory to meet her own horrific form. Shiro smiled with a nod, and turned his focus inward and to the blade, letting his memories imprint themselves upon his creation. Wrath brought forth his childhood, his slavery, his pain. And Pride brought forth his escape, his rise in the Arena, and now his rise as a Sith Apprentice. As each of these memories and emotion flowed through Shiro and into the Blade, it echoed and mirrored his own intent. And as he stood, the axe seemed to drip with power visually. With each swing and test of the blade, power flowed forth from it, the darkness within seeping and splattering from its form into the direction of its aim like blood. Satisfied, Shiro sheathed the blade on his hip and made his way toward his Master, the Pride evident in his eyes and his silence.
  9. Oculus

    Cathar

    Heat boiled the air around Shiro as he gazed upon the fallen forms in disgust. Pathetic, weak, insignificant, pitiful. His gaze shifted back to the sea where Hayley had disappeared to, his blood boiled with wrath. Sweat dripped from his brow as he gazed upon its expanse. If he was too weak as an Apprentice, yet too strong to be a Soldier, then where did he truly stand? The thought plagued him devilishly. And then it spoke... As he stood there watching the corpses fade into the passage of halted time, his gaze fixated and settled upon the floating black mass. What kind of creature was this, to tear its self into his reality to speak to him, an endless starry night amidst the boiling beach scenery? It reeked of darkness and reveled in his soul's awakening, speaking to his mind like a mirrored sibling as it pulled at his heart. He could feel its crawl beneath his skin as its voice fell upon familiar yet hungered ears. Apprentice of Pride So it did know Shiro, what laid in his heart and mind, knowing what he truly bore beneath his mortal visage? Shiro grinned, his crimson and golden gaze piercing the veil it hid behind. It wanted him to grow, the harness its power in combination, to delve in the deepest pits of his soul and find the fire within. Shiro knew the desire all too well. For Shiro wanted the same. He wanted to know and taste the true power he could possess, he wanted to know who he truly was. The heat around him was bothersome and irritating, making it harder to focus upon himself. But Shiro did as it asked, and turned himself inward to find this power of pride and wrath, a deadly combination of balance to say the least. Pain rought anger, anger rought power. But it was wild, untamed, feverish: Wrath. But Pride was a different beast. It was glory, honed and tactical: Like a blade. But how could the two combine to make such power? Shiro opened his eyes as they stung against the sweat that slid down his brow. And for a moment, it reminded him of a forge, pounding away hour after hour to make a singular blade strong and sturdy. That's it! Pride and Wrath, Wrath and Pride, a blade worthy of forging in the midst of battle, a deadly combination of the most powerful of sins. Was this truly his power waiting to be rought into fruition? Would this be the blade that would forge him anew? His gaze shifted toward the blackened creature as if questioning, but instead turned inward to his heart. This was it. Wrath may have been wild and untamed, but with the tactical honing of Pride, it would be a double edge sword with untapped power. It would be the culmination of pure darkness. It would be Shiro and it would be marvelous. Shiro crossed his legs and opened himself up, finding the Force flowing through his surroundings. With a smirk adorning his face, he grasped at it and ensnared it, calling it to him and bending its will. With a deep breath and chilling exhale, he began...
  10. Oculus

    Cathar

    "How can you bend fate to your will?" Shiro snarled as his gaze shot toward Hayley only to find the tips of her disappearing into the sea. Shifting his gaze back toward the sand, his anger fueling him, he snarled silently to himself. "I am nothing but a joke." Shiro sat down where he was standing, his gaze looking over the sea as he took her words in, the sudden plop of his form sending his arm into extrucating pain, like fire burning away at his side, a constant throbbing and unrelentless pain. Under his breath he cursed at his own stupidity. His whole life was an utter joke. From being outcast for his lineage, to the taunts that led to his crime of murder and arrest, to his escape and enslavement, and finally to his awarded freedom at the cost of his enlistment. And in truth, if it hadn't been for Hayley and that pilot, he wouldn't have survived that infested ship. And now here he was, her Apprentice, upon a world that awakened the truth in him only to toy him further. He spat upon the sands, kicking it away in anger only to feel the pain again as it enraged him. "Apprentice, be the weapon only of yourself." He jousted mockingly, rolling his eyes with a subtle scoff. "Bow not to the Force, bend it to your will." "Riddles and sithspit." He spoke, crossing his legs as he touched softly upon the cauterized scab that covered where his arm was once. "Easy for a Sith Lord to say. They've Mastered it. It's not like they're the joke of the universe." Shiro gazed around, looking at the bodies surrounding him, a smirk crossing his face. Dunstan, Saldana... they were all weak, clinging to him for his strength, his courage. None of them had lived the life he had. Despite his feelings of being a joke as an Apprentice, he knew he was strong. Life had made him this way. It forged him into what he was. And they relied too much upon him, even trying to persuade him from standing his ground against Hayley and that Intrusive One when they thought to belittle him. No. He was what life had made him and he found pride in that. They're lives seemed pointless now, nothing but a burden upon his own. And that was why he slaughtered them, to truly free himself from their weakness, their cares. Looking at them, he chuckled. "At least I've rid myself of you lot. May you rest in the eternal damnation you deserve, weaklings." Waving his hand in a shooing motion, Shiro nearly jumped when their bodies moved inches with his motion.
  11. Oculus

    Cathar

    Watching his Master rise and hearing her words, Shiro grew confused. Was he not supposed to feast upon the emotions that surround him and use the power that he connected with as his own? Use the transference as a conduit of application? He was lost as his gaze fell upon the unraveling of the wound as the past became the present and the present the past, confliction both in himself and the planet that gave rise to him. Perplexed, he felt the power he held diminish, slipping out of his grasp like grains of sand. His anger bolstered, the feeling of failure washing over him with despair. If his strength came from within, what was the purpose of tantalizing him with such bait, begging for him to sample? What was the point of his sacrifice when the darkness claimed his arm if it was not meant to relish on pain and suffering, especially in others. Reaching up, Shiro grasped at his missing arm, the touch sending signals to each of its unburnt pain receptors. Shiro bellowed with pain, his voice rippling through the Force as his anger echoed from his gut in both displeasure and the pain of his stupidity. No matter what level he would rise to, whether upon his Homeworld, in the Arena, or even amongst the Sith, he would never truly rise above himself. His power, his skill, it was all for nought, wasted upon a mere murderer, a mere criminal with no truth of a future. Even now, he still relied upon others to further his advancements. Just like with Dunstan and Saldana. Just like with the others he slew. Just like the hollowed eyes he stared into. "Do what you wish to me!" Shiro spoke as he stepped aside Hayley and shook his fist toward the heavens, his anger toward the fates infuriating, his life just one joke after the other within their eyes. "I am nothing but a toy for you to play with anyways, a pawn made for nothing more than your war!" Yet, unbeknownst to him, as his anger grew against the Force, as his temper flared with his power, his own pain and injustice fueling his inner wrath at the hand life had dealt him, his power echoed stronger and more focused than it have before. Refined and uncharted, purity in it's own right as his skin steeled against the passing storm and his pain from loss of limb subsided away in his mind, Shiro stood firm and strong. "I'll be you're weapon!" Shiro cursed at the Force, still unaware at the rising tide of his inner power, his disdain at the life he had been handed nothing more than insignificant and his place in life minuscule at best. If that was all he would ever be, then so be it. "Nothing more, nothing less!"
  12. Oculus

    Cathar

    As Shiro sat there in his struggle, both inward and outward as the storm within matched the storm around. The friction of his mind against the Force that flowed through him matched that only of the friction that his form fought against nature, both feverish and growing. Shiro could feel it, his weakness against it as his mind fought against it, similar to one's antibodies fought against a virus or disease, and yet he kept fighting. His bronze skin only reddened even more as sweat began to bead against his warmed body, the internal struggle reaching its peak. Only when he heard the cracking of bones and felt the life force leave the man's body did he lessen his struggle and open his crimson and gold gaze, it shifting upon the disfigured form. This power, it was addictive, his craving growing more at its knowledge. But it was hard to temper, to control. As he applied more will against the Force, so did the Force will against him. And for a brief moment, it felt almost pointless to defy, like one's second nature amidst his true nature. He almost thought to give in. At least until the taste.... “Will you consume, or turn away?” It was a tantalizing sensation, to feel the essence she presented. Like a substance that provided nutrient, he could feel the hunger grow as his soul ached to nibble. His mind salivated, a small brush of his thoughts licking upon the nutrient as his soul growled to feast. And in that moment, Shiro's nature gave in and he grasped at the essence ravenously. It was in that moment that he felt true power, his hunger met only by his wrath, a mixture of the two rolling into his will as the Force bowed before him. And it was that moment the truth was revealed. As the shackles of his will and the Force broke, freeing his mind and soul as one, Shiro could feel his control grow. He could feel his Mastery over the Force harden, an iron fist wielding what he fought so hard against. Through the passions of others, through the selfishness and sins of others in their final moments, his wrath and hunger became one, and his will would be done as the storm became his own. As his chaotic gaze stared into the abyss, he saw his own reflection, for the abyss was he, shimmering against the flashes of light. Feeling the Force be willed, he felt his skin tighten and harden against the wind and debris, the once abusive storm growing powerless against his form. He could feel his power surging through his veins, his once heated form growing cooler like stone against the waves. Standing against the remaining onslaught that lingered, he came to his feet and stood like cliff face, sturdy and unwavering, his gaze staring into the lifeless eyes lingering before him as he devoured the chaos that remained in limbo. "Such power, such control. I must have more."
  13. Oculus

    Cathar

    “Do you truly think you can understand the depths of The Force through an adherence to codes?” “We all achieve definition in conflict, it is there we find ourselves or find ourselves lacking.” Shiro could hear her words echoing through his mind over the sounds of the storm as it raged on. He had thought the mantra of the Sith would quell the storm within him, quiet his mind so he could find focus, but now he saw that it only aided his focus in its brief quotation. It was her words that truly struck a nerve that he had yet to ponder. "Conflict?" His mind thought across its entirety as he pondered the meaning. Conflict was all that he knew. It was the very thing that forged him. But would it continue to forge him farther? He wasn't quite certain. Forged of blood, guilt, and war, his wrath had became his power. But this darkness within him, this power granted by gift and by touch, wasn't born of it like he was. Was this truly the problem he had been facing this entire time? His gaze shifted toward the man who fought against his Master's will, the entire conflict tantalizing as it was fruitless in the man's endeavor. He was but an instrument in the overall lesson Shiro was meant to learn, even as his will fell before her own and all that was left was a husk with the only desire left being that of death. Standing there, pelted by sand and debris, Shiro's mind opened wide. He had been too accepting of this gift, letting it's draw hypnotize him with its power rather than bending it to his own. It was a powerful ally, this Force, but without guidance, it was uncontrollable and unpredictable. He was letting its instincts control him, rather than honing it and controlling it to fit his needs. He could see it now, even as the moments of its uses flooded his mind. And in that moment, his wrath turned inward at himself. "Pathetic". His thoughts echoed. “Now, strengthen your flesh and fight the wind. Let us see what echoes your conflict produce.” Shiro struggled internally, his form becoming feverish as he sought for control. Sand cut against his form, leaving rash and abrasions against his uncovered skin as debris pelted his form with slivers and gashes, tearing even through cloth as the storm bore down its hardest. He would control this power. It would bend to his will and be his domain. He had already decided it. But as he fought, so did the darkness within, his bronze skin growing red with its feverish heat. Falling to his knees as washed ashore limbs flew across his form, leaving bruises, he continued the conflict within, bellowing in anger as his wrath grew intense. It was time he was the Master of it, not it the Master of he. It was time for the shackles to break. He would be the dominant power. Or he would fall in trying.
  14. Oculus

    Cathar

    To feel Hayley's touch was refreshing for Shiro, the Force swirling around his Master in a cold vortex as his body heated against it's own wrath. He feasted upon the moment, taking in the nutrients like a parasite to quell his thirst. He had never known such power, and yet, at the same time, it came with great exhaustion. His form felt wrecked, the pain nearly unbearable, and he barely stood upon his own two feet. And yet, with Hayley, he felt rested, exhilarated even as her power flowed around them. He could feel his energy returning, siphoning back into his form from upon her own, rejuvenated. And as she touched his latest of wounds, he boiled in beautiful agony, rejoicing in the pain that flowed through him. He grinned. “I will torture him, you must feed off those emotions to survive this storm. Bind the power of your rage into your flesh, harden it against that which is to come.” He nodded in response, his chaotic gaze shifting from the one he left alive to her, and then back again. He could feel the storm bearing down upon them, the wind alone threatening to sweep him off his feet as the lightning littered the beach with explosions of scorched earth. And a part of him wondered if he could do what she asked. Until now, he had fed off his own rage, his own anger to sustain him, but it had become animalistic, overwhelming to the part that he was losing control. And a portion of him still feared losing control, losing himself to this power. But by now, the storm had grew. What once was his advantage now became his turmoil. The waves and rain were cutting to his form, the wind reveling in it's own wrath as it swept in from the sea. Thunderous explosions and lightning flashes were bearing down so closely that he could feel the static charge in the air around him just before each strike. Shiro closed his eyes, letting the moment surround him. "Peace is a lie, There is only passion..." Shiro muttered under his breath as he felt the air around him begin to start clinging, like a pull upon his skin, hair, and cloth as he stood there. He could feel the man's horror, his urgency to live, his desperation to run. And in that moment, Shiro accepted his own fate. With an exhale, he focused his rage and anger, letting it boil within himself. He could feel the heat in the pit of his stomach begin to flow through his veins. And upon his exhale, the coldness of the air penetrating his lungs and cooling his form, he felt his skin tense and sturdy its self for what was to follow. "Through Passion, I gain strength..."
  15. Oculus

    Cathar

    Shiro could feel the death, the destruction, the power, the justification, the rage and wrath all around him, seeping into his soul as he gazed upon the remaining four. It was tantalizing, empowering, euphoric to feel and embrace. And at his back was a storm brewing, the thunderous clap of lightning erupting and striking the surf, spraying his form with salt, water, blood, and sand as it echoed about. The time had come. The moment was upon him. He could feel it tugging at his soul, his roots upon this soil deeper than any bloodline. And in that moment, he reacted. It was a symphony of a perfect storm, the darkness that laid in the soil of this world echoing the cries of the storm that raged. The wind bellowed his coming, and the lightning illuminated his strikes upon the unsuspecting. Shirtless, his bronzed form topped the hill as the four at the camp cheered his arrival, thankful their commander had returned. But horror soon filled their faces as the blade whizzed past his form and struck one in the throat, piercing bone and flesh almost completely through. Stooping down mid stride, Shiro grasped at his second blade, readying his aim as the remaining three made the realization and brought up their arms against him, his grin turning cold as it disappaited. Crimson bolts matched thunderous booms as the rain began to fall heavily, saturating the soil like the blood that would be spilt this day, including Shiro's own as one landed near his ribs. Pain flickered through his thoughts as rage boiled heavily within him, dulled only by the heat of the moment and his determination to kill. Blood seeped from the freshly cauterized wound as the burning sensation faded away into his soul, the swirling of crimson and gold intensifying with wrath. It was their day to die, not his. Shiro slide beneath the second, his hand moving quickly with the first slash to the right calf before turning its focus to the left, and finally as Shiro rose, the blade found its resting place at the base of the neck before Shiro grasped the gun and spun the body before him as a shield, returning fire as the winded air rushed about them, his gaze hazed by rain and quickly returning exhaustion. He needed to end this quickly, or he would fall back into the powerless world he was raised from. As he fought against his exhaustion, he kept his focus as his empowerment, feeling the world that beckoned his heart, eating at the emotions of fear and desperation. His sight threatened to fade, but he closed one eye to sturdy his aim, flipping the gun's switch from burst to full load, and unleashing its fury along with his own. Crimson bolts danced amidst the rain as the storm intensified its torrent, laying claim to the first of the final targets. But as the final death befell the target, the other took off in an attempt to escape, the moment of the battle subsiding as Shiro leaned his head down and took a bite out of the flesh that was his shield, tearing meat, muscle, and blood in an almost animalistic nature, the taste of the blood focusing his vision just enough to begin the chase. Shiro grinned, the moment he had been pleading for arriving. The funny thing about retreating in such a manner was that you didn't focus your fire, fear taking hold and your only desire being to survive. He had seen it too many times on the field of battle and in the Arena. It was the most enjoyable moment where you realize that your opponent is doomed. But as he closed the gap and tackled the soldier, beating upon him like a crazed animal, his Master's last words echoed through his mind. "But...Bring one to me alive for the next lesson.” Bruised and defeated, weapons thrown to the side, Shiro struggled for the stun cuffs upon his belt and managed to restrain the Private just as his energy gave almost completely out. Struggling to his feet along with the man, Shiro would begin the long walk back to his Master, only one left alive as the calm of the storm began to settle in around them.
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