A/N: No, he is not going to die-
yet.
Chapter eight
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His blade sank deeper, and deeper into the soft flesh. Darth Maul tried to struggle, but he was pinned down with so much pressure, any more would have killed him. When Raphael seemed to go as deep as he could without obliterating the Sith, he smiled, and in one fluid movement, swiped his knife across the entirety of his neck.
The dark Jedi's eyes widened, his own scarlet blood pooling warmly about his head. The prince sheathed his weapon, and replaced it with a very small, very green vial, filled to its tip with a strange, thick liquid. He bit down on the cork brutally, madness driving him to new strength, and ripped it off without any further care. Fading into that familiar world of darkness, Maul watched as he cackled, and poured the tinted liquid over his new wound, screaming:
"VEHANI EWU, JEDI!!! VEHANI!!!"
Anamaria, awakening from her broken sleep, saw Raphael's silver blade elegantly slide across her comrade's throat, the tiny droplets of deep scarlet blood flinging through the air with such decelerated grace. Each little bit pitched itself forward unto death, splurging upon the tainted ground with a resounding CRACK. She was vaguely aware of her own mouth opening as the mad prince separated the bond between a small bottle, and his pocket. Her vision fading as he ripped off the cork with his teeth; the scream as he poured the vile concoction upon her rescuer's wound. It seemed from then on, God was moving her body for her.
Raphael heard the mad war-cry of a semi-conscious bulldozer pitching itself toward his thin body, and he looked up, but it was too late. He grunted as Anamaria's deranged form plummeted into his, sending them both careening nearly ten feet into the nearest wall. She screamed like a banshee, throwing her fists into his horselike face, and her pristine blue eyes mad as stinging hot coals.
"HOW DARE YOU!!!" She screeched, "HOW DARE YOU EVEN TOUCH HIM, YOU DISGUSTING ROACH!!! I'LL KILL YOU!!!!" And she continued to slam her fists into every inch of unscathed flesh she could find upon him. Raphael, however, lifted his bloodied face, and in an adrenaline rush of anger, he screamed, sending every last wave of the force crashing into his attacker.
Anamaria was hurled sidelong at nearly thirty miles an hour away from the prince's body, slamming forcefully into the ground in a record-breaking fifty feet. She cried out in pain, feeling for once: the righteous power of the angry force, and struggled to push herself up.
Raphael slowly (and quite shakily) stood, wiping the blood from his broken nose, and spitting out a tooth that had separated itself from his mouth. His eyes were insanely glittered again, like mad whirlpools in a raging tide. He cracked his knuckles tempestuously, and with a soft clink, clink, clink of his leather boots, he stalked towards the fallen padawan with his right hand held before him.
Anamaria watched, horrified, helpless, and hopeless as the deranged royalty walked stiffly toward her, face bloody and eyes wild. His feet fell with a most undesirable shivering of the ashlar walls, and each separate movement sent another wave of the force pressing angrily into her. He smiled an awful smile, and licked his bleeding lips as if in mocking retribution. Slowly, slowly, he reached out his pinched hand, readying it to grasp her neck, and never let go; but... something stilled him to his very bones.
"Don't you dare touch her..."
Raphael froze in mid step, his eyes enlarging to double their average size, and whirled around to face the disembodied voice.
There stood Darth Maul, straight and unscathed as if no wound had ever graced his body. But... it also... wasn't Darth Maul. His beautifully horrifying face had edited itself into, not red and black, but instead blue had replaced the red, and white had replaced the black. His eyes, once so demonized, and yellow had become a strange tone of forbidden ice. A tidal wave of the force seemed to swirl and cascade over, around and in his transformed body, moreso than any other being could comprehend. So much, in fact, that it was VISIBLE around him.
Raphael's ecstatic surprise soon turned back to pompous hate, and he smiled angrily at the Sith.
"So... Kalaskein has decided to grace us with his presence after all, hm?"
The dark knight didn't move an inch.
"Tell me, then, Quinya... do you even have the guts to TOUCH me, you pathetic, weak-minded Sith?! Hm?! You can't do anything to me!! YOU HAVE A CONSCIENCE!!!" He laughed loudly, and wildly, his head tilted back as if mocking the very sky.
Darth Maul stared quietly, but a voice penetrated the walls of his force-barrier, speaking for him. It was neither male, nor female, but a soft gush of wind. Disembodied, and icy as the freshly fallen snow.
"You misjudge me... fallen prince... Indeed... this conscience you speak of... it is present... but in favor of your demise... I have refused to listen to it..." He spoke slowly, as if saying too much would break the thin pane of glass separating him from the real world. Raphael's laugh died, and he stared, thoroughly confused.
"I... am a savior among nations... my nations... people you shun..." Here, he held up a clawed hand before the prince's heart, "Sinner of Hades... Violent against God... artificer of despair... you may die... now."
***A/N: SERIOUSLY GORY STUFF HERE**************
For an eternally brief moment, there was absolute silence. The very foundations of the universe froze upon their hinges, and every string of time broke in its favor. Raphael's confused stare emitted for only an instant, but then his black eyes widened. Something inside of his chest seemed to bounce, and jump; desperate to come out.
CRACK
The prince slowly looked down, to the place where his ribcage separated, and stared at the bulging flesh there. His costae seemed to be forcing themselves apart, like an opening door. He then averted his eyes back to where Darth Maul's hand lay a few feet from that very place, and his so-called demise hit him like an oversized sack of lead.
"NOO!!! PLEASE, NOO!!!" His hands scrambled frantically to his ribs, trying to push them back into his body, but the will of the force was not to be outdone by mere mortals.
With a gurgled scream of pain, Raphael's ribcage burst apart, and wrenched through his flesh, spreading themselves as an eagle spreads its great wings. All manner of bodily fluids, and blood spewed across the floor, and his organs were as visible as looking through a window. But the prince was not dead. He stood where he was last, blood staining his chin, and face as he purged it up from his reluctant body. His lungs pulsated with incased air, and his heart rapidly beat itself, refusing to die.
"Foolish little human..." Darth Maul's disembodied voice spoke again, "You believed... in the ungodly law... of only the strongest... survive..." His hand moved slowly to its left, and so did his ex-captor's left wing. Raphael's failing vocal box let out what seemed to be a splurged scream, resembling, however, more of a sickening groan.
"Does it hurt... little mortal...?" Again, his right hand. This time, one could clearly make out a considerably weakened shriek. "Does it burn...? I suppose... one could presume... that it would..." He paused, and Raphael's bloodshot eyes stared sightlessly into his crystalline ones, "Time and time over... we warned you... but you had no heart... you still have no heart... I do not approve... God does not approve... and so... it seems the dream... of his majesty Raphael... has ended."
Darth Maul's clawed fingers clenched into a fist, and he jerked his right arm forcefully. The prince gasped shrilly as his body jerked in a violent spasm, and his slowly beating heart wrenched its way out of his chest with a bloody splurge of gore, and flew straight into the Sith's waiting grasp. Raphael stood silently for a moment, mad eyes gazing sightlessly to nothing, then crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap.
The reborn Kalaskein stood there like a statue, the wicked prince's still heart grasped tightly in his fist. Slowly, his glassy eyes moved to the pear-like organ, bleeding through his white fingers.
"So..." The voice whispered, "It is finally done..." And clenched his fist tightly, squeezing every last fluid left within the heart from its body.
********A/N: DONE NOW********************************
Anamaria, who had peeled herself from the ground a long moment ago, stared at the horrifying scene before her, and turned away to retch violently. The back of her chalky white head was stained with crimson blood, but she was nowhere near dead. Not so like Raphael sprawled lifelessly at her feet.
As soon as her stomach had been emptied, she turned back to where her comrade stood, his frigid eyes melting back into their enchantingly demonisque ones, as they had been before. His face re-evolved into its original state, blood-and-shadow, the face she was so used to seeing.
But... also with his originality, likewise came the flaws.
His throat, which had been sheathed, cut itself apart once more; every wound he had received in his captivity reemerged, every cut, every scratch. His transformation seemed to have drained all effect of the yarrow, including his link to consciousness.
Anamaria watched, too stunned to move, as his weathered being buckled, and gave way in the puddle of Raphael's crimson blood.
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A/N: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
yet.
Chapter eight
#############################################
His blade sank deeper, and deeper into the soft flesh. Darth Maul tried to struggle, but he was pinned down with so much pressure, any more would have killed him. When Raphael seemed to go as deep as he could without obliterating the Sith, he smiled, and in one fluid movement, swiped his knife across the entirety of his neck.
The dark Jedi's eyes widened, his own scarlet blood pooling warmly about his head. The prince sheathed his weapon, and replaced it with a very small, very green vial, filled to its tip with a strange, thick liquid. He bit down on the cork brutally, madness driving him to new strength, and ripped it off without any further care. Fading into that familiar world of darkness, Maul watched as he cackled, and poured the tinted liquid over his new wound, screaming:
"VEHANI EWU, JEDI!!! VEHANI!!!"
Anamaria, awakening from her broken sleep, saw Raphael's silver blade elegantly slide across her comrade's throat, the tiny droplets of deep scarlet blood flinging through the air with such decelerated grace. Each little bit pitched itself forward unto death, splurging upon the tainted ground with a resounding CRACK. She was vaguely aware of her own mouth opening as the mad prince separated the bond between a small bottle, and his pocket. Her vision fading as he ripped off the cork with his teeth; the scream as he poured the vile concoction upon her rescuer's wound. It seemed from then on, God was moving her body for her.
Raphael heard the mad war-cry of a semi-conscious bulldozer pitching itself toward his thin body, and he looked up, but it was too late. He grunted as Anamaria's deranged form plummeted into his, sending them both careening nearly ten feet into the nearest wall. She screamed like a banshee, throwing her fists into his horselike face, and her pristine blue eyes mad as stinging hot coals.
"HOW DARE YOU!!!" She screeched, "HOW DARE YOU EVEN TOUCH HIM, YOU DISGUSTING ROACH!!! I'LL KILL YOU!!!!" And she continued to slam her fists into every inch of unscathed flesh she could find upon him. Raphael, however, lifted his bloodied face, and in an adrenaline rush of anger, he screamed, sending every last wave of the force crashing into his attacker.
Anamaria was hurled sidelong at nearly thirty miles an hour away from the prince's body, slamming forcefully into the ground in a record-breaking fifty feet. She cried out in pain, feeling for once: the righteous power of the angry force, and struggled to push herself up.
Raphael slowly (and quite shakily) stood, wiping the blood from his broken nose, and spitting out a tooth that had separated itself from his mouth. His eyes were insanely glittered again, like mad whirlpools in a raging tide. He cracked his knuckles tempestuously, and with a soft clink, clink, clink of his leather boots, he stalked towards the fallen padawan with his right hand held before him.
Anamaria watched, horrified, helpless, and hopeless as the deranged royalty walked stiffly toward her, face bloody and eyes wild. His feet fell with a most undesirable shivering of the ashlar walls, and each separate movement sent another wave of the force pressing angrily into her. He smiled an awful smile, and licked his bleeding lips as if in mocking retribution. Slowly, slowly, he reached out his pinched hand, readying it to grasp her neck, and never let go; but... something stilled him to his very bones.
"Don't you dare touch her..."
Raphael froze in mid step, his eyes enlarging to double their average size, and whirled around to face the disembodied voice.
There stood Darth Maul, straight and unscathed as if no wound had ever graced his body. But... it also... wasn't Darth Maul. His beautifully horrifying face had edited itself into, not red and black, but instead blue had replaced the red, and white had replaced the black. His eyes, once so demonized, and yellow had become a strange tone of forbidden ice. A tidal wave of the force seemed to swirl and cascade over, around and in his transformed body, moreso than any other being could comprehend. So much, in fact, that it was VISIBLE around him.
Raphael's ecstatic surprise soon turned back to pompous hate, and he smiled angrily at the Sith.
"So... Kalaskein has decided to grace us with his presence after all, hm?"
The dark knight didn't move an inch.
"Tell me, then, Quinya... do you even have the guts to TOUCH me, you pathetic, weak-minded Sith?! Hm?! You can't do anything to me!! YOU HAVE A CONSCIENCE!!!" He laughed loudly, and wildly, his head tilted back as if mocking the very sky.
Darth Maul stared quietly, but a voice penetrated the walls of his force-barrier, speaking for him. It was neither male, nor female, but a soft gush of wind. Disembodied, and icy as the freshly fallen snow.
"You misjudge me... fallen prince... Indeed... this conscience you speak of... it is present... but in favor of your demise... I have refused to listen to it..." He spoke slowly, as if saying too much would break the thin pane of glass separating him from the real world. Raphael's laugh died, and he stared, thoroughly confused.
"I... am a savior among nations... my nations... people you shun..." Here, he held up a clawed hand before the prince's heart, "Sinner of Hades... Violent against God... artificer of despair... you may die... now."
***A/N: SERIOUSLY GORY STUFF HERE**************
For an eternally brief moment, there was absolute silence. The very foundations of the universe froze upon their hinges, and every string of time broke in its favor. Raphael's confused stare emitted for only an instant, but then his black eyes widened. Something inside of his chest seemed to bounce, and jump; desperate to come out.
CRACK
The prince slowly looked down, to the place where his ribcage separated, and stared at the bulging flesh there. His costae seemed to be forcing themselves apart, like an opening door. He then averted his eyes back to where Darth Maul's hand lay a few feet from that very place, and his so-called demise hit him like an oversized sack of lead.
"NOO!!! PLEASE, NOO!!!" His hands scrambled frantically to his ribs, trying to push them back into his body, but the will of the force was not to be outdone by mere mortals.
With a gurgled scream of pain, Raphael's ribcage burst apart, and wrenched through his flesh, spreading themselves as an eagle spreads its great wings. All manner of bodily fluids, and blood spewed across the floor, and his organs were as visible as looking through a window. But the prince was not dead. He stood where he was last, blood staining his chin, and face as he purged it up from his reluctant body. His lungs pulsated with incased air, and his heart rapidly beat itself, refusing to die.
"Foolish little human..." Darth Maul's disembodied voice spoke again, "You believed... in the ungodly law... of only the strongest... survive..." His hand moved slowly to its left, and so did his ex-captor's left wing. Raphael's failing vocal box let out what seemed to be a splurged scream, resembling, however, more of a sickening groan.
"Does it hurt... little mortal...?" Again, his right hand. This time, one could clearly make out a considerably weakened shriek. "Does it burn...? I suppose... one could presume... that it would..." He paused, and Raphael's bloodshot eyes stared sightlessly into his crystalline ones, "Time and time over... we warned you... but you had no heart... you still have no heart... I do not approve... God does not approve... and so... it seems the dream... of his majesty Raphael... has ended."
Darth Maul's clawed fingers clenched into a fist, and he jerked his right arm forcefully. The prince gasped shrilly as his body jerked in a violent spasm, and his slowly beating heart wrenched its way out of his chest with a bloody splurge of gore, and flew straight into the Sith's waiting grasp. Raphael stood silently for a moment, mad eyes gazing sightlessly to nothing, then crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap.
The reborn Kalaskein stood there like a statue, the wicked prince's still heart grasped tightly in his fist. Slowly, his glassy eyes moved to the pear-like organ, bleeding through his white fingers.
"So..." The voice whispered, "It is finally done..." And clenched his fist tightly, squeezing every last fluid left within the heart from its body.
********A/N: DONE NOW********************************
Anamaria, who had peeled herself from the ground a long moment ago, stared at the horrifying scene before her, and turned away to retch violently. The back of her chalky white head was stained with crimson blood, but she was nowhere near dead. Not so like Raphael sprawled lifelessly at her feet.
As soon as her stomach had been emptied, she turned back to where her comrade stood, his frigid eyes melting back into their enchantingly demonisque ones, as they had been before. His face re-evolved into its original state, blood-and-shadow, the face she was so used to seeing.
But... also with his originality, likewise came the flaws.
His throat, which had been sheathed, cut itself apart once more; every wound he had received in his captivity reemerged, every cut, every scratch. His transformation seemed to have drained all effect of the yarrow, including his link to consciousness.
Anamaria watched, too stunned to move, as his weathered being buckled, and gave way in the puddle of Raphael's crimson blood.
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A/N: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!