Something in her stirred violently, a natural recoil of her being from something dark and undistinguished against the blackened brown rock of the cave. She reached out to her friend in the Force and felt like she was slipping on a slick of oil. Without realizing it, Rosalie Seeker had risen to her feet and backed away from where she had knelt beside Tylan to comfort him.
Around him, in him, enveloping his sense and coiling around it like a
snake, was something–someone–amorphous and raw, wholly there
yet invisible past the facade of Tylan Hart. The reflective silver cylinder
in his hand caught her eye as the artificial light of the fusion lamp flickered,
far to her right propped against the tall, curved cave wall. It had to be the
lightsaber. A darkness radiated from the hilt, chilling the deep center of
Rosalie’s chest after a single glance. The eyes she met when she looked
back up weren’t Tylan’s anymore. Identical were the deep brown irises
that had looked on her just that morning, but his hues of warm caf
granules were darkened and chilled somehow, cutting through the air
and through her.
The words succeeding that awful laugh made her stomach twist and cramp
within her. The smoky, choking sheen overlain across Tylan’s being grated
against the innermost layers of Rosalie’s skin with its rotten, sour, nebulous
familiarity. She didn’t have time to wonder, to think, to question, before the
ancient artifact lit up in a half-meter of burning red plasma, casting sanguine
light across the chamber.
She felt her own weapon against the pads of her
fingers, solid and smooth and an elegant contradiction
of peaceful and lethal. Pale hairs standing on end
at the nape of her neck and along her arms, she
extended her touch in the Force just short of the
saber’s activation. Rosalie worked hard to slow the
beating of her heart, to quell the panic and disorientation
swirling in an eddy around her.
״What—-״ She set her teeth with the grim knowledge that she was no longer talking to her fellow Padawan. It was a dizzying thing to realize. ״Who are you?״
The panic that now enveloped Rosalie because of the sudden transformation only caused the smirk on Tylan’s face to grow wider, more sinister. The Sith had missed the terror he’d been able to provoke in others from his mere presence alone. Though the last time that’d occurred was many centuries ago--- during a time when he was known as a ruthless Conqueror for the former Sith Empire.
His cruelty was legendary--- the Sith never once showing any sort
of mercy to his victims. He enjoyed the thrill of hearing their screams
and watching them squirm helplessly while he commanded the Force
to hold them in place before cutting them down without ever giving them
a second thought. Such cruelty and raw skill landed him a seat on the
Dark Council and no one dared oppose him in fear of suffering from his
sorcery.
There was a sort of twisted satisfaction in hearing the low hum of a lightsaber again, Tylan directing the plasma blade against the cave wall as he began moving slowly towards the silver-haired Padawan. The lightsaber created a loud hissing noise as it permanently impacted the cave’s inner-most structure, the Sith using this as an intimidation tactic.
❝ Who am I, you ask? ❞ A low, vile chuckle escapes from his lips,
❝ I am Darth Arcaina, Conqueror of worlds. --- I would ask for your
name, but I find it rather pointless since you’ll be long forgotten
after I’m finished killing you. ❞ There’s a slight pause before he
continues, ❝ Now, fight well, young Jedi. Your life depends on it. ❞
The blade then falls back to his side as Tylan abruptly stops. A deep breath of air is inhaled before cold irises focus on Rosalie once again, the young man raising the ancient lightsaber up in the air before curving the silver hilt and lunging at the silver-haired girl with a deadly stab, strike attack.
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