Beyond the Call - JH Decarat
They stood around
him, grinning white teeth shone in the darkness around him. A
stream of light feel down on him from the grate above, casing an errie pattern
on him, and the floor around him. An occasional sneer,
or taunt rose from the ring around him, but nothing to show their true menace,
and danger.
“Ah, Decarat, we
finally meet face to face” annouced a disembodied voice from behind the ranks
of men in the room around him, “What? You don’t recognise me? A pity perhaps.”
Decarat’s mind
whirled with the possible actions, and reactions that could happen here. His
katana, made of a saphirre blue metal gleamed in the moonlight that fell over
him. He held it next to his leg, his hand holding it with an iron grip. He
looked around the hall, at the rows of shinning teeth, and dark visages.
“Mandrak.”
“Well done, young
Decarat. You know who I am.”
“Where is
Aeishline?”
“Oh, one first name
basis are you? Not even Mistress?”
“Where is she?”
“Right here,
Decarat.”
The lights suddenly
turned on, showing the whole room in stark bright light. Decarat automatically
closed his eyes, waiting for them to refocus. He opened his eyes slightly,
looking into the brightness of the room, at the people around him, and to a
still dark figure holding his Mistress by the neck.
“This is what you
are looking for, Decarat? Your mistress who is to teach you in the ways of the
force?. Pah! She is bearly strong enough to fight
against me! Yes, that’s right. She begged me not to kill her, she pleaded for
mercy. Doesn’t sound very Mistress like to me!” he sneered casting Aeishline
through the air, landing meters from Decarat.
Decarat stood firm,
his eyes like needles attacking Mandrak with their firey anger, and with the
intensity of a thousand stars. The men around Decarat inched closer.
“You will pay,
Mandrak. You have not paid for your crimes.”
“You are the fool
to come after your mistress. You didn’t have to come, you know. You could have
stayed in your petty brotherhood, and taken her place. But no.
You had to be Mister Im-the-bloody-hero-now-! And come to rescue her. Now you
are mine. Now you will feel what it’s like to live whilest
your skin is being flailed from your bones. You will beg for mercy, just like
your mistress. Just like a coward.”
The room was
suddenly filled with an errie emerald glow. It cut through the light, and the
dark, destroying them, so that only green could be seen. It was light that was
supernatual, and was stronger than an army of millions. Decarat’s eyes burnt
like the coronas of a sun, emitting the putrid light. His face was looked down
to the stone floor, yet his eyes glared upwards at those around him, and
Mandrak beyond. The men around him took involentary steps backwards, away from
the evil that lay before them.
“Coward am I?” Decarat’s voice was not his own. It was uneartly,
dead, like two stone slabs being scraped against each other. His lips curled
into a terrifying grin. “Then why am I not the one who hides behind prisoners,
you could only catch through your minions, and through trickery. You makes yourself out to be a god amoung mortals when even the
dirtiest of beggers has more dignity, and more worth than you will have in a
hundred lifetimes.”
Decarat’s words
feel like acid on the ears of those who were present, and those who were, were
either too fool-hardy to care, or scrambling for the door already. The sound of
weapons clearing holsters, and sheathes ringed out through the room, adding a
small amount of courage to the face of Mandrak.
“Mighty words,
Apprentice. A fool you are if you believe you can take on my men
single-handedly. A fool and a coward…”
Decarat was a blur
of motion. His hands had pulled back his robes, and had pulled his katana, and daggar out of their places on his belt. His arms
moved in sync with each other, like a dance of expertise, as they glided
through the closest men to him, severing limbs, and killing. His lips remained a acidic smile, as he cut a line of terror through the men
around him.
He stopped, his
hands, and arms bloody, and the cries of the dying or injured ringed out
through the hall.
“Now
it it just you and me, Mandrak. Face me like the man you believe you are. I will show you what real
pain is.”
Mandrak was visably
shaking. His face looked like he had aged 20 years. His hand dropped to his
belt, and drew his lightsaber out, and ignited it.
“A
little unfair, Mandrak.”
Decarat sneered at the man, as he dropped to the floor using the force to
cushion him. He pulled his almost weary arms into a guard position, and glared
at Decarat.
Decarat suddenly
realized how easy this would be. He didn’t want to fight Mandrak, but he had
been challenged. And now… now he has to fight. He has to fight an old man who’s powers have been long used up. He is a finished man.
“Im
sorry Mandrak”. Decarat
jumped forward, and stroke him in the back of the neck, hearing the telltale
crack of Mandrak’s neck breaking, and the thud of his body hitting the floor.
“Im sorry”
“That was a little
over the top don’t you think?” came a female voice from behind him. Decarat
just sighed, and turned.
“Next time, Im
leaving you will the insane Sith”
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