- Joined
- Jul 19, 2013
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[floatleft]http://i.imgur.com/bYGYlxh.jpg[/floatleft]The faint tingle of the edge of a blade. A welling of crimson. A whimper. A smile. Sweet pain. Such sweet, decadent pain.
He never felt it. Not anymore. Not since he was born. For the second time, that is. Few things remember that which came before their time. Memories linger, tantalizingly close, and yet further away than any hyper-drive could reach. Wind blows, rain falls, and the strong prey on the weak.
They screamed, a thousand and one voices all blent together into a single cacophony of pain. The man's opened throat spilled blood onto the masses, and he laughed. A laugh that emanated from deep within him, from the very core of his corrupt, debased metal heart.
They were weak. All of them. The Sith. The Jedi. The Rebellion. None of them matched the monster's wrath, his strength, his terror. None of them were worthy of their names. The Rebellion fought for peace. The Jedi were agents of stagnancy. The Sith sought control and dominance.
He simply wanted... to feel. The rush of battle, the pure, unadulterated bliss of victory against all odds. The crunch of an enemy's skull within his steel grasp. The slight, oh-so-slight resistance as his blade sawed through their armour, their skin, their bones.
You wouldn't stop a train, would you? Throw yourself out in front of it, only to be crushed as it sped on, not even a dent in its chassis? Would you throw your hands out, crying for mercy, as it glides along, gleefully decimating all that stands before it without a second glance? I shouldn't think so.
He never felt it. Not anymore. Not since he was born. For the second time, that is. Few things remember that which came before their time. Memories linger, tantalizingly close, and yet further away than any hyper-drive could reach. Wind blows, rain falls, and the strong prey on the weak.
They screamed, a thousand and one voices all blent together into a single cacophony of pain. The man's opened throat spilled blood onto the masses, and he laughed. A laugh that emanated from deep within him, from the very core of his corrupt, debased metal heart.
They were weak. All of them. The Sith. The Jedi. The Rebellion. None of them matched the monster's wrath, his strength, his terror. None of them were worthy of their names. The Rebellion fought for peace. The Jedi were agents of stagnancy. The Sith sought control and dominance.
He simply wanted... to feel. The rush of battle, the pure, unadulterated bliss of victory against all odds. The crunch of an enemy's skull within his steel grasp. The slight, oh-so-slight resistance as his blade sawed through their armour, their skin, their bones.
You wouldn't stop a train, would you? Throw yourself out in front of it, only to be crushed as it sped on, not even a dent in its chassis? Would you throw your hands out, crying for mercy, as it glides along, gleefully decimating all that stands before it without a second glance? I shouldn't think so.
But, little one, if you do... pray your gods dispense their own mercy.
He has none left.
He has none left.
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