06-11-2020, 08:02 PM
Malik felt irritation prickle across his skin at her attempt at a soothing tone. She would try to elicit an opening, to make an overture to weakness, for him to expose need like a barren patch of earth hungry for rain. He needed nothing- except to feel little Marcus' throat in his hands, crushing the life out of him. Or rather, squeezing the last bit of life from him into himself.
Malik would be free and completely himself, then. And then...he could see it. Ascendancy, eyes wide in shock and surprise, the razor sharp dagger slipped between the fourth and fifth rib to cut through the right and left ventricle in a flash. A lover's stroke, a brother's strike, unexpected and unprotected. His hand sticky with blood spurted, freed from the constrictive pressure of containment, his silk shirt soaking the scarlet black life of the man who though himself a god.
What was that to a Sith?
Somehow he would deal with the repercussions, channeling Marcus with Vladislavovna and Bykov, with that simpering man whose name he always forgot, the one as thick as thieves with those two. If Malik could be touched at need by Marcus, it should go the other way. It had to. The reigns would inevitably come to him. It was the will of the Force, he was sure of it.
He realized a sneer had formed on his lips. "And is your other the weaker or the stronger? The best or the worst of you? A simpering fool or a master of men?" It had to be one or the other. If she was the stronger...it did not speak well of her other. He looked around, bored, eyes shifting, seeking Marcus. It was past time for him to be dealt with.
Malik would be free and completely himself, then. And then...he could see it. Ascendancy, eyes wide in shock and surprise, the razor sharp dagger slipped between the fourth and fifth rib to cut through the right and left ventricle in a flash. A lover's stroke, a brother's strike, unexpected and unprotected. His hand sticky with blood spurted, freed from the constrictive pressure of containment, his silk shirt soaking the scarlet black life of the man who though himself a god.
What was that to a Sith?
Somehow he would deal with the repercussions, channeling Marcus with Vladislavovna and Bykov, with that simpering man whose name he always forgot, the one as thick as thieves with those two. If Malik could be touched at need by Marcus, it should go the other way. It had to. The reigns would inevitably come to him. It was the will of the Force, he was sure of it.
He realized a sneer had formed on his lips. "And is your other the weaker or the stronger? The best or the worst of you? A simpering fool or a master of men?" It had to be one or the other. If she was the stronger...it did not speak well of her other. He looked around, bored, eyes shifting, seeking Marcus. It was past time for him to be dealt with.