Event Dive into the Unknown

Darth Tiamat

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Lyra switched places with the doctor as she had left the room, and her attention turned back to Emryc. His face was void of any emotion, not unusual for the half-Sephi as she took his hand into her palm and he continued to sit in stillness. "I brought cupcakes, chocolate-covered strawberries ones." she said gesturing to the box on the table beside him, but his face contorted in disgust, "Ok...I'll leave them here, have them for later." she decided brining his palm to her cheek, but he did not react, nor bothered to attempt to look in her direction. She tried feeling in the Force for something from him, but always, he was closed off. Lyra felt the worry bubble under the surface, questioning if she did something wrong, if she were interrupting him in his peace.

A new thought though popped into her mind: Did he have enough of her?

She had been coming all week...Lyra thought hard, trying to remember how things went earlier, but the memories felt like they were at the tip of her tongue as she was baffled and shocked by the sudden turn around from him. As he pulled his hand away from her, she suddenly felt shock and the doubt grew within her. Stardust exploded in her mind as she tried to navigate through the storm of feelings, it happened every time, and suddenly she wondered if this was him finally telling her to leave him be. The coldness, silent, un-reacting, "Emryc...if I am a bother, why don't you tell me?" she asked quietly out loud annoyed with his lack of response, feeling emotion swell like a dam inside, "Why don't you?!" she felt herself yell, and suddenly it would break free

"You don't say anything, you don't let me feel anything from you? And then blame me when I react!" she felt her heart pounding in her chest, tears swelling in hers, "I'm tired of this!" she heard her own words echo in her head, "After everything we've been through, I don't understand why you keep closed from me!"

Memories flew through her mind's eye, they seemed familiar, but different, as though she were looking at things in a new light. She wished to pull the good ones, but was that just illusion? A misinterpretation? Didn't they laugh together? Dance? Enjoy each other's company? Perhaps he just did pretend to, to put up with her, and now, he had no patience for her as he sat on his hospital bed. "Say something!" she yelled at him, her fingernails digging her palms as she closed her fists tightly, her body tensing in her anger and pain, the one thing she seemed to understand the best. He did not understand her pain, nor care, nor bothered. So why did she bother? Why did she keep coming back? For him? The pain and emotions ravaged through her mind and body, "FINE!" she shouted and pointed at him, even though she knew he couldn't see.

"Then be in your solitude! I won't be a bother, in fact, you don't have to worry about feeling anything from me ever!" she continued, the room shaking with the rage that flowed from her. What made it worse was his indifference, lack of response, "You're a coward, Emryc Thorne!"

Still nothing from him, as expected, and now she wanted nothing from him, the cords of their bond fraying and splintering as she turned away from him, looking at the door. She felt a tear escape from her eye and she wiped her cheek quickly, reaching for the door to get as far away as possible from him.



@Orbit
 

Siris Drast

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There was no emotion that emanated from him, no response, not even the slightest twitch. Emryc was a statue, one molded by his own hands that betrayed nothing he didn't want to. Whatever words were spoken by Lyra, ones fueled with passion and anger that could shatter walls, would have no effect and bounce off his skin and right back to her, adding more salt to the piling injuries. Even the physical connection between them, his touch cold and unloving, only a representation of how he actually felt made palpable.

Before Emryc could do anything to counter or agree with Lyra, she had already let her emotions spill forth from their cage, no longer bridled and left out to breathe. Memories would come back to her but not the ones she wanted, the ones that the Eternal wanted to show her. Flashes of her life with him would become present, how he treated her and made her atone for her sins, how he didn't even make an effort to know her, even after years of being in contact. The training and grueling missions that she had done for him to earn nothing back except a nod of approval or nothing at all. The memories she cherished, the ones Lyra thought she would never forget, were being pushed further and further deeper away to remain out of reach by her or anyone else.

Not by her own doing, a realization would be pushed onto her and implanted by an invisible hand. She was just a tool, a useful one but a tool. Whenever she would begin to slip away on her own, Emryc would only make sure to do enough that she was sated and would remain by his side, keeping her in the shadow of his umbrella to utilize however he pleased. The recent injury he suffered, however, had opened his mind and made him realize she was practically a lost cause, a little puppy that yapped at his heel when it wanted to be fed and it was draining.

After her tirade and labeling him as a coward, Emryc would finally make some movement that at least clarified he had been listening. Even with the blindfold on, he would slowly turn his head and have his gaze lock directly on Lyra. Even though his silver eyes were hidden away, she could still feel the piercing nature of them as they went directly into her soul. Only two words were said, "Then leave." The half-Sephi wasn't going to stop her and he wasn't going to entertain the merry-go-round that was their relationship. It appeared she was finally making a choice on her own and he wasn't going to prevent that.

No resistance was offered by him by the time she opened the door and left the room. But instead of entering into the hallway of the hospital, she would be somewhere completely different. It could have taken her a moment but she would eventually recognize it, a ballet practice room and one from the Corellian Ballet Company. If Lyra glanced down, she would find herself in a pink tutu, her hair done up, and wearing a pair of heels on her feet before she would have to change out.

When the door closed behind her with a loud bang, a man at a desk in the corner would hurriedly stand up as his eyes swung over. His eyes would find her and light up, a sly smile touching his lips as he walked around the table. "Lyra, blossoming as always." She would still be the same age as she was when she entered the hospital room to visit Emryc but not inside. She would be experiencing the bout of emotions she had felt when she was ten years old when her teacher had first touched her, terrified, confused, and frozen in place.

Ever so slowly, the man would navigate closer to her, taking peeks out the window but never the less closing the distance. With each step, a voice spoke in Lyra's mind, Respect means nothing, does nothing. Evident by the respectable Mr. Whitely. The teacher was about halfway to her. Power means everything, can do anything. He used his to take yours and something sacred to you. Whitely reached by this point, his hands placed on her hips before he slowly slid them up her body and to her face, taking a slow and scenic route. Eventually, they would reach her face and cup her cheeks, Mr. Whitely smiling once more and beginning to breathe slightly heavier.

This time, it wouldn't be one voice but multiple hammering into her skull, Take it back. By the time Lyra blinked, she would find herself still standing there in front of the teacher but a few inches shorter. If she glanced down, she would find her heel in one hand but flat. In her other, the stiletto broken off and in her other hand, acting as a temporary shank. The inhibitions to act from when she was a child would be yanked away by the Eternal, her rage and any other emotions bubbling to the surface by their own volition. There would be no powers, only the makeshift weapon in her hand and the memories of what the man had done last time to her with no consequences.

Lyra was free to act on what she wanted, from that moment all those years ago when this had first transpired and what she still wanted even years past.

Mr. Whitely's hands would begin to slide down to her chest.
 

Darth Tiamat

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Again the memories she wanted were just out of her grasp, further pushed away by a malevolent being that was still not in Lyra's awareness. All she knew was Emryc was as cold as he always was, she had done something to agitate him and he would not say what it was. He would leave her again to question it, but she felt she was done, she couldn't keep doing this as she had her hand on the door handle. He finally spoke, welcoming her to her decision, feeling his gaze despite being blind, resting on her back as she opened the door and closed it behind her.

However, she was not in the hospital.

Lyra turned around to open the door again, to walk back into Emryc's room, but it had disappeared as she walked back into the studio where her former ballet instructor still waited. She was frozen in place, terrified, anxious; these sensations quickly took over, never leaving her a moment to question how she went from Emryc to here. It was after practice like many times before, the smell of the studio was unforgettable. The light musty odor of old wood and the light fragrance of cedar that rolled through the halls. She heard her old instructor's voice, that smile he gave her when he was ready for her after practice. The child in her held onto the hope that she was good enough in practice that he would leave her alone, however, Lyra knew that was never the case.

She felt the fear and confusion underneath, the child inside her screaming for him to stop and to just let her go home. She had been so small, but there was something different as she realized when approached, she was much bigger now, she knew better and was entirely stronger than him. She heard a voice in her head teaching her on the limits of respect. It was right in it's point of how many respected Mr. Whitely even though he did not deserved it. If she had the power back then as she did now, this would have never happened, life could have been so much more different. By now,

Mr. Whitely had his hands on her, the rage building inside as she felt the terrified younger self begging for her to do something. That smile of his used to cue her to retreat far back inside, but this time, young Lyra joined into the chorus of voices that screamed for her to take it back. Her brow narrowed as she looked up at him, she could feel the heel in her hand and it didn't matter what she held, she would tear him apart with her bare hands if needed. Instinct took over as she swung the shoe's broken heel into the man's neck. Panic and shock widened in his eyes, knowing something was wrong, but it had not set in what. Lyra went to pull the shoe out, but he pushed her away backing up with a hand on the shoe as he pulled it from his neck.

Blood sprayed everywhere, but Lyra wasn't done as she rammed into his center, knocking him back into his desk and then onto the floor. She straddled his chest, shoe at hand again, but as Mr. Whitely attempted to stop the bleeding with one hand on the wound, he grabbed Lyra by the throat and squeezed it tightly. Instantly the bloody ballerina could see the stars in her eyes, but with the shoe in hand, she slammed it into his arm and dragged it down, opening his flesh and making him release her. Lyra coughed, but he wasn't done moving and she just wanted to see him dead.

Mr. Whitely started to drag himself to behind his desk, but Lyra followed, throwing her weight onto his back as she grabbed handfuls of his hair and slammed his face into the wood flooring. There was a wet crushing sound and she did it again, and again until he would stop moving and not a breath would escape, and the blood stopped pumping from his neck. Lyra remained frozen in place for a few moments longer to ensure he was dead; she released his hair and climbed off of him, scooting away from the cretin as she sat in the blood that pooled on the floor. The redhead inhaled a deep breath, feeling a long awaited satisfaction and above all, safety within the power she had taken back.

"No one is going to hurt me any longer. Nothing will happen to me."



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Siris Drast

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The room had turned into a storm, one that shook the very foundation of the building and it all emanated from Lyra. Her emotions were turbulent and assisted by the Eternal's influence, prohibiting any resistance that could be mustered. It appeared his involvement wasn't needed however, the emotions that festered within girl taking control and removing any notion of logical thought. Not only was it shock but there was pure terror in Mr. Whitely's eyes, as if he finally saw what Lyra truly was, what she would become. He could only thank himself. That fear couldn't just be drummed up on command, it could only be produced when someone met something that completely made them worthless in comparison.

While Lyra focused on Mr. Whitely and followed him behind the desk, Siris stood behind her, intermingled with the shadows as he watched intently, a twinkle in his eye from the scene. With each step she would take, he would behind her as well silently as he just peered over her shoulder easily with his height. The man was a weeping mess but it wouldn't make her stop as she climbed on top of him, making a hold of his blood soaked hair before repeatedly smashing his head into the hardwood floor, each thud being Whitely's grasp on her slipping. When she was finished, what laid before her would practically be a bloody pulp, the teacher unrecognizable from the amount of blood and structural damage he had suffered to his skull.

Lyra would remain on the ground and in the crimson liquid of the man she had murdered, it soaking through her clothes. Finally, Siris would step forward, his footsteps audible as he closed the distance between the two. She wouldn't be able to see him unless she turned around but she could certainty feel his presence, the air almost revolted by him and made way as the Dark Side pulsated from whatever he was.

As the seconds passed and she stared at her handiwork, their location would begin to shift. The blood she sat in would turn to black and fill in, as if someone placed a drop of food coloring into it. So would the body, Mr. Whitely's chest leaking the black ooze as well and swallowed whatever Lyra had left. The walls would slowly transform, losing the immaculate detail as they simply just melted away, the shadows in the corners and cracks expanding until they swallowed everything. Lyra wouldn't feel the darkness while it continued to grow, filling up the room as if it was water. The only sensation she would be able to understand would be coldness, the temperature dropping multiple degrees and still doing so. It would eventually engulf Lyra in nothing but black.

Once more she wouldn't be able to see but instead of last time, voices would speak to her in unison, gentle in a way but foreboding. Words are just that, words. They mean nothing without action. The darkness that had been surrounding her would pull away until she was revealed a new location. It wasn't a classroom or someplace from her memory, she would get the feeling she was back in reality but no longer in the tunnel, the clothes she had first worn when entering the cave once more on her. Instead, she would be in a massive cavern on all fours, tall and expansive enough that it could fit a small village. The rocks and stalagmites around her would be formed unnaturally, sharp and twisting; almost appearing to represent claws and something reaching out from whatever depths they were in to break free.

But what would demand her attention would be right in front of her, almost pulsating like a beacon to specifically Lyra. A small stone bridge was ahead of her, practically timeless as it appeared centuries old. The construction stretched to the end of the cavern as it was laid over a small body of what could be assumed water but was pitch black, utterly still as well. If it was stared into, no reflection would be offered back.

Two statues were erected at the far and opposite corners of the bridge, hooded and faceless men that stood at least twenty feet tall, their hands pressed together in some sort of ceremony. Between them and etched into the wall was a single hand, some of the fingers disfigured but unmistakably a hand. What was beneath it is what stood out as the Dark Side made the air practically putrid for anything but a Sith.

There would be a stone table, pieces of it chipped away and cracked from over time and what seemed to be force. A naked body of a man laid on top, the only thing keeping his modesty being a dirty loin cloth over his groin. The body was clearly emaciated, almost a stick figure but somehow flesh and bone. It wasn't the body that would be interesting but what he was wearing. The mask.

Whoever had been offered before clearly served their purpose, the mask having turned the man into a husk in order to feed itself and remain alive. Veins in his neck would still be pronounced, as if it was still leeching off whatever reserve was left. This was how it remained alive. The Dark Side came off it in waves, as if was an actual representation of that force and the incarnate of its power. It felt wrong but right in so many ways, like it shouldn't have been possible but yet it was, enticing and intoxicating as ever. A sense of power radiated off it, a power very few tasted as the mask was almost timeless and older then nearly everything alive or not that day. The Eternal had been there before the creation of the Sith and had been there after they fell too. It was history itself.

The voices would pierce into Lyra's mind once more, raspy and almost struggling but there was a weight behind them that was irrefutable,
Make them true. Seize us. It had been feeding off scraps. It wanted a real meal.

If it desired, it could have simply just forced Lyra to put on the mask, torment her enough that it would be her only option if she wanted to remain sane. It had been the Eternal's primary method until it had met Siris and became their first rejection. Never again. The mask had learned from it's mistakes and instead of revealing what it actually was, at least at the moment, it would present itself as a necessity to her, to what she wanted to achieve.

Once they became one, there was no going back.

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Renfry

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It seemed that all had returned from their various tunnels except for Tiamat. While the others had been spat out of the black tunnel quickly, she had been in there for several minutes now. Renfry silently wondered and worried that something bad had happened to her, but they still had no means of crossing the barrier. Or so it seemed.

She had sensed the swells of emotion emanating from the tunnel that Asminys and the other Sith had taken, though precisely what had happened wasn't clear.

He returned with a question about Tiamat and Renfry motioned toward the dark tunnel.

No one can cross the darkness to get to her. It seems capable of being dispelled by Light, but... she motioned around at the various Lords of the Sith. None of them were "lightside" but she couldn't deny that her attention was drawn to the item in the other Sith Lord's hand. Perhaps the answer to our problem? she wondered.

@Arclight @Mr. Teatime @lizziie @Versok @Tulos @Altaris
 

Darth Tiamat

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She watched the blood grow darker, nothing floated through her thoughts, the girl inside her, terrified for all these years had stopped her tears. It wasn't satisfaction, but a closure she could feel that was unable to be accomplished until now. She could hear the footsteps behind her, but she remained in stillness. Her eyes closed as the room started to melt into the shadow, slowly filling until she was submerged. The coldness it brought was welcoming, a chill against her heated body from the waves of emotion that engulfed her only moments earlier. She exhaled, her breath condensing from her lips.

Lyra did not feel concern as to where she would wake up next, she could take it, there was nothing she could not handle as her confidence expanded. She heard the voices again, seeming curious as to what she could offer and Lyra nodded in agreement, opening her eyes to the sandy floor of a cavern. Back in her armor from when she first entered, she raised her head, seeing exactly where she was, though still uncertain where she had gone. It looked like it was part of the tunnel but she couldn't be certain; her eyes circled around, tracing the rocks and the statues that rose above her until her eyes fell onto its centerpiece.

Lyra slowly stepped toward the body, a mask covering his face, but it wasn't just any, the real mask of the Eternal. She couldn't tell if the man was alive or dead, or somewhere in between, but what was certain, the power, the darkness that pulsed and washed through her called for her specifically. It was more than just any artifact she had seen or touched, this was a power, a being timeless and just within her grasp. The voices rung inside her mind again, she could feel its hunger and in turn, she craved for it also. The redhead reached, the doubts and insecurities that screamed often at her were silenced by those who resided inside her mind allowing her to grasp the mask, grimacing as she pulled it from the face of the former host, listening to the gooey sticky sound of rotted flesh peel away from the body.

Sand and dust poured from what was once his flesh as Lyra looked inside, she inhaled deeply and placed the mask on her face.



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