The Shepherd
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Aug 8, 2015 11:23:39 GMT -8
Post by The Shepherd on Aug 8, 2015 11:23:39 GMT -8
The Dark Lord was launched from his standing position, hurtled through the air by the raw power of Rutil's instinctive attack. Of course, his grip on the Jedi's wrist didn't relent, and the Jedi was pulled right along with him, but Rutil didn't care. If anything, he preferred it that way.
As the pair flew through the air, Rutil lost neither focus nor fury, using their flight time to rain a series of blows onto the monster with his free hand. A punch to the solar plexus. To the chest. To the arm. To the head. If it ever came in range, Rutil's fist was impacting it, and now that the dam had well and truly burst, even the cool and calculated Rutil couldn't tell just how many punches he threw in the few seconds the combatants were airborne.
When the Sith and the Jedi finally landed, Rutil felt a sharp pain in his right wrist as his enemy landed, and knew even before the pain had registered that his wrist had been broken as he fell to the floor beside his foe. The lightsaber hilt in his hand made a short trip to the floor, rolling just beyond reach. No matter. After all, he still had one hand.
With a kick, Rutil threw himself upward, bringing his left foot down on the Sith Lord's other wrist and ignoring another shooting pain as his wrist broke further. With a thought, the Force tore the lightsaber away from the floor and sent it screaming towards the Jedi's left hand, where it activated immediately upon contact. And as his gaze locked onto the Sith's shoulder, he brought the beam of blue energy down.
An arm would make a nice prize.
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Darth Andor
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Aug 8, 2015 12:54:18 GMT -8
Post by Darth Andor on Aug 8, 2015 12:54:18 GMT -8
It seemed that Fate had taken an evil turn against the Sith Lord, as the Jedi flew with him, landing a sequence of five hits in the time it took for them to crash to the floor. Blood flowed from a gash across his right cheek and from his nose (which was likely broken). His chest stung from a solid strike to the solar plexus and his right thigh screamed after taking two consecutive shots. Then there was the concussion and the cracked ribs from the actual impact.*
*The fog in his head was thick, and his breath was ragged and uneven, not from fatigue, but from the pain. He looked up at his towering opponent, his vision blurred, unable to focus. His foot came down on Andor’s body, pinning his arm to the ground. The pain in Andor’s right wrist spiked under the heavy pressure. It gleamed like a beacon. He focused on it, letting the pain break through the fog, bringing him back to reality in the knick of time.*
*He heard a snap-hiss, and saw the blue glow of his opponent’s lightsaber. Andor’s left hand, having released his grip on the Jedi upon impact, shot backwards and above his head, gripping the corner of the hefty, metal podium. With a groan, and the strength of his prothetic arm, Andor lifted the podium off the ground, swinging it like a club at the Jedi’s knees in an arch his right to left (Rutil’s left to right).*
*Broken and bloody kneecaps can be pretty exciting.*
* His arm came across his head as it crossed his body, intercepting the descending blade as it came down. The royal blue blade seared away the crimson cloth of Andor’s left sleeve, as it connected with the cortosis and phyrik-lined prothetic arm underneath. With the contact on the lightsaber-resistant material, the Jedi would most likely find his weapon to short circuiting. Hopefully, now, Andor's arm would be free with his opponent nursing a couple of broken knees.
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The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on Aug 8, 2015 22:19:20 GMT -8
The podium hit nothing but open air as the Jedi vaulted above it, his legs filled with a previously unknown strength. His arc carried him into a backflip that saw him quickly on his feet, much as the Sith had done in the opening steps of their dance. And the Jedi had been ready to end it - to bring his blade down right on the monster's chest cavity, only to feel the blade sputter out. For one brief, fleeting moment, Rutil felt panic. In the century it had been since he first built his lightsaber, not once had it ever shorted out beyond a few user errors in his formative years as a Jedi. But Rutil took that fear and let it make him angry. He took his anger and let it build into hate.
Anger was a wildfire; if the user let it, it would burn and burn until nothing - not even the wielder - was left. Once started, there was really no pulling it back, not without a single solemn stroke. But in comparison, hate was a fusion cutter. Small, focused, and cold everywhere except where the flame met its target. But on contact, there was little that stood in its way. It was focused. It was precise. It was absolutely merciless.
Anger would only get in his way. But hate? Hate was something Rutil could use.
The Zabrak wasted no time in reaching out with his left arm, letting the Force find its way to the Sith's neck. And when he found it, Rutil brought the power of the Force upon the abomination's windpipe. Surely it couldn't be more powerful than his cortosis-lined arm. He was tempted to end it in an instant; one quick flicker of thought and the Sith's head could be hanging at some unholy angle, possibly even twisted all the way around. But something held him back. Something wanted him to see with Sith suffer just a little while longer. And to that end, something directed Rutil's attention to the item that had fallen off the podium, glowing with power and screaming for him to claim it.
With a thought, the Sith holocron that the pair had fought over shot from the floor and raced into Rutil's waiting right hand, making him wince as it landed in his waiting palm.
"Die. Just die."
Something spoke, and those that knew him would be hard pressed to say it was Rutil Iorek that did so.
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Darth Andor
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Aug 16, 2015 12:21:13 GMT -8
Post by Darth Andor on Aug 16, 2015 12:21:13 GMT -8
Things were getting more complicated for both sides: more challenging. Andor, accepting his pain, letting it pour into his being, igniting his power. Andor was not just a Sith, he was a Sith Master, and his ability to draw on his emotions was perfected. No hate, no pain, no anger would be able to evade his control. From the series of hits he had sustained, Andor's body ached, no, it screamed with pain. He could draw on his pain to an almost infinite level, but like any sentient being, he would eventually crumple if it became to much.*
*The Darkness continued to flood his body and his mind as Andor got to his feet as the tension began to build in his neck, tightening with every passing moment. Andor took one last breath, knowing he could hold out for a short time, maybe a minute and a half at most, to either break his line-of-sight, or redirect his focus. That's if the Jedi decided to not snap his neck entirely, which he wouldn't, or he would have done it immediately. This Jedi radiated with anger, treading dangerously along the lines of the Darkside. He wanted Andor to suffer before death.*
*Andor reached out with the Force, his right hand coming up and focusing on the holocron that was currently flying towards the Jedi. Immediately, it stopped, suspended in midair as two forces pulled at it from opposite sides. Then, his two lightsaber hilts, which lay deactivated on the floor, ignited simultaneously and flew the small distance between them. The first blade sought to sever the Jedi's left extended arm at the elbow in an uppercut slash while the second one shot like a spear, aiming to impale the Zabrak in the stomach.*
*The Jedi growled, telling Andor to die. The Sith smiled, flashing his white fangs as his black eyes made direct contact with the Jedi's. If he had the oxygen to spare, Andor would have responded to taunt the Jedi with mockery. But instead, Andor held his tongue, letting his smile do the talking.
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The Shepherd
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Aug 17, 2015 13:49:51 GMT -8
Post by The Shepherd on Aug 17, 2015 13:49:51 GMT -8
Ordinarily, the voice that told Rutil of impending danger was a soft, gentle one. In all actuality it wasn't a voice at all; the Force itself told the user what was to happen just before they did, and it acted as a guardian angel of sorts. Voiceless though it was, calling it a voice was perhaps the best interpretation. The Force spoke to its users without words, and explained what was to come without a single breath. But tonight, that was not the case. The voice warning Rutil of the Sith's move was a hissing, malevolent one, saying not only what was to come, but what to do to maximize his enemy's suffering. It told him what it would take to make the Sith Lord kneel. To beg for mercy. To die.
The Zabrak Jedi was shocked to his senses as two crimson blades ignited and flew his way. The blade coming at his arm swung upwards; Rutil simply moved his arm out of the way, pulling the Sith through the air with the motion of his arm. The second blade came towards his stomach; a quick step to the side let the red energy beam fly past him as so many other blaster bolts had done. And the Sith had done this all without relinquishing the Holocron. If nothing else, Rutil found the multi-tasking rather effective. He had known Jedi Masters incapable of such feats of mutual concentration. And in acknowledging its impressiveness, the Jedi was served a double shot of his mental wake-up call.
He had been toying with the Sith. Whether he was suddenly capable of it or not was irrelevant. Whether the newfound, base-of-his-gut power was at the Jedi's beck and call did not matter. Rutil had been so wrapped up in it that he had neglected the first rule of fighting; every second was an opportunity. And he had been giving this monster far too many of those.
Rutil let the holocron go, letting it fly back at the Sith Lord. And with a thought, the Force that held Andor by the neck violently wrenched it to the left.
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Darth Andor
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Aug 21, 2015 17:21:43 GMT -8
Post by Darth Andor on Aug 21, 2015 17:21:43 GMT -8
Andor's hand firmly gripped the triangular holocron as it hissed into his hand. He felt the darkness lurking deep within its surface, longing to be released. Its power seemed to almost overflow out of the pyramid. The Darkside of the Force rested in Andor's palm, filling the Dark Lord with a reserve of energy. This battle was going on for far too long. Andor had what he came for, and now it was time to leave.*
*But Andor was pulled to his left by the Jedi's Force Grip, sending a sharp pain down his spine. An aching sensation filled his senses as the feeling of whiplash settled. The Dark Lord stumbled with the unexpected force, but his concentration of his lightsabers didn't falter. The Jedi dodged the blades, but didn't dispatch them, leaving him open to a simple counter-attack. The two blades came in from behind the Jedi now. The first one was spinning like a helicopter blade, a red ring of death hissing as it sought to cleave the Jedi in half at the waist. The second one came down from above, drawing a sideways "U", seeking to take off the Jedi's left arm at the elbow before curving around and coming back to slice through his knees.*
*The Sith Lord could feel the tension in his throat, cutting off oxygen from his lungs. A slight prickling sensation prodded in the back of his skull as his brain was slowly being cut off from the life-sustaining substance. Andor felt his teeth grind underneath the pressure of his clenched draw, his mind slowly descending into panic: a frenzied chaos of fear and anger. A maelstrom of emotion swirled around Andor, threatening to overwhelm the ruins of the Gungan City, and to envelop it in darkness forever.
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