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The Last Armegedon

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About The Last Armegedon

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  1. 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...
  2. "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.
  3. 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!"
  4. 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."
  5. “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.
  6. 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..."
  7. 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.
  8. “If the force commands, do it, but do not slay without reflecting on the reason…” Shiro nodded in acceptance, his gaze following her as she went to inspect his handy work and revel in his moment. He knelt before her, watching as the life forces of the two slowly left their forms, their blood streaming across the sands and mixing with the tides as they crashed and sprayed behind them. Oddly, he felt his strength returning, the pain still vibrant, but the tiredness subsiding, and he wondered upon the reasoning. “Pain, suffering, terror. Those passions feed our darkness, let those victories add to your strength. Take within yourself such things, let it nourish you.” "Yes Master." Shiro replied in response, his mind preoccupied with the meanings of her words, the feeling of rejuvenation rolling across his form like the steam of a refresher as he gazed upon the handy work that laid around him, two to the left and two before him, feeling what could only be called an echo of their deaths rolling across his memories. He felt their weakness, their selfishness and greed, their useless caring for their fellow men, their fear of the Sith. He held no need for such things around him. Even as a Soldier, he knew this. His memory rolled back to the Battle of Coruscant, their feebleness to face what laid within the prison ship of the Republic, their reluctance. And he remembered meeting his Master, the Elusive One and the power she held at her will. This was their crime, and he was their punishment. Such weaknesses could only end up getting one, if not all of them killed, and as such, a cleansing was needed. And it would be his hand to cleanse them of it. It would be a Purge, a purification that the Force demanded, and Shiro felt that he was the mere instrument called upon. It had been laying in the back of his mind since he fell into the brackened water. And now the moment was drawing upon him. His gaze shifted to the fellow soldier, blood still pouring through his fingers as he attempted to stop its flow from the shallow cut he inflicted. Shiro's temper flared at the notice of life still remaining within him even as the other feel into death beside him. This would not do. His calling would be answered, and it would be a swift purging of the remaining ones. “Cast it out like a net. Capture this knife as if it were a fish, and draw it to you.” Her words echoed in his mind as his wrath grew at such insolence, and Shiro closed his eyes. He could hear the slowing of the soldier's heart beat, feel the echo of his panic and his urge to live. Shiro took a slow deep breath, focusing on his will to purge, and when his eyes opened, he drew his arm upon the man he gazed. And it was in that moment, he felt it. He felt the man's throat within his hand, even though nearly a meter separated them and the man's hands were over the wound. He tightened his fist, feeling the pressure of his squeeze as his focus grew and the man struggled against it with eyes wide open. And as he closed the fist completely, he felt the snapping of the man's neck within his hand just as the man fell forward to meet his comrade in death. It was that moment, as Shiro withdrew his hand and gazed upon it, that he knew the power within him was real. And from that power, he felt what his Master called nourishment as he felt the life of his former comrade enter his own. Standing up, Shiro walked past his Master and looked over the dunes toward the others. It was time to finish this so that she could finish the ritual she came for. "Let their deaths end their weakness, and from it, let us find strength."
  9. The two could only look on with stifled voices and horrored eyes as their forms were drug before Shiro's blooded form, the swirling of crimson and gold glowing against the statically charge air igniting around them horrifying in its wake, freezing them in fear as the grin only widened. Thoughts entered their minds, fear sweeping at their hearts as the blade hovered before them and between. It was almost tantalizing for Shiro to witness, to behold such a look. But the pain, the enfueled rage that had grasped at his heart was more. “What would you do unto them? What does the Force command?” An euphoric shiver crossed his mind at the thought, the possibilities that he could endure unto them at the sound of her words. But he still had yet to gain the power, to control it, to focus it into his will. He could still hear the banter, the chanting of his past nibbling at the back of his mind, distracting and calming, as he realized his truth nature, that he was truly a murderer by different names, the outcome the same no matter which path he chose to walk. And it this moment, it felt right. It felt like freedom, a taste he had longed for so long. And so he let his resistance go, feeling the rage and wrath within flow freely. The pain subsided and dulled, his stature once again able to move with its ebb and flow, and he stood. His gaze shifted down toward the Troopers under his command with malicious intent as his remaining arm twitched before grasping at the beings throat tightly, his enjoyment in the horror of both as they gazed back. The being gazed back as he felt his breath begin to slow against Shiro's grip, the panic in his eyes growing as his face began to heat from the cut of blood flow and shifted toward his comrade. His comrade could only look back in horror and then to Shiro as if pleading, not for his comrade, but himself who was likely next. Shiro chuckled beneath his own breath, the selfish simplicity of one's own self preservation over another, a sight he knew all too well, a sight he saw when he slew his first. And it was in that moment, he knew. "Focus" The voice echoed within his mind as his gaze shifted from the onlooker toward the blade, its origins unknown and yet its clarity familiar. Was this his wrath? Was this his power? Shiro closed his eyes. He felt the fear, the horror, the blood that was beginning to be coughed up by the one he was strangling and held back by his clenched hand. But more importantly, he felt the darkened blade, its will intensified by that of the Force as it called to its mind. And when Shiro opened his eyes, he grinned maniacally as the hovering blade slit the throat of the onlooker and he crushed the throat of the one he grasped. It was in that moment of their end, their gazes connecting as they drowned in their own blood simultaneously, that Shiro enjoyed the most. He could tasted their remorse, smell their selfishness disappaite in their final breaths, and watch as their forms fell upon the brackened beach and turned the waves red with their lives. But more importantly, he could feel the power within growing as his rage turned toward the rest. Four had fallen and four remained. With a snorting chuckle, he answered his Master. "Slay them all. Leave no one alive to witness what we've found here, and let their blood finish what you began." When Shiro turned to face her, his blood boiled red with his Wrath. There was no place for selfishness and greed in the path she offered, no place for the weak.
  10. "...And Conquer it. Shiro could feel the power flowing through him, beastial in nature, wild and untamed. It wrecked his thoughts and concentration, his body reveling in its euphoric. He felt possessed, able to see, but unable to move as wave upon wave of the power shivered up his form. And then it subsided, the pain returning along with a hint of his weakness as he slouched just to hold his form sturdy. By now the others, having heard his roar, could be heard rustling to his location, his gaze shifting briefly to the corpses of Dunstan and Saldana. Yet, his sinister grin remained, his thoughts afloat upon the sacrifices needed for the power he had felt. "Murderer, Muderer, Murderer" Shiro could hear the chanting voices through his mind, echoes of times long past and possible futures as the Elusive One held the blooded blade before him, urging him to continue, to follow the path she was presenting, and the power that came with it. A part of him wanted to flee, to not face the consequences of the actions he had took. But the other knew his truth, wanting to accept the path laid before him, and the spoils that came with it. "Take the Storm..." Her words edge him forward, Shiro feeling a shift within him. Fear was not of his personality, he held no purpose to run. With what she was offering him, he could overcome anything that stood in his way, and bind them to him. He was a soldier, and yet something more... much more. This world, it called to his heart and beckoned him. And he would hear it out. “Cast it out like a net. Capture this knife as if it were a fish, and draw it to you.” Shiro heard her words and understood. He opened himself up to his rage, feeling his body warm again against the coldness around him, his gaze shifting from her scars and knowing the pain he would inevitably endure. Knowing this only enraged him more, his wrath echoing of her own wounds and those who marked her so. But instead of focusing it upon himself, he turned it outward, the boot steps growing closer and louder as he angled for the blade, his focus only blurred by his rage. "What happens here, stays here." His gaze shot toward the first of those to arrive, but the blade did not follow. The two privates looked on in horror and dismay as their eyes shifted between the corpses and Shiro sitting there bathed in their blood. His rage bellowed within him, his intent not willed into existence as the blade toppled from her finger.
  11. “Feel that rage within you… Take it into yourself. Hold it to you like an ember and give it life.” Shiro's steadied into a fixation upon her own, his face flushing with anger and rage as he kicked against the sand, his fingers gripping at it like a wild animal. The pain, it was crippling, consuming his will even as he fought to bend it and shape it in his own. And as the pain intensified, so did his rage, his wrath. “Take it into yourself. Make it a fire. Make it a wildfire.” His exhaustion, the loss of blood, the pain, it all fought against his will to rise. And yet, his will, his rage, his determination fought with him. Every few breaths he held were spewed in the moment that he forced himself to breath out as he fought against his own body to surpass its self. To go beyond its limits and push even farther. And then it came. Just as the waves crashing around them, tearing to erode the shore line, like the rain that poured down upon them threatening to sink them, like his mind echoing to burst under the pressure of his fight, it came. Not like an ember, not like a wildfire, but like a storm inside his soul and in his heart. When darkness threatened to overtake him, to perish his consciousness like before, Shiro felt the spark. And rage fueled it. Wrath spoke it. And his mind became clear like the eye of a storm. With a loud roar that echoed through the Force its self, Shiro lifted his form from upon her lap and cloth, pushing his body past its limits and beyond. A new found strength rushed into his pores, numbing the pain to a subtle dull. And before he knew it, he sat before her, his crimson and golden eyes gazing behind a sinister grin. "Become a Storm..."
  12. "...Chaos is a Ladder" Shiro gazed in her eyes, the swirling of crimson and gold meeting her own in a moment of silence. There within, was such depth, such loss, that Shiro felt swept away by it, carried to another plane of existence by it, seduced by promises and disappointments. "If Chaos is a ladder...." Shiro questioned himself in silence, his thoughts turning to her words as the cool waters ran across his sweating form, almost tantalizing against the soreness of his form. "Am I meant to climb it?" Shiro's good arm reached up and touched his missing one with his finger tips, the stinging pain from touch and movement causing his whole form to flinch and ache, but he continued exploring the seered flesh nonetheless. "What sacrifices would it incur?" It mattered not. Shiro's gaze stayed fixated on Hayley's, even as she voice her concerns of his rage and what would happen after his war, a small chuckle erupting from his lips. This Galaxy, the Jedi, the Sith, Imperials and the Republic Rebels, even here on Cathar where the wounds of wars from millennia ago still fester, had taught him anything, was that there always a war to fight. Whether it be within one's self or thousands of beliefs, it was always one to be fought. Violence begets violence. "War is eternal..." Shiro spoke with a cough, the young humanoid attempting to pick himself up from her lap, only still finding himself too weak to move. Slamming his fist into the surf and sand, his eyes boiled like the temper within as he tried again. "And so shall my rage be. A foundation is only as good as the bones sacrificed to build it, and Shiro held firmly in his beliefs. His rage would fuel him, empower him from this day forward even if he was only meant to be a soldier, his loss of limb would not be in vain. He would rise from these ashes of surf and sand on his own, for what had not killed him would only make him stronger. And with each attempt, his anger would only grow more, empowering his determination and resolve. The Force will set him free.
  13. Shiro laid there quietly as his words settled in his mind, the realization that he had made as he described his past stinging as he thought upon it. It felt right. But how? Why? Sure he was a soldier and such was his duty. But this way beyond duty. It was almost enjoyment. Even as the rolling surf flowed beneath him and Hayley, it was almost calming and relaxing to understand, the warmth of the blood just as the warmth of the sea still fresh upon his senses. Was he truly such a primordial beast? Finding enjoyment in innocent slaughter of random victims? He could not tell. Only that even as the imprinted faces of Dunstan and Saldana crossed his memory, he felt no true remorse. And what he did feel, the shock and the horror, felt false. Almost as if it was simple reaction disguising truth. A lie that he made himself believe. So what was the truth he hid from himself? Her words broke him from his questions, their tone emotionless as she questioned. Anger quickly boiled inside himself as she patronized him. If not his past or this forsaken world, would he have committed such acts? What did she expect of him? What did she see in him that he could not? Had exhaustion not overcome him so, placing him at her mercy, then he surely would have corrected her. But he was limp in his stature, his form unable to move, even the subtlest movements causing him to wreck with pain. And when she touched his cauterized shoulder with the blade, the forcefulness of her tone drowned out by the pain, the truth revealed its self. Pain, Hate, Anger, Vengence, War, Murder. Everything flowed through his mind in that moment. The pain of his father's berating, the hate toward those who shunned them. The anger he carried for years within, festering like an open wound. The vengence he sought when his family were cast aside and their lives ended like trash, a blight ridden for those Shiro slew in the end, and the war that followed in his life even before he became a soldier. It all led to this singular moment in his life. And as Shiro's form convulsed intensely within Hayley's arms, Shiro saw the truth. He could sense the blood around him seeping into sea and sand. He could sense the lifeless forms of Dunstan and Saldana laying at his feet. He could feel the planet's hunger for more, its passion toward him unwavered by his own, but by that which he had spilt. And more importantly, he could feel his own mind shift. No longer did he care what an Armegedon was, only who he was. And before him stood a figure, a wrathful spirit with a devilish grin. His eyes shot open, his lungs gasping for air. His gaze shifted to Hayley with a weakened grin. He felt warm despite the coldness around him, laying there with truth in hand. Such power, such potential. He had held a taste, and desired more. His past may have shaped him, may have created him. But like the being he envisioned, the one who walked this world before him, his destiny was his to forge. "You ask what my rage desired?" The cockiness apparent through his weakened tone. "Order through Chaos, War."
  14. Shiro's eyes widened with the realization at what he had done, Dunstan and Saldana laying before him, their dying gazes set upon his own as they gasped for air through the thick blood bubbling up through their necks. Horror filled his mind as he could only sit there, watching their faces drain of their life, both attempting to reach out to him for help despite what he had done, his own still outstretched with the blade in hand. That's when he felt her, the Elusive one, embrace his form with her own, warm and inviting as she disarmed him. Shiro tried to yell out for a medic, but the words just fumbled like waves from his mouth as exhaustion took hold his form and he fell back into her lap, his gaze shifting to the sky as the memories of Dunstan and Saldana's lifeless faces ingrained themselves into his memory. "....Apprentice...." It was her words that brought his mind back and quelled the turmoil he was feeling, seeing her out reached hand and reaching out his own to touch hers as his gaze shifted up to set its sight upon her face, confused still by what had happened, but eerily comforted by her. Her touch was as cold as steel, fragile and yet firm. And her gaze was empty, yet assured. Shiro had never noticed it before. And as she spoke, he found himself drawn by her words, like Death's knock at one's end. And so Shiro closed his eyes, unsure how to meditate, but still needed her words if only to feel this moment of comfort longer as he embraced what he truly was, the echoing voices ringing through his head from his first time to now. Murderer. "I feel anger." He started out saying, the memories of his homeworld and what led to his arrest. The memories of his enslavement and being forced to fight simply to survive. This world, and what it brought out in him, the proof evident in the corpses laying at his feet. "I avenged my family's demise and was branded a murderer. I escaped custody and was sold a slave. I fought to win my freedom and was made a Soldier. And now this world has twisted me and I killed those under my command and will likely be called a Traitor. I feel enraged, and it feels right."
  15. It was like a dream that had befallen him, surrounded by darkness as he fell into its bottomless abyss. The voice echoed as he fell, his grasping only finding air to grasp at in all directions. He parted his lips, but nothing came from them. "Among the First, Remain the Last" His mind felt foggy, his thoughts disoriented, fear swelling inside him. And then there was pain, his gaze falling on a blurred vision of the Intrusive One's face, anger embroiled in her gaze. She wanted him to speak, to tell her what the Force said. But like in the darkness, words were unable to be spoken, only the escaping of air. Weakly he reached for Dunstan's hand, but felt another kick connect his ribs, sending him off the ground and back down hard. Laying in the blooded mud, part of him prayed for release, the other building like fire in his soul. And when the girl reeled him to his feet, for a moment he thought he felt it. The darkness, it was quiet and peaceful, endless and voided. A smile crossed his lips as he felt the pain disappear and for a moment, he was blissful. The fear washed away, and he embraced the eternal fall with open arms. "Walk in the darkness as I have, and know truth." Shiro's eyes blazed open as pain riddled his shoulder, the feeling of the Elusive One's hand entering his flesh freely as words were whispered. "No." Shiro shrieked weakly in a vague response to their words. "The mission... it.... must... go...." Darkness overtook him once more, the ever pulling of its bottomless abyss seductive and embracing. The mission, the truths he had to find, his lineage, the first and last. He had to continue. He had to know. In darkness there was truth. In their powers, he was able to see. This place, this planet, it called to him, it woke his soul. It ignited his passion. "Wake up fool" These words protruded his unconsciousness, waking him from the abyss that threatened to imprison him as pain wracked his body. Saliva spewed from his mouth as he grabbed at his shoulder and sat up with a roar from the pit of his stomach, rage and wrath filling his gaze at the two who knelt before him, and before thought could pass his mind, slit their throats with the blade from his boot.
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