Chapitre 10: 6 Months Later...
The sun, a malevolent orange eye, hung low in the sky, casting long, grotesque shadows across the desolate landscape of Nal Hutta. The air hung thick with the stench of decay and the acrid tang of sulfur, a testament to the planet's toxic nature. Here, in the heart of the desolate wastelands, amidst the crumbling ruins of ancient Sith temples, Darth Jadus and his apprentice, Darth Krayt, trained.
Krayt, his youthful face etched with a grim determination, stood opposite Jadus, the elder Sith Lord. Months of grueling training had honed Krayt's physique, turning him into a lean, intimidating machine. His crimson eyes, blazing with the fervor of a nascent Sith, fixated on Jadus, his master and tormentor. The air crackled with the raw power radiating from both Sith, a symphony of dark side energy that vibrated the very ground beneath their feet.
"Your strength is growing, Krayt," Jadus rasped, his voice a hollow echo within his metal mask. "But it is not enough. A Sith Lord must be more than just a brute. He must command the very essence of the Force, bend it to his will."
Jadus raised his hand, a gauntlet of sharp metal claws glinting in the dying light. A surge of raw power pulsed from him, a dark wave that threatened to engulf Krayt. The young Sith, however, met the onslaught head-on, his own Force abilities a nascent storm against the onslaught. Their clash was a tempest of energy, a whirlwind of light and shadow, twisting and contorting the air around them.
They fought with brutal efficiency, their movements a dance of death, their attacks precise and devastating. Krayt, fueled by the fire of his ambition and the hunger for power, fought with a ferocity that surprised even his master. Every parry, every thrust, every block, was imbued with a ferocity that resonated with raw, untamed power. Jadus, though his age had dulled his reflexes, countered with masterful elegance. His movements were fluid and controlled, a seasoned craftsman wielding the blade of the Force with deadly precision.
The duel reached a crescendo as Krayt unleashed a torrent of dark side energy, a wave of pure rage that nearly overwhelmed Jadus. The elder Sith Lord, his red eyes narrowed with surprise, staggered back. But Jadus was not one to be easily defeated. With a final burst of energy, he deflected the attack, then launched a counteroffensive, his own dark side abilities a storm that whipped around Krayt.
The young Sith, caught unawares, stumbled back, his breathing ragged. His chest ached, his muscles screaming in protest, but he refused to yield. With a desperate yell, he rallied, channeling the rage that burned within him into a vicious counter-attack. He lunged forward, his double-bladed lightsaber a blur of red in the fading light. The clash of their blades was deafening, a cacophony of metal on metal, a symphony of pain and fury.
Jadus, his hand gripping the hilt of his lightsaber with the tenacity of a seasoned warrior, fought to the last, but it was clear that age was catching up to him. Krayt, fueled by his youth and ambition, pressed his advantage, his strikes growing more relentless, his blade dancing with a deadly elegance.
A surge of power from Krayt caught Jadus off guard, sending him tumbling backward. He landed with a thud on the dusty ground, the metal plates of his armor clattering against the stone. It was a decisive blow, the final act in a long and arduous battle.
Krayt, panting heavily, lowered his lightsaber. He looked down at his master, his eyes filled with a mixture of respect and a hint of triumph.
Jadus, his chest heaving, slowly rose to his feet. He fixed his red eyes on Krayt, his gaze piercing and unyielding. 'You have surpassed me,' he rasped, his voice a hollow echo. 'You have learned well.'
Krayt remained silent, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, a torrent of dark side energy that thrummed with a raw, untamed energy. He had won, but the victory felt hollow. It was a victory born of fear, of desperation.
"End me," Jadus whispered, his voice devoid of fear. "End this charade. It is time for a new Sith Lord to rise."
Krayt's hand tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber. He looked at Jadus, his master, the man who had trained him, the man who had taught him the ways of the dark side. He could do it now. The power was his, the path lay open. He could claim his rightful place as the new Sith Lord.
But something within him held him back. A flicker of doubt. A whisper of fear.
"I… I can't," Krayt stammered.
Jadus nodded, as if he had expected this response. "Then this is your chance, Krayt," he rasped, his voice gaining a hint of excitement. "Claim your destiny. Take my place. Become the master of the Sith."
Krayt stared at Jadus, his face pale with fear and indecision. "I am not ready,' he whispered, his voice filled with dread.
"Ready or not, the time is here," Jadus growled, his red eyes flashing. "The galaxy needs a new Sith Lord. And that Sith Lord can only be you."
Krayt, paralyzed with uncertainty, lowered his lightsaber. He couldn't kill Jadus. He couldn't yet embrace the role of Sith Lord. He felt lost, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task laid out before him.
"Then we shall return to Corriban," Jadus said, his voice regaining a hint of its old authority. "There, you will learn what it truly means to be a Sith Lord."
Krayt nodded, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. He followed Jadus back towards the ancient Sith temple, the desolate landscape of Nal Hutta stretching out before them. He had won the duel, but he had no idea what he had truly won. He was not ready for this burden, this responsibility. But he had no choice. The path had been laid out before him. He was destined to become a Sith Lord, whether he was ready or not.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone