The Mustafar Method
Posted on Thu Nov 7th, 2019 @ 12:13am by Thane & Bomoor Thort & Amare & Zenarrah Sozo & Mentis
Edited on on Fri Dec 20th, 2019 @ 2:43pm
6,626 words; about a 33 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Mustafar, Atravis sector
Timeline: Around one week after "Chapter V"
Thick ash-laden cloud obscured all but the brightest and most determined of the sun's rays, thick plumes of volcanic discharge spreading in all directions and blotting out any defining features that may have dotted either the far landscape or hidden skies overhead, save the dozens of nameless volcanoes that reached up high from the petrified, black ground, their summits thick with the viscous magma of the ancient world's chaotic core. Thick waves of superheated lava occasionally swept up from those volcanoes and from the multitude of flaming orange rivers that lined and forged the ever-shifting edifices and terrain of Mustafar, the sound of rock exploding and molten-metals bubbling almost deafening.
Astride the bank of one of the countless fiery lakes that typified the volcanic planet's tumultuous lands was a Sith Lord, clad all in black and sat cross-legged upon the dark-rubble ground. His eyes were closed but his face was angled towards the simmering lava lake below, the blistering heat seemingly meaning nothing the Human. Burning wisps flew up from many directions, threatening to land upon his pale features and scorch his skin, but not one fleck managed to reach within an inch of him.
The lake itself was situated in a bowl-like rut, as if perfectly dug out in a circular motion. The banks reached up high, meaning it would take a powerful leap to grow closer to, or to escape from, the molten feature. The distance afforded the Sith some security from the bright burning mass, its brightness casting a grim, macabre display across his young features.
Overhead, the occasional bolt of lightning arced through the black clouds and bounced around within them quiet queerly, Mustafar's grim meteorological setup adding yet another menacing dimension to its all-pervasive chaos. When thunder did occasionally follow the twisted bolts, unnatural howls from thick-carapaced creatures and other unsatisfactory species that had evolved to thrive within the Mustafarian ecosystem responded, calling out with unabated animalistic threat.
For the aspiring Sith Lord, Mustafar was the antithesis of all that he had been trained as a Jedi to embody and pursue; the world was twisted, inhospitable, chaotic, and, most of all, a nexus of the dark side, scarred by its long and troubled history with the Force.
Yet, for the Sith, in spite of his own history and biological aversion to the fiery planet, he felt more at ease here than he had only nearly other world. Allowing himself to be subsumed by the dark side as he meditated, he could feel - he could see - the winding avenues of power within the rock beds and obsidian, within the volcanoes and the depths of the subterranean caverns, and within each of the fauna that considered Mustafar home, sentient or otherwise, as their biological and social imperatives forced them to fall upon one another, snarling and desperate.
Here, on Mustafar, he was truly Lord Serus, Master of the new Sith.
He placed an ungloved palm into the white-hot pebbles beside him, the Force sweeping aside any threat, as he also plunged himself further into Mustafar's winding dark passages. Grit and stone rose from around his hand as he peered further into and from within the Force. He spied the Red Raptor settled upon one of the remaining landing pads of a now-unused mining and accounting facility. Largely abandoned, it had been under the management of a GalactaWerks holdings group interested in mining dolovite or inspecting local species, but they had surrendered any interest years ago.
When the Raptor had arrived, they had found a shambling staff of custodian droids still maintaining the complex's shielding array and basic equipment, utilising natural energies to power the various ageing systems. Situated close to one of Mustafar's few permanent landmarks - the Central Volcano - the complex afforded easy access to both the Gahenn Plains, and the aptly-named Burning Plains. Much like the world's crumbling and shifting tectonic plates, the location was like a fault line within the Force, awash with dark energy from the ethereal plain.
The Sith Lord had yet to explore much physically of this region, almost a dark side valley of its own, close to rivalling Korriban's, preferring currently to slip into the roaring currents and miasma of the Force. He had, however, discovered that were ruins nearby of great dark side significance, forged of sleek black stone built atop some other curious nexus. Through his mystic forays, he had also learned of a local creature's habitation within and about the nearby lake: a darkghast, he believed, based on his recent interrogation of the custodian droids and local Mustafarians - who had been less-than-pleased with his arrival, although he had since ensured their paths did not cross.
They seemed wary of this locale, preferring to avoid it in its totality. Kkkt's Bane, he had heard one call the region.
A fitting name, the former Jedi had thought with some amusement.
The Mustafar Method
Indeed it was, for the one true Bane, the once Dark Lord of the Sith, had a legacy that stretched far beyond his death, and with it came a warning for the reigning Sith Masters that succeeded him: always expect your apprentice to make an attempt to claim your power, especially at times when it seems most unlikely.
And so, that warning rang true as that simple, sublime moment of Serus' control over the dark side of the Force had been broken by the sudden violent intrusion a young Nautolan woman dressed in dark green. She materialised out of the brief cover of a thick gust of volcanic ash and silently leaped at the Sith Lord's back with a lunging thrust of a gleaming cyan-blue lightsaber blade.
Serus had barely a moment to respond to the sudden assault from above and behind, the Force of this dark world having keenly alerted him to the impending danger, to this ripple of power. Withdrawing himself from the grim energy of Mustafar, he summoned his weapon to his hand in an instant, spun about into a half-kneeling position, and made contact with his foe's blade. Using the woman's momentum against her and imbuing himself with unnatural strength, he flung her backwards over his head, allowing her to continue in her flight down into the hot gravel behind him, rising to his full height to face her.
Amare nearly lost her balance and skidded to a hard stop and spun around to face her relaxed and in-control master. She glanced with a fright over her shoulder at the lava river and realized how close to disaster she came. Although the embankment wasn't terribly steep, if Serus really wanted to, he could have easily followed the smooth parry through with a Force push that could have cast her directly into the fire if he so wanted. She made a mental note: never attempt a running thrust downhill again.
He angled the violet blade of his lightsaber towards his opponent in a one-handed, luring, Makashi ready-stance. As more bubbling lava plumed in the near-distance behind the woman, its orange-red glow was reflected within the dark aquatic eyes of Serus' apprentice. As he regarded Amare and her borrowed lightsaber, he peered at those furious oculi more deeply. Only now, he was not so sure if it was the reflection of the lava lake or the taint of the dark side that gave them their demonic crimson hue.
"You reveal yourself, Lady Amare," Serus goaded in a patrician tone, his meaning purposely ambiguous. "The dark side betrays you."
"No!" Amare shot back with clenched teeth, her frustration raw from the embarrassment at her near-fatal botched ambush. "The dark side guides me!" She raised her borrowed weapon with both hands in a standard ready stance. She eyed Serus' elegant yet commanding position. She wanted to learn what that was, and awkwardly attempted to mimic her master's pose. With her other hand, she took hold of, and ignited her shoto as her way of upping the ante, even though she had almost no formal training in dual-wielding.
Her master flourished his lightsaber elegantly, ending with its blade now pointed off to the side from its wielder, whilst he stretched out his other hand and arm in symmetry with the weapon, his body mass purposely open to and awaiting Amare's next attack, once more seeking to provoke the Nautolan.
"Does she always speak with such arrogance?" came the curious voice of Mentis, carried over the sound of bubbling molten rock. The Rattataki had been meditating nearby until Amare's violent assault and rose to look down the incline to where she now balanced herself. Mentis wore a thin grey vest, exposing his pale arms to to hot air and revealing a number of scars, of various ages; echoes of his former life.
"The dark side is not some faithful companion; it is like the fiery surface of this planet," He wrenched out his arm to one side and ignited his crimson weapon, "A well of great power that all too easily will burn you if you let it."
While she was eternally grateful to Mentis for fighting Nala by her side and protecting her while she was down, Amare nevertheless did not appreciate the pale-face's advice, and gave him a sidelong harsh glare in reply.
Mentis did not fear Amare; she reminded him of the young acolytes in the cult: too hungry for a power that Axion was not willing to permit them. They did indeed burn in his fiery ego. Creeping forwards, wary only of Thane to his side, he brought his blade higher into a guard, forming a barrier to the Nautolan's ascent.
"Quite so," Serus said in agreement to his former foe, although he did not take his eyes away from Amare further away. When she did not yet yield or move, he brought his offhand forward once more, hand outstretched as if about to invisibly grasp the woman, his wrist twisting as it began to make a rising motion.
However, instead of some limb or organ breaking or clenching from the Sith Lord's otherwise-invisible display of Force power, the edges of the lake of lava just some feet behind his apprentice began to simmer and crackle, as molten rock pooled near to the burnt volcanic stone that formed what passed for a shoreline. The scorching viscous liquid, burning in bright orange and red hues, spiraled slowly upwards, beginning to take the shape of some unnatural inverted whirlpool that stretched upwards from the lake, thick globs of searing slag spilling from the unnatural, growing limb of lava.
Clenching his fist as he noted Amare's realisation of what was happening, Serus launched the summoned flow in her direction.
The apprentice did not turn to face the hurled stream of fire, but reacted by bending and contorting her waist to duck, twist, deactivate her sabers, and roll barely in the nick of time to avoid permanent injury, but accidentally dropped her shoto in the process. Muscle memory kicked in from her past lessons, putting her Twi'lek dance knowledge and strong sense of rhythm to use. Though the situation was quickly escalating, it felt good to display such fluid agility with much less effort than she recalled was previously required.
"Life is music and footwork," she recalled from a memory of Zenarrah's time as a Jedi padawan. "Death is hesitation and inaction".
A second searing lance threatened to flash-flame her at the abdomen, and she, without thought, gave herself completely to her faith in the Force, and tucked her arms close to her chest and performed a twisting backflip which angled her to the side of the stream. It was a gymnastic feat she hadn't ever attempted before, and she immediately lost her balance upon landing and tumbled to the ground. Adrenaline cascaded through her as she felt the control of her fear faltering as she frantically scrambled to get back up.
She only had enough time to get up to one knee as a third relentless shot came at her center mass. She let go of her mother's lightsaber and threw up both hands in front of her, not to guard herself for the deadly hit, but to bring the Force to meet the fire. She let out a maddened screamed as molten rock met an unseen telekinetic hammer, smashing Serus' final attempt in a fiery burst of blazing liquid death that sprayed out in the opposite direction mostly away from Amare, though a few small bits did land dangerously close around her, one of which nicked one of her head tendrils, but she was far too angry to notice the pain.
She no longer cared to cross blades with the boys. Ignoring her nearby lightsabers, she instead let her fury fully consume her as she rose to her feet. She had every intention of dipping into that well of power and raining hell on both men. It was no longer a training session; it became personal.
"If fire is what you want," she shouted at Serus, "then fire it shall be!" She thrust her palms down toward the ashen earth beneath her, bent down to bring them close as she felt the powerful magma flow underground, and the currents of the dark side that followed it. She had lots of terrible memories to enflame her wrath and draw that power up to her hands suffused with dark energy, but she drew from the most painful one of all:
Shar.
Both hands came up, devoid of the crimson aura, and were instead conductors of fresh blue-green electricity. Her eyes became wild and lit orange-red, almost akin to the very same lava she had just been attacked with. There was no reasoning or remorse in her head as the dark side pushed her to attempt to hurt them as much as Serus tried to hurt her yet again. She wound back her left hand and howled at Serus, "I will not be abused!" Then thrust that hand forward and discharged a quick blast of lightning at him. "I will not be mocked!" she bellowed at Mentis as she hurled her chaotic power at the Rattataki with her right hand. "I am Sith!"
The thin bolts of Force discharge spat towards the two men, who braced for their arrival. To Thane, the bolts were nothing in comparison to the nature-bolstered lightning he had experienced at the hands of the sorcerer Kelderesh, or even the menacing crimson bolts from Axion himself. He held up his un-augmented hand and began to absorb the energy while, at his side, Mentis dissipated the attack with his blade, tilting it faster than the eye could perceive in order to catch the sparks hurled his way.
The attack was powerful, feeding from the power exuded by the planet, but unfocused, leaving Amare no opportunity to get into a better position while she continued her assault. The moment she broke off, they would have her. It was in this moment, that another strong presence in the Force revealed itself; from higher up the hillside leapt Bomoor, who took full advantage of his natural size and strength to collide with the ground and send a surge of Force power across the small plateau.
Both Thane and Mentis had become aware of the threat before impact, but could not completely divert their attention from Amare's attack before the wave struck them. The Rattataki lost his footing slightly, allowing one of the lightning bolts past his defence, feeling its intense sting to his side. Thane stood firm, being more prepared for the Ithorian's assault, but prepared himself to face his old friend.
Amare ceased her bolt-slinging upon the impact of Bomoor's remarkable power. All her consternation and acrimony towards Serus' vicious training methods had only drudged up small, non-lethal lashes of energy, yet it paled in comparison to the Ithorian's might with the Force. Although she was behind the wave, she still found it hard to keep herself on her feet as she retrieved both of her weapons with the pull of her power and withdrew further back up towards higher ground. It was yet another humbling reminder just how far behind the curve she was, and how vulnerable she remained compared to everyone around her. It was made even worse when she wondered if Bomoor was holding back and could have caused so much more damage and destruction if he so chose.
Bomoor rose up from the ground, swirling the dark black dust he had kicked up with his attack. Removing his bronze-tinted blade from his belt, he ignited the silvery-green plasma, which cut a stark contrast against the fiery, dark colours of Mustafar.
"Come close Amare, do not let words become weapons against you," Bomoor spoke to Amare, but kept his eyes upon Thane, "Focus on what you see here and now in this moment and you may just see a weakness, even in your wise master."
Amare nodded her understanding to Bomoor as she leapt to his side and kept her eyes facing ahead as he did. Yet, even in the heat of the moment, she couldn't help but notice the faint hint of a verbal sting when Bomoor said "wise". It was enough to make her lips curl into a wry smile as she reignited her blades and leaned forward a bit into a more aggressive fighting stance, the shoto held low and to her side, and the lightsaber held high and horizontal at arm's length in front of her face.
Serus had watched the Ithorian speaking with his apprentice, and now spun his blade about in an intricate flurry, the type oft-favoured at the various melees and festivals at the Jedi Temple in his youth. The fact it was an artful display that Thurius, Bomoor's own master, had taught him was entirely purposeful. It was rare that his herbivorous friend had bested him during a straight lightsaber duel, although the patient consular's natural Force tenacity had favoured him during several of their jousts over the years.
Not for the first time, the Human former Jedi wondered if his burgeoning talents within the dark side would give him a new edge over Bomoor, although he concluded such truths would only be discovered in a true conflict between the pair. That was something Serus - Thane - had no desire to see come to pass.
A sudden wave of heat fell over Thane as he began moving towards Amare, almost casually. The sound and sight of an erupting volcano in the far but just-visible distance threatened to draw his attention momentarily, the magnificent display of natural power a tempting, and fitting, distraction to the contest before them all now. Instead, he maintained the course, content in his decision to allow this battle to take place.
Amare was to be a Sith Lord, apprenticed to power and wedded to dominance. It would not be fitting to force a training saber into her hand, Thane knew, to dally in cargo holds and luxurious marbles halls with training remotes and cloth mats.
She needed to hate him.
She needed to revere him.
"Nothing is keeping you here but yourself," he stated to the Nautolan, stopping short of her weapon's arc of attack, his voice still maintaining that taunting tone as he held his blade loosely, the blade pointed towards the dark rubble of the Mustafarian ground. "You could leave; there is a galaxy open for you to explore, where you could discover the Force in your own way. Leave me and the Sith behind, depart for verdant worlds and kind faces. Learn at the sandalled feet of kindly old masters, free from conflict and strife. Protect the innocent, free the enslaved." His eyes, icy blue and boring into the storm-ridden lens of Amare, did not blink nor waver, searching deeply for his apprentice's response. "Be whoever you want to be. Be Zaracoda."
His words were absolutely absurd to Amare's sensibilities. Serus' cunning attempt to offer a way out of the dread-inspiring life of a Sith was so ridiculous, Amare straightened, relaxed her stance slightly and began to laugh at him, but not with joy, rather contempt. "Stars, you are more trash at insults than that Nala was!" she exclaimed through mocking chuckles. Her tone instantly changed and she burst into a spat of fury again, "You think I've endured so much of your callousness and abuse just to give up now?! I will never be that weak girl again!"
She immediately launched a vertical reverse slash which was quickly intercepted, quickly followed by a low stab with her shoto at Serus' right thigh. She immediately began to feel a hard resistance from the shoto, its typically stable gyroscopic effect pushing violently back against her left hand, its intense pull against the muscles in her arm making the thrust slower than she was capable of, even at her standing as a novice. The sudden jolt was so severe when Serus deflected it, that the impact practically saw the shoto fling itself from her grasp when she otherwise would've been able to hold on. It rolled down the incline and stopped just short of completely falling off the ridge.
She then jumped back a pace and started carefully backing away from Serus whilst facing him as he closed in and maintained striking range. Amare grasped with both hands on her borrowed lightsaber, shocked that the shoto almost acted like it had a mind of its own. However, her paranoid mind wondered if it was possible Serus was trying to humiliate her more by somehow doing something without any power-directing gesture to make it feel that way.
"How did you do that?" she hissed at her master both astonished and embarrassed, not expecting a straight answer. "Some kind of push you did that I didn't see, wasn't it?" But even she had to admit it wasn't the first time she felt something about the weapon rebel against her. The shoto's crystal had never been attuned to her— Amare having never learned how to do so—and some nights she could still feel its former owner's presence calling out to her late Master Nakomo, and even soft cries and pathetic whimpers from within the weapon. The weapon had been silent on Korriban, but had been acting up ever since that adventure ended.
Focus on defense, Amare, she heard Zen's voice in her mind as the connection fed through her lightsaber's cyan crystal. The shoto was not yours; it never was. I will help guide your blocks through the Force, but only just this once. Learn his pattern, frustrate him, and show no fear.
Although his taunt had been successful in drawing his apprentice's ire, Thane felt disappointment wash over him.
The goading had held multiple meanings, as planned, in that it challenged her to respond, and she could not help but stoop to assaulting him, surrendering to her impulses. It also held truth, even if his delivery had been to draw out her anger, for she was ever free to leave his tutelage, and it had also explored if she understood any of his own truths. In this instance, she had failed; Amare thought Thane was insulting her, and she had resorted to her own pitiful level of Dun Möch. Clearly, his callousness and abuse remained relevant.
Thane adjusted his grip on his ornate lightsaber hilt, bringing his offhand about to grip the weapon tightly, its blade held high above his head. With a rapid, heavy sweeping strike, he swung the brilliant violet blade down against the lesser Sith's defences, landing crashing blow after crashing blow down upon the smaller combatant, the Force imbuing his sudden shift into Form V's Djem So as he pressed the offensive against Amare.
As continued his assault against the Nautolan, his previous dismay was lifted by her speed and tenacity in parrying the strikes, as she deftly twisted her lithe body about in rapid, fluid movements, quite unlike any lightsaber combat form he had seen used by his various traditional opponents after the years. Although her basic understanding of Shii-Cho was allowing her the opportunity to strike her now-single blade, which she wielded with surprising artfulness, she was being pushed further and further back, the battle's position dominated by Thane's advancing footwork. However, because of Amare's sudden revitalised defence, perhaps courtesy of the darkness that she was drawing deeply upon and channeling, the older warrior was being forced to call upon his own inner reserve, his body's joints and sinews aching from the physical exertion of the brutish form.
The pair's weapons continued to strike one another, Thane's broad and wide strikes quickly intercepted by Amare's close, straight ones, augmented as they were by her graceful dance about him. Their duel pushed them further towards the molten lake, the Human advancing in a straight line and forcing Amare backwards as she spun about him from various contorted directions, her body doing more of the work than Zenarrah's lightsaber.
As sweat beaded all over his skin and the ashen environment began to pick away at the fine, dark fabrics of his clothing, Thane was impressed by the Force neophyte's resourceful and impressive display of talent, as the blades of their lightsabers increasingly became akin to a blue-and-purple blur of plasma. The Nautolan's master was intent on challenging the young woman's burgeoning abilities, as unwilling as he was to directly maim her. On more than a few occasions, the former Jedi found himself having to twist his blade awkwardly to smack away an attack of Amare's own to protect himself, venomous and hateful as the intended slices were.
Seeing that the fight had boiled down to the Sith master and apprentice, Bomoor and Mentis silenced their blades and drew together, both feeling the fight more than seeing it, given the high speed of plasma contact.
“Her passion is fiery, as is his fury,” the Rattataki commented, “They both channel it well, when they have focus.”
“There is more power in emotion than I could ever have imagined,” replied his new teacher, “A part of our nature, we have kept locked away and yet here it is. Amare has already grown strong on this path; it is quite incredible.”
From a distance, atop the Red Raptor's hull, Zen was in deep meditation, "viewing" the battle by sensing Amare's chaotic feelings mixed with her tense survival instincts, and through her, Thane's own emotions through the Force. True to her past history, Zen had deceived her daughter; there was no special aid or unfair advantage given. All that had transpired through the duel was her child feeling supported, believing she had help when really it was all in her head. Although her motherly bond with Amare was strong, it was beyond Zen's power to control her daughter's actions. She watched with pride, though she knew it would not last much longer.
Indeed, Amare was utterly exhausted, and was faltering under her master's boundless power. All of her improvised evasions and Shii-Cho defensive katas had only gone so far. Form I was well-suited to her, but she was already starting to notice its glaring limitations, especially when her body was under heavy environmental duress in addition to the fighting. She tried to recall how she tapped into deep reserves of willpower sparked by the Force when wandering the Lorrdian desert, tried all she could to trick her mind into ignoring the Mustafarian heat, and found it more and more difficult to breathe when surrounded by air that was more carbon than oxygen. She wondered if there was a way to utilize the azoth that lurked deep within her body, but hadn't felt it stir or react in any way since recovering in the medbay, as if it wasn't even there at all.
From her perspective, Serus had had enough. She saw him deftly switch back to his elegant single-handed fencing style from the start of their face-off, and he easily caught her feeble attempt at a quick overhead chop. She had mistakenly made her move by taking her left hand off the hilt, her mind subconsciously attempting to mimic her master's style that leveraged agility over Serus' earlier display of power chops and slashes. She lost her balance, fell to one knee, then struck low and was denied, then a quick left cut for his thigh, but Serus' defense was impenetrable to her, and her master found his opening. He snared the last strike, used the locked blades and Amare's reckless momentum to spin her lightsaber around and easily relieve its hilt from her grasp.
The expertly executed disarm startled Amare and drove a steak of fear deep into her soul. It was yet another shocking humiliation handed to her as she was still on one knee and found the business end of an amethyst plasma blade held to within an inch of her throat. Beaten, and on the verge of passing out, she was at his mercy just like the very first night they met. With the steaming hot lava closer to her back than ever thus far, she said nothing, awaiting her Sith Lord's judgment with all hearts in her chest beating faster than they had since Korriban.
The blade hummed, its superheated shaft piercingly bright in the grim darkness of Mustafar, its core's gleaming brilliance not diminished by the molten slag swirling about the galaxy's two lone Sith. Sweat had saturated Thane's hair and body, his skin slick with unavoidable perspiration. His own heart thudded more heavily than he had anticipated within his chest, the exercise a more remarkable engagement than he had ever expected.
His victory was not shallow, just as Amare's defeat was not pitiable. Although he, too, was struck with a reminiscence of their first encounter upon the Red Raptor on Nar Shaddaa, her aquatic hearts a blazing, pulsing beacon for those attuned to such things in the Force, Thane did not see a runaway slave on her knees before him. He saw his Sith apprentice. His ally.
"When the darkness becomes pitch black, and all hope has abandoned you, I will fight by your side," Thane quoted the Nautolan to herself as he disengaged his lightsaber, and offered his other hand to her, the Human's expression having softened, the overwhelming darkness of Mustafar gently being purged from him as he surrendered himself gradually back to the mundane realm.
Amare's anxiety melted as surely as if her master Serus had been a god of fire reigning over this storied, yet so utterly ruined planet. Yet, for the young apprentice, she knew from her lessons growing up that fire and ash were not the perpetual state of things, but were the birth pains of a rising new world leading to a beautiful new future. Today, Mustafar was volcanic desolation, but someday, many millions of years into the future, the lava would form new continents, the dust would settle, and life would eventually find a way. It was, to her, the perfect symbol of the Sith.
"When there is no light to see," she finished the quote for him, not with a smile, but a hopeful look of longing and awe, "I will be your eyes. And when you are lost, I will find you."
She gently placed her hand on his and, rather than taking it to rise up, she instead ushered his fingers close to her lips. "Those words were my vows to you, my master. Please, accept me as the bride of your will. Allow me to serve the one true Lord of the Sith, the master and heir of the Force. Together, free, no longer hiding our true selves. I give myself willingly to you; now, forever, and always." With gentle tenderness, and Bomoor and Mentis as witnesses, she reverently kissed his hand once, akin to a bishop kissing the holy ring of a pontiff.
To her, it wasn't the mundane love for a man, but rather, it was love for the beautiful and bountiful power he embodied. Their duel had been far deeper and more meaningful than a mere display of random violence. For but a scarce moment, she saw more than just blue eyes outlined in gold; rather, she beheld twin suns shining from within his pupils, their golden light gleaming with magnificent cosmic power. The effect had made her feel showered with improved, though short-lived vigor and focus that she could almost see each swing, feint, and thrust before they even happened. Such was Serus' mystic influence that she had felt more inspired and empowered than she ever felt her whole life thus far. It wasn't the same as the bond between the man and his Ithorian brother, but rather a moment of communion with the Force itself with Serus as its means to reach and touch her.
Thane regarded his genuflecting apprentice, her overwhelming physical display and emotions both humbling and enticing at once, drawing his mind and focus deeply onto her. The endless chaotic destruction that was Mustafar's natural state of existence had become insignificant, the background heat and cacophony of the molten world melting away and immaterial to him in this moment - this moment which, in a matter of a few seconds, had become more than a passing incident in his alliance with the former stowaway.
The Jedi of old had documented such moments in the Force in vague, storied accounts throughout the millennia. Perceptible only to a few, and oft then only to those with a unique insight to either the world about them or the moment they were inhabiting, these 'shatterpoints' were said to represent the fault lines of the Force, in both the ethereal and mundane planes of existence. Some of Thane's predecessors in the various Jedi Orders had viewed the ethereal shatterpoints as key moments in history, where the slightest action or deviation could send events spiralling in alternate directions, permanently re-shifting the dynamic of the universe.
As he drew his hand away from Amare's blue lips, Thane could sense the enormity of this singular occasion they were experiencing, witnessed as it was from the periphery by his oldest friend and the Ithorian's own acolyte, unembarrassed by their presence, if still conscious of it. If any of them were to make the slightest deviation to the progression unfolding before them, it would irrevocably alter the future Thane had promised to himself and his companions, he was certain; the future rested on a knife's edge in this precise moment, this outwardly unexceptional moment, and the merest gust could unravel it all. With abated breath, Thane waited for it.
The wrong word. A slip of the foot. A powerful thrust. A friendly interjection.
But nothing came, nothing but the roaring of Mustafar's central volcano, screaming out to the mortal beings arrayed by the lava lake far below. And so the moment passed, the shatterpoint unshattered, and the galaxy's sole Sith Master concluded the affair, the brief vulnerability of their grand plans overcome with little more than the merest unspoken mental acknowledgement from Thane.
He placed his forefinger upon Amare's forehead, the faintest glow of electrical Force power shimmering at the tip, crackling with a barely-concealed power that danced from his flesh towards hers. "The truth of you, now and forever more, declared this day openly to the universe, in utter defiance of nature and temperance, is Amare, apprentice to Serus; the Lords of the Sith."
For Lady Amare, the past had been a fractured puzzle, like a broken mirror. Where Serus had seen shatterpoints in the Force, Amare could view only one in herself:
Zaracoda.
With the anointing touch upon her forehead, Amare introspectively saw through her mind's eye a frightened and hopeless Coda dressed in that trendy yellow outfit she wore the night she first boarded the Red Raptor, standing at the edge of the sheer drop leading to the lava lake below. Coda was sobbing, locked in despair, and appearing to be pleading, yet no words hurled from her lips.
Amare stared in silent contemplation of that broken puzzle, lamenting on how she had worked diligently for so long to piece it together, but every time she tried to reconcile her reflection as Coda, she only managed to cut herself again and again. The image kept shifting with the pain over time, and she slowly changed with it until the truth became Sith.
Coda was the lie; Amare was the hand that obliterated the lie. And so it was that with but a simple thought, the false image that was Coda was thrown back, visibly screaming to her symbolic destruction, yet no sound could be heard. It was not a killing of the past as some would interpret, but rather an acceptance of whom she really was all along. She would be true to herself, to the Force, and to the galaxy from this day forward.
When the cleansing thought had passed, Amare, Lady of the Sith, raised her head to meet her master's eyes yet again. She felt a subtle change in her perspective, so immaculate in its newborn insidious presence that she could not divine what it was precisely, but something was there between them that hadn't existed before. She felt it in Serus as well, but it wasn't a bond, or at least Amare did not believe it was.
"Through us, the Sith shall rise again, my master," she spoke her inaugural oath, fully embracing the change, and allowing herself to go beyond the point of no return.
The two Sith rose together, silhouetted in black against the natural fury of the molten rock behind them. Still watching, their voices low and indistinct over the rumble of magma beneath their feet, the other Master and apprentice spoke.
"This reformation of the Sith religion, Thane and Amare seek, "Mentis asked plainly, "Why are you not seeking it also? Do you not wish to share the power they practice?"
"I have learned much from my study of the Sith and I hope that it will continue to teach me about the other side of the Force," Bomoor answered carefully, "But, much like yourself, I am in no rush to hurry back into the clutches of yet another organisation. There are Sith, Jedi, Cults, but I will choose what parts I want to embrace. Power is power and there are many avenues to accumulating it without locking yourself to one ideology.
He looked to the Rattataki, who stood tensely beside him, almost as though he expected some new threat to appear at any moment, "I hope you will carve your own path with me, Mentis, just as I hope Thane and Amare will create a better Sith Order than has ever existed before."
The ripples of the shatterpoint began to resonate within the Ithorian and he turned back to eye his friend, knowing the weight of the moment they had just observed. He knew Thane's power as he knew his own, but this future they now carved out was fresh and unknown. Gone was the projection Thane had glimpsed on Nar Shaddaa, gone was the terrible fight from Bomoor's own troubling vision on Jericho. Everything was new.
The Ithorian smiled slightly, feeling a spark of inspiration from the blank canvas ahead, "We shall see who's path takes them the furthest."
THANE
▬ Lightsaber Form V (Djem So) Increase
AMARE
▬ Force Lightning Increase
▬ Lightsaber Form I (Shii-Cho) Increase
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