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2 hours ago
"Acolyte Jadzia. Training pit. Now."
The holo rang out through the ship. Some of the other sith and imperials had started to use the apprentice's holos to keep their own time. Sah'sha strode through the huge walkways and reached for his Senses to locate the unfortunate acolyte.
He stopped. She was already in the training room. He began walking again, his path unerring as doors hissed open and clanged closed after him.
Sah'sha walked into the training room, eyes narrowing as he did not see the acolyte awaiting him in the pit. He paused, scanning the room with eyes that burned with malice.
There she was. Lying on a bench, where she had no doubt collapsed after their previous bout. The injuries he had inflicted were prominent now. Bruising which reached up and around her neck from where he had grabbed and choked her. Burned cuts on her face from where his lightsaber had caught her. Black eyes that spoke of deep exhaustion and punches she had not been quick enough to evade. Her robes were ripped, torn and burned in places, leaving gaps that displayed other wounds he had punished her with. He could see a flash of her left flank through a large hole in her robes; a boot heel shaped bruise blossoming around a huge burn from his lightsaber. His mask tilted as a memory flitted across his mind of pouring Dark Side energy into a deep and grievous injury right there, hearing her screams as he commanded her flesh through force of will, feeling the satisfaction of her flank whole and unblemished under his hands.
He seized her bicep and pulled her upright, watching as her brown eyes opened and focused on him. Without a word, he strode to the pit with her in tow, snapping her hairtie from the dark locks and burning it to ash with sorcery in his hand. She didn't snap at him this time. No angry growl. Just the bone-weary gaze from eyes that had dulled from burnished mahogany to a lifeless mud.
His saber ignited. She drew her foil and assumed the standard ready position.
They clashed. Over and over again. Sparks flew, robes fluttered, grunts of exertion and pain issued forth. Her foil swung and jabbed towards the weak points of his armour, occasionally sending other objects pelting at his back to force his attention to split. It was a good strategy. It was just a shame that she was too exhausted to press the speed necessary for it to have a chance of working.
Still he pressed her. Forced her to adapt, to defend, to move. He herded her towards a corner, swinging his blade up for a falling avalanche...and almost laughed as she retaliated by diving between his legs to escape behind him. His saber crashed down and his boot lashed out, sending her stumbling further away. She recovered and tried to send a Shock towards him, the sparks barely springing to life between her fingers. She was at her limit. A standard week of brutal spars every hour of every day...and only now had she reached her limit.
So he punished her for not being more. His saber swung out towards her outstretched hand, her fingers saved by a mere centimetre as she was forced to back away again. He took the ground she gave, his strength and viciousness finally cleaving her foil in twain. He grabbed the front of her robes and tossed her away from the racks where she could rearm. She crashed and rolled on the floor, gasping for breath as she drunkenly started to push herself back up. Lightning sprang from his fingertips. It caught her fully and cut off her ragged panting.
"Get up!"
She lay broken and still.
Sah'sha regarded the acolyte before him. She lay on the floor of the training pit, finally and utterly spent. The light emitting from the tip of his saber illuminated the various cuts and bruises over her face and neck. He had inflicted them all.
"I said, get up!"
She did not stir, did not respond. Her breathing was shallow, ragged. He disignited his lightsaber, nudging her cheek with the edge of his boot.
Nothing.
Not even her eyelids trembled.
He knelt beside her, reaching out with his Senses; checking if there was any energy at all left for her to draw upon. A huff of air escaped him, finally satisfied.
Almost a full week of intense spars. Every hour. Every day. No rest for the wicked or foolish. He had made sure that she had not slept more than two hours at a time. War did not wait for a rested or fed body. He knew that well. She needed to learn it too.
The backs of his fingers brushed along her jawline up to her cheek, nudging the bloodsoaked strands away from her face. Glowing ember eyes examined the woman he had beaten until breaking over and over again.
His fingers moved to stroke a lock of her dark hair. It was thick, heavy and soft, like silk.
His eyes narrowed. There was a hint of thought.
He lifted her with telekinesis, her frame following him from the training pit like some half-possessed mannequin.
The medbay staff were more surprised to see him than her as he unceremoniously dumped the acolyte onto a medbay bed.
To shut out the murmuring of the staff, orders in a vocoded modulated voice left from under his mask.
"Fix this one up. Prepare her for landing. She has earned.. rest.”
Without any more words, he strode out of the medbay. His lip curled under the mask, clenching the calloused digits into a fist. His robe billowing behind him, he walked off into the meditation room.
The holo rang out through the ship. Some of the other sith and imperials had started to use the apprentice's holos to keep their own time. Sah'sha strode through the huge walkways and reached for his Senses to locate the unfortunate acolyte.
He stopped. She was already in the training room. He began walking again, his path unerring as doors hissed open and clanged closed after him.
Sah'sha walked into the training room, eyes narrowing as he did not see the acolyte awaiting him in the pit. He paused, scanning the room with eyes that burned with malice.
There she was. Lying on a bench, where she had no doubt collapsed after their previous bout. The injuries he had inflicted were prominent now. Bruising which reached up and around her neck from where he had grabbed and choked her. Burned cuts on her face from where his lightsaber had caught her. Black eyes that spoke of deep exhaustion and punches she had not been quick enough to evade. Her robes were ripped, torn and burned in places, leaving gaps that displayed other wounds he had punished her with. He could see a flash of her left flank through a large hole in her robes; a boot heel shaped bruise blossoming around a huge burn from his lightsaber. His mask tilted as a memory flitted across his mind of pouring Dark Side energy into a deep and grievous injury right there, hearing her screams as he commanded her flesh through force of will, feeling the satisfaction of her flank whole and unblemished under his hands.
He seized her bicep and pulled her upright, watching as her brown eyes opened and focused on him. Without a word, he strode to the pit with her in tow, snapping her hairtie from the dark locks and burning it to ash with sorcery in his hand. She didn't snap at him this time. No angry growl. Just the bone-weary gaze from eyes that had dulled from burnished mahogany to a lifeless mud.
His saber ignited. She drew her foil and assumed the standard ready position.
They clashed. Over and over again. Sparks flew, robes fluttered, grunts of exertion and pain issued forth. Her foil swung and jabbed towards the weak points of his armour, occasionally sending other objects pelting at his back to force his attention to split. It was a good strategy. It was just a shame that she was too exhausted to press the speed necessary for it to have a chance of working.
Still he pressed her. Forced her to adapt, to defend, to move. He herded her towards a corner, swinging his blade up for a falling avalanche...and almost laughed as she retaliated by diving between his legs to escape behind him. His saber crashed down and his boot lashed out, sending her stumbling further away. She recovered and tried to send a Shock towards him, the sparks barely springing to life between her fingers. She was at her limit. A standard week of brutal spars every hour of every day...and only now had she reached her limit.
So he punished her for not being more. His saber swung out towards her outstretched hand, her fingers saved by a mere centimetre as she was forced to back away again. He took the ground she gave, his strength and viciousness finally cleaving her foil in twain. He grabbed the front of her robes and tossed her away from the racks where she could rearm. She crashed and rolled on the floor, gasping for breath as she drunkenly started to push herself back up. Lightning sprang from his fingertips. It caught her fully and cut off her ragged panting.
"Get up!"
She lay broken and still.
Sah'sha regarded the acolyte before him. She lay on the floor of the training pit, finally and utterly spent. The light emitting from the tip of his saber illuminated the various cuts and bruises over her face and neck. He had inflicted them all.
"I said, get up!"
She did not stir, did not respond. Her breathing was shallow, ragged. He disignited his lightsaber, nudging her cheek with the edge of his boot.
Nothing.
Not even her eyelids trembled.
He knelt beside her, reaching out with his Senses; checking if there was any energy at all left for her to draw upon. A huff of air escaped him, finally satisfied.
Almost a full week of intense spars. Every hour. Every day. No rest for the wicked or foolish. He had made sure that she had not slept more than two hours at a time. War did not wait for a rested or fed body. He knew that well. She needed to learn it too.
The backs of his fingers brushed along her jawline up to her cheek, nudging the bloodsoaked strands away from her face. Glowing ember eyes examined the woman he had beaten until breaking over and over again.
His fingers moved to stroke a lock of her dark hair. It was thick, heavy and soft, like silk.
His eyes narrowed. There was a hint of thought.
He lifted her with telekinesis, her frame following him from the training pit like some half-possessed mannequin.
The medbay staff were more surprised to see him than her as he unceremoniously dumped the acolyte onto a medbay bed.
To shut out the murmuring of the staff, orders in a vocoded modulated voice left from under his mask.
"Fix this one up. Prepare her for landing. She has earned.. rest.”
Without any more words, he strode out of the medbay. His lip curled under the mask, clenching the calloused digits into a fist. His robe billowing behind him, he walked off into the meditation room.
