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22-10-2025, 05:50 PM
(This post was last modified: 22-10-2025, 08:13 PM by Krassus Horuset.)
Krassus was slammed against the durasteel ceiling of the mine with a metallic thud that shook the rivets in his Warrior's armor. A heartbeat later, he was sent crashing into the dirt with a crunch that instantly robbed the air from his lungs. He barely managed not to bisect himself on his own blade as it threatened to tumble from his grasp. The blaster fire outside became a distant echo, barely audible over the sharp ringing in his ears.
The young Horuset warrior left laying, gasping for air. Struggling to move. To breathe. The world narrowed around him.
It is then she appeared above him.
The armored faceplate of Daxze loomed over him, her presence in the Force reeking of rot, of corruption, of the draining void of the Dark Side. Her attempt to Force Drain their enemy; having done little else than drain her of her last semblance of sanity. The mania in her voice mirrored only by the glint of madness in her eyes, barely visible behind the visor. “Get up, Krassssusss! Run!” she hissed, voice fractured, lisping, and unhinged; her grasp on Basic deteriorating almost as quickly as her grip on sanity.
Then she was gone. Bolting for the exit. Cloak whipping behind her as she disappeared from Krassus vision. His head pounding like a drum as the mine shaft spun.
"Krassus, is it?" The Jedi's voice offered from deeper inside the cavern. Measured, calm, amused. The Radiant glow of his lightsaber lit the mineshaft with a tranquil, almost sacred light as he continued his leiusurely stroll towards the Sith. Pale skin glowing faintly in the illumination, white eyes creased in a kindly smile that did not belong on a battlefield.
He bowed, blade in hand, moving with theatrical grace.
"Well, young Krassus, what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance." He spoke. His voice was gentle. Almost sincere. The Light flowed from him like a breeze of spring wind. Warm, clean, soft. Like a gentle breeze rolling through a calm meadow. A faint hint of lovely flowers and freshly cut grass. It sickened Krassus. The serenity, the confident, self-assured peace oozing off him like a perfume. Unbearable in its arrogance. The Light Side flowed around the jedi like a storm in bloom as he gathered the Force around himself once more.
Krassus pressed his fist into the dirt, pushing himself up. Biting through the burning pain in his left Thigh. The Shiim wound screaming with pain with each excruciating movement. He could barely put weight on it. But still, he rose. One knee. Then both feet. Saber in hand. Breath ragged. Sliding his right leg behind his left as he assumed his Djem So stance.
The Jedi paused his advance, but did not raise his own blade. "You have real spirit, young Krassus.... Yet is seems your allies do not share it." The Jedi offered, bowing again. Smiling as if they were exchanging pleasantries at a dinner. Sliding one leg behind the other as he continued. "It would be wise of you to surrender, young Krassus. I do not believe you are cut out for this fight... To be Sith. Lay down your weapon, my friend. Come with me. Let us discuss your... Redemption, hmm?" He extended his off-hand, lowering his defenses, as if he had already won. The very air swirling around him like a building hurricane.
The insult in the gesture wasn't loud, nor crude.
But it was the greatest unsult a warrior could suffer: an attempt to be ignored.
Not Challenged. Not defeated.
Dismissed.
The Jedi saw not a Sith. Not a warrior. Not an Enemy.
Only a child in need of Mercy.
It disgusted Krassus to his core. He had no need for it. He felt it all snap. The mask of the Stoic warrior shattering as the Dark Side surged into him like floodwaters through a broken dam. A tidal swell of rage washing over him as tears rushed down his sweat and blood caked cheeks beneath his mask. He screamed, a guttural roar that echoed through the mine as the young Sith exploded outwards like the solar winds of the Horuset sun.
Augmentation doing what it could to compensate for the missing muscle mass in his thigh. Surging forward, saber drawn. A blur of crimson and hatred as he crashed into the Jedi's defences. Yet it did him little good.
The Jedi hardly blinked. The parry; elegant, effortless. Krassus' saber knocked from his hand. Another Shiim, a streak of smoltering orange across his back. A flash, a lesson as the Jedi effortlessly moved past him.
Krassus barely staying upright. Stumbling forwards before he suddenly trips and falls. Not over his own feet. But over the corpse of Lord Teius. The mud beneath his hands twisting into stone tiles. The stone tiles of the Horuset Throne room. The air thick with the scorched scent of brimstone.
Smoke curling into the air from the smoldering hole in his father's chest. Eyes all around him in the shadows. The jedi's face towering over him morphing into the equally pale visage of Lord Kelsa's face, half exposed from his ruined helmet. The world around Krassus fading into shadow as he locks eyes with the cold, dead eyes of his father's corpse. Still twisted in his skull with the same glare. The same disdain.
And then, impossible, the eyes stirred. Breath catching in Krassus' throat as the corpse of Lord Teius rose. Not just from the dead, but above him. To tower over Krassus as it might have done once when he was but a child in the Horuset Spire. Its face twisted, lips drawn back in a grimacing snarl as it reeled back an iron fist.
Krassus hadn't even the time to raise his arms to cover his face.
The blow struck like a hammer.
KRassus falling hard with his back onto the gleaming, polished floors of the Horuset Spire's training hall. The Durasteel cold beneath him. The taste of blood in his mouth as his small hands scrape across the floor in search of the the wooden training blade he had dropped. Heat swelling in his swollen lips as a trickle of dark blood makes its way down his face from the gash in them.
"Again!" The Armsman's voice echoed around the ring. As Krassus got back to his feet as his opponent backed away and reformed their Shii-Cho stance. The rest of the Children watching from outside the ring. Seranaus scared, Xulia eager to seem interested, Kromus amused. All awaiting their turn.
Krassus' gaze falling onto his opponent. The tall lanky frame of his elder brother.. Krassus recognised him instantly even if the long years since his brother's death had twisted his face into a patchwork of forgotten features. Morphing, blurred by time, but unmistakably Valeus Horuset.
Valeus was several years Krassus' elder; soon to be sent off to the Academy if word around the spire was to be believed. But he had always preferred his books, scrolls and long studies over his bladework. And it had given him a matching bookish disposition.
And so the armsman deemed it a not entirely unfair match. Pitting the more martial younger brother against the eldest more often than not.
Krassus cherished it really, even if he could never hope to match the reach of Valeus' blade. It was after all one of the only times he actually got to spend time with his brother.
And so Krassus nodded, sliding his dominant foot behind the other with practiced precision. Deliving into his fledgling mastery of the Dark Side. The world narrowing around him until his focus was on nothing else but Valeus and the spar. Pushing himself forwards with a rush. Stick crashing against stick as the two sparred.
High. Low. Parry. Riposte. Swing. Jab. A step back. A lunge forwards! High. Low. An opening! No? A feint!
A blow of Valeus' stick found his right hand. Bruising his knuckles as Krassus almost loses his grasp on his blade. A following low sweep. Krassus tried to avoid it. Tumbling backwards before the boy tripped over his own footing. Hitting the floor with a soft thud; Valeus' blade follows him down. Pausing mere inches from his face.
"Yield! I yield!" Krassus said. Letting his stick roll from his grasp as he raised his arms in surrender.
"KRASSUS!" Lord Teius' voice boomed like thunder through the hall. Everything stopped. Even the air froze in place as a shakey breath caught in Krassus' throat. A wave of cold Sweat rolling down his back as his eyes go wide. Heart pounding in his chest.
He had been so focused on his on the spar he hadn't even noticed that the armsman has slinked away and fallen to a knee. Hadn't noticed the arrival of his father. Lord Teius stormed in, the Sith Lord's presence flaring outwards like an incinerating burst of hellish fire and brimstone spewed out from the depths of the Horuset suns's hateful core. Rage incarnate as the armored behemoth clenched his hands into fists. Every step judgement manifest.
"WHAT IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, YOU USELESS VERMIN!"
Krassus trembled on hands and knees. "I-I... M-my Lord, I-"
"He was beaten," Valeus offered. "I won."
"No," Teius growled, cutting him off. Burning eyes locked on Krassus. "He yielded." The Lord corrected. The word was spat like poison. With one motion he yanked Seranaus up from his knees by the scruff of his neck. Left hand on the boy's neck, the other on his stick-blade.
A tug seeing them separated. The latter now finding it's way into the Lord's vice like grasp, as his other hand discarded the boy like trash. Throwing Seranaus hard to the ground in the wake of his passing as he stormed into the training pit.
Their Lord Father wrath incarnate as the Dark Side swelled with him. The first strike, like a blur, struck Valeus on the side of his head. Almost knocking his eyes out of their sockets as the wood crashed into his skull; sending the eldest son sprawling on the floor.
"And the fact that you accepted it makes you just as weak." The Lord declared as he knelt down over Valeus; an armored fist striking down into his chest. Driving the air from his lungs before Lord Teius unfurled his fingers; clawed digits digging into the fabric of Valeus' shirt as the Sith Lord lifted him bodily and hurled him from the ring like refuse.
The Armsman stopping Valeus' flopping and rolling body with his right foot.
"Take him." The Lord barked. The armsman obeyed. Bowing his bald head, keeping his gaze averted as he dragged Valeus from the hall. The rest of the children following them out like a scattering of ducks.
Now it was only Teius and Krassus.
"Stand, Worm!"
Krassus didn't move fast enough. A clawed fist seized his crimson hair, dragging him upright as his scalp screamed in protest.
A tug of the force saw the dropped training blade find Teius' palm. The Sith Lord pressing it hard against his son's chest.
"No son of mine will yield so meekly! No would-be Sith Warrior of the Horuset blood! You will fight until you no longer can. You do not stop until I say you are done. Opening stance, Shii-cho!" He demanded, letting the crying, trembling boy slide his right leg behind the other as he waited.
Then it began.
The Sith Lord burst forward, like a Tukata let of its leash. Blow after blow. Krassus' training blade batted aside in an instant. The wood in Lord Teius' grasp almost splintering under the force behind the strike. Then came another, and another swing. Blow after blow. To his back. His Arms. His ribs.
An armored fist cracked into his left eye socket, stars exploded in his vision. Blood ran down his cheek as Krassus was sent sprawling.
The boy gasping for breath, barely conscious.
"GET. UP."
The Force snared around him like tendrils, yanking him into the air. Tears streemed freely now, mixing with blood as Krassus was thrown down onto his knees. The stick blade pressed into him again.
"OPENING STANCE, SHII-CHO!"
Krassus obeyed.
Another beatdown.
Fists. Fury. Spite.
Lord Teius swung the blade so hard that the wood cracked and splintered in his grasp, sending wood shavings sprawling across the ring. He had no further use for it. He throttled Krassus onto the ground and wailed down on his swollen, red face with his fists. Again, and again. Each blow sending the Sith Lord's own son crashing in and out of consciousness.
The world spinning as the command came again.
"GET. UP."
He did.
Barely standing. Face split open. A gargled wheeze blowing bubbled of dark blood between his lips as he just barely dragged his dominant foot behind the other. Teius was upon him not a moment later.
Strike after strike.
A snap.
A wet, crushing crack.
His sword arm broken. As Lord Teius threw him to the ground and stomped down on his chest. Pinning him. Canting his head offset as he looked down at his son. Not a shred of love behind his eyes. Cold, calculating. Judging. Deeming Krassus, at last, unable to continue to fight.
"Only now are you defeated. I will not have you -yield- for less." He said. Turning. The lesson ended.
Krassus lay still. Blood in his mouth. His face almost split in half. breath shallow. Heart pounding. The Shadows rise around him, drowning out the world until there is nothing but his father. His back turning towards him. The shape of him. It arose nothing but rage. For once, Krassus wasn't afraid anymore. The Dark Side rose within his broken body as he moved. Once twice. Leveraging the momentum of his body to flip himself onto his side with a wet, bloody thud.
Then another swing saw him move onto his chest. Fingers trembling. One hand found the stick he had long since dropped. He took it. Pushed it into the ground with a blood gurgling groan of strain. He pushed.
He fell.
Face first in the blood pooling beneath him.
He pushed again. And Again. On his knees. One knee. Then both feet.
He stood. Barely Resting his full weight onto the stick.
Teius halted. Then turned. A deep, bone-grinding groan. Half roar, half laugh. The only approval Krassus would ever earn as he changed his course. Turning back to Krassus. Towering over the broken boy. Reeling back his iron fist.
A final blow. Clean, brutal. Two punches. One clean to his solar plexus; the other an upper cut to his nose.
Darkness claimed him.
Krassus awoke in his bed in the medbay of the Horuset estate. Reaching out with his left hand; he sees only the robotic steel of his cybernetic replacement. Himself once more. Chest heaving, cold sweat clinging to his skin as he sits up. Covered in kolto-patches on his shrapnel wounds.
The taste of blood in his mouth, but no wound.
Only memory.
Ignoring the protests of the medical droid he pushes himself out of bed and finds the wash basin. Letting the water run; he splashes it into his face. Yet as he looks up into the mirror he sees only his father's scowl staring back at him, etched into his own face.
He grits his teeth; fire burning behind his crimson gaze as he reels back his fist. Slamming it into the mirror; the reflective surface shattering beneath the weight of the blow.
The young Horuset warrior left laying, gasping for air. Struggling to move. To breathe. The world narrowed around him.
It is then she appeared above him.
The armored faceplate of Daxze loomed over him, her presence in the Force reeking of rot, of corruption, of the draining void of the Dark Side. Her attempt to Force Drain their enemy; having done little else than drain her of her last semblance of sanity. The mania in her voice mirrored only by the glint of madness in her eyes, barely visible behind the visor. “Get up, Krassssusss! Run!” she hissed, voice fractured, lisping, and unhinged; her grasp on Basic deteriorating almost as quickly as her grip on sanity.
Then she was gone. Bolting for the exit. Cloak whipping behind her as she disappeared from Krassus vision. His head pounding like a drum as the mine shaft spun.
"Krassus, is it?" The Jedi's voice offered from deeper inside the cavern. Measured, calm, amused. The Radiant glow of his lightsaber lit the mineshaft with a tranquil, almost sacred light as he continued his leiusurely stroll towards the Sith. Pale skin glowing faintly in the illumination, white eyes creased in a kindly smile that did not belong on a battlefield.
He bowed, blade in hand, moving with theatrical grace.
"Well, young Krassus, what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance." He spoke. His voice was gentle. Almost sincere. The Light flowed from him like a breeze of spring wind. Warm, clean, soft. Like a gentle breeze rolling through a calm meadow. A faint hint of lovely flowers and freshly cut grass. It sickened Krassus. The serenity, the confident, self-assured peace oozing off him like a perfume. Unbearable in its arrogance. The Light Side flowed around the jedi like a storm in bloom as he gathered the Force around himself once more.
Krassus pressed his fist into the dirt, pushing himself up. Biting through the burning pain in his left Thigh. The Shiim wound screaming with pain with each excruciating movement. He could barely put weight on it. But still, he rose. One knee. Then both feet. Saber in hand. Breath ragged. Sliding his right leg behind his left as he assumed his Djem So stance.
The Jedi paused his advance, but did not raise his own blade. "You have real spirit, young Krassus.... Yet is seems your allies do not share it." The Jedi offered, bowing again. Smiling as if they were exchanging pleasantries at a dinner. Sliding one leg behind the other as he continued. "It would be wise of you to surrender, young Krassus. I do not believe you are cut out for this fight... To be Sith. Lay down your weapon, my friend. Come with me. Let us discuss your... Redemption, hmm?" He extended his off-hand, lowering his defenses, as if he had already won. The very air swirling around him like a building hurricane.
The insult in the gesture wasn't loud, nor crude.
But it was the greatest unsult a warrior could suffer: an attempt to be ignored.
Not Challenged. Not defeated.
Dismissed.
The Jedi saw not a Sith. Not a warrior. Not an Enemy.
Only a child in need of Mercy.
It disgusted Krassus to his core. He had no need for it. He felt it all snap. The mask of the Stoic warrior shattering as the Dark Side surged into him like floodwaters through a broken dam. A tidal swell of rage washing over him as tears rushed down his sweat and blood caked cheeks beneath his mask. He screamed, a guttural roar that echoed through the mine as the young Sith exploded outwards like the solar winds of the Horuset sun.
Augmentation doing what it could to compensate for the missing muscle mass in his thigh. Surging forward, saber drawn. A blur of crimson and hatred as he crashed into the Jedi's defences. Yet it did him little good.
The Jedi hardly blinked. The parry; elegant, effortless. Krassus' saber knocked from his hand. Another Shiim, a streak of smoltering orange across his back. A flash, a lesson as the Jedi effortlessly moved past him.
Krassus barely staying upright. Stumbling forwards before he suddenly trips and falls. Not over his own feet. But over the corpse of Lord Teius. The mud beneath his hands twisting into stone tiles. The stone tiles of the Horuset Throne room. The air thick with the scorched scent of brimstone.
Smoke curling into the air from the smoldering hole in his father's chest. Eyes all around him in the shadows. The jedi's face towering over him morphing into the equally pale visage of Lord Kelsa's face, half exposed from his ruined helmet. The world around Krassus fading into shadow as he locks eyes with the cold, dead eyes of his father's corpse. Still twisted in his skull with the same glare. The same disdain.
And then, impossible, the eyes stirred. Breath catching in Krassus' throat as the corpse of Lord Teius rose. Not just from the dead, but above him. To tower over Krassus as it might have done once when he was but a child in the Horuset Spire. Its face twisted, lips drawn back in a grimacing snarl as it reeled back an iron fist.
Krassus hadn't even the time to raise his arms to cover his face.
The blow struck like a hammer.
KRassus falling hard with his back onto the gleaming, polished floors of the Horuset Spire's training hall. The Durasteel cold beneath him. The taste of blood in his mouth as his small hands scrape across the floor in search of the the wooden training blade he had dropped. Heat swelling in his swollen lips as a trickle of dark blood makes its way down his face from the gash in them.
"Again!" The Armsman's voice echoed around the ring. As Krassus got back to his feet as his opponent backed away and reformed their Shii-Cho stance. The rest of the Children watching from outside the ring. Seranaus scared, Xulia eager to seem interested, Kromus amused. All awaiting their turn.
Krassus' gaze falling onto his opponent. The tall lanky frame of his elder brother.. Krassus recognised him instantly even if the long years since his brother's death had twisted his face into a patchwork of forgotten features. Morphing, blurred by time, but unmistakably Valeus Horuset.
Valeus was several years Krassus' elder; soon to be sent off to the Academy if word around the spire was to be believed. But he had always preferred his books, scrolls and long studies over his bladework. And it had given him a matching bookish disposition.
And so the armsman deemed it a not entirely unfair match. Pitting the more martial younger brother against the eldest more often than not.
Krassus cherished it really, even if he could never hope to match the reach of Valeus' blade. It was after all one of the only times he actually got to spend time with his brother.
And so Krassus nodded, sliding his dominant foot behind the other with practiced precision. Deliving into his fledgling mastery of the Dark Side. The world narrowing around him until his focus was on nothing else but Valeus and the spar. Pushing himself forwards with a rush. Stick crashing against stick as the two sparred.
High. Low. Parry. Riposte. Swing. Jab. A step back. A lunge forwards! High. Low. An opening! No? A feint!
A blow of Valeus' stick found his right hand. Bruising his knuckles as Krassus almost loses his grasp on his blade. A following low sweep. Krassus tried to avoid it. Tumbling backwards before the boy tripped over his own footing. Hitting the floor with a soft thud; Valeus' blade follows him down. Pausing mere inches from his face.
"Yield! I yield!" Krassus said. Letting his stick roll from his grasp as he raised his arms in surrender.
"KRASSUS!" Lord Teius' voice boomed like thunder through the hall. Everything stopped. Even the air froze in place as a shakey breath caught in Krassus' throat. A wave of cold Sweat rolling down his back as his eyes go wide. Heart pounding in his chest.
He had been so focused on his on the spar he hadn't even noticed that the armsman has slinked away and fallen to a knee. Hadn't noticed the arrival of his father. Lord Teius stormed in, the Sith Lord's presence flaring outwards like an incinerating burst of hellish fire and brimstone spewed out from the depths of the Horuset suns's hateful core. Rage incarnate as the armored behemoth clenched his hands into fists. Every step judgement manifest.
"WHAT IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, YOU USELESS VERMIN!"
Krassus trembled on hands and knees. "I-I... M-my Lord, I-"
"He was beaten," Valeus offered. "I won."
"No," Teius growled, cutting him off. Burning eyes locked on Krassus. "He yielded." The Lord corrected. The word was spat like poison. With one motion he yanked Seranaus up from his knees by the scruff of his neck. Left hand on the boy's neck, the other on his stick-blade.
A tug seeing them separated. The latter now finding it's way into the Lord's vice like grasp, as his other hand discarded the boy like trash. Throwing Seranaus hard to the ground in the wake of his passing as he stormed into the training pit.
Their Lord Father wrath incarnate as the Dark Side swelled with him. The first strike, like a blur, struck Valeus on the side of his head. Almost knocking his eyes out of their sockets as the wood crashed into his skull; sending the eldest son sprawling on the floor.
"And the fact that you accepted it makes you just as weak." The Lord declared as he knelt down over Valeus; an armored fist striking down into his chest. Driving the air from his lungs before Lord Teius unfurled his fingers; clawed digits digging into the fabric of Valeus' shirt as the Sith Lord lifted him bodily and hurled him from the ring like refuse.
The Armsman stopping Valeus' flopping and rolling body with his right foot.
"Take him." The Lord barked. The armsman obeyed. Bowing his bald head, keeping his gaze averted as he dragged Valeus from the hall. The rest of the children following them out like a scattering of ducks.
Now it was only Teius and Krassus.
"Stand, Worm!"
Krassus didn't move fast enough. A clawed fist seized his crimson hair, dragging him upright as his scalp screamed in protest.
A tug of the force saw the dropped training blade find Teius' palm. The Sith Lord pressing it hard against his son's chest.
"No son of mine will yield so meekly! No would-be Sith Warrior of the Horuset blood! You will fight until you no longer can. You do not stop until I say you are done. Opening stance, Shii-cho!" He demanded, letting the crying, trembling boy slide his right leg behind the other as he waited.
Then it began.
The Sith Lord burst forward, like a Tukata let of its leash. Blow after blow. Krassus' training blade batted aside in an instant. The wood in Lord Teius' grasp almost splintering under the force behind the strike. Then came another, and another swing. Blow after blow. To his back. His Arms. His ribs.
An armored fist cracked into his left eye socket, stars exploded in his vision. Blood ran down his cheek as Krassus was sent sprawling.
The boy gasping for breath, barely conscious.
"GET. UP."
The Force snared around him like tendrils, yanking him into the air. Tears streemed freely now, mixing with blood as Krassus was thrown down onto his knees. The stick blade pressed into him again.
"OPENING STANCE, SHII-CHO!"
Krassus obeyed.
Another beatdown.
Fists. Fury. Spite.
Lord Teius swung the blade so hard that the wood cracked and splintered in his grasp, sending wood shavings sprawling across the ring. He had no further use for it. He throttled Krassus onto the ground and wailed down on his swollen, red face with his fists. Again, and again. Each blow sending the Sith Lord's own son crashing in and out of consciousness.
The world spinning as the command came again.
"GET. UP."
He did.
Barely standing. Face split open. A gargled wheeze blowing bubbled of dark blood between his lips as he just barely dragged his dominant foot behind the other. Teius was upon him not a moment later.
Strike after strike.
A snap.
A wet, crushing crack.
His sword arm broken. As Lord Teius threw him to the ground and stomped down on his chest. Pinning him. Canting his head offset as he looked down at his son. Not a shred of love behind his eyes. Cold, calculating. Judging. Deeming Krassus, at last, unable to continue to fight.
"Only now are you defeated. I will not have you -yield- for less." He said. Turning. The lesson ended.
Krassus lay still. Blood in his mouth. His face almost split in half. breath shallow. Heart pounding. The Shadows rise around him, drowning out the world until there is nothing but his father. His back turning towards him. The shape of him. It arose nothing but rage. For once, Krassus wasn't afraid anymore. The Dark Side rose within his broken body as he moved. Once twice. Leveraging the momentum of his body to flip himself onto his side with a wet, bloody thud.
Then another swing saw him move onto his chest. Fingers trembling. One hand found the stick he had long since dropped. He took it. Pushed it into the ground with a blood gurgling groan of strain. He pushed.
He fell.
Face first in the blood pooling beneath him.
He pushed again. And Again. On his knees. One knee. Then both feet.
He stood. Barely Resting his full weight onto the stick.
Teius halted. Then turned. A deep, bone-grinding groan. Half roar, half laugh. The only approval Krassus would ever earn as he changed his course. Turning back to Krassus. Towering over the broken boy. Reeling back his iron fist.
A final blow. Clean, brutal. Two punches. One clean to his solar plexus; the other an upper cut to his nose.
Darkness claimed him.
Krassus awoke in his bed in the medbay of the Horuset estate. Reaching out with his left hand; he sees only the robotic steel of his cybernetic replacement. Himself once more. Chest heaving, cold sweat clinging to his skin as he sits up. Covered in kolto-patches on his shrapnel wounds.
The taste of blood in his mouth, but no wound.
Only memory.
Ignoring the protests of the medical droid he pushes himself out of bed and finds the wash basin. Letting the water run; he splashes it into his face. Yet as he looks up into the mirror he sees only his father's scowl staring back at him, etched into his own face.
He grits his teeth; fire burning behind his crimson gaze as he reels back his fist. Slamming it into the mirror; the reflective surface shattering beneath the weight of the blow.
