It is only you and him, the crowd has been left far behind. None could save him, sparing some rapid intervention from Thane. The blunt sword you hold is still strong enough to cleave flesh if enough force is applied. Thang glowers up at you, defiance etched upon his face despite his loss. You don’t care for the look, you haven’t cared for him since your arrival, and you want him to feel just how much you hate him. It is within your power to steal this very defiance from him right now, so that every time he looks in a mirror, he is reminded of who exactly he mocked and ridiculed. You’ve suffered a lifetime’s worth of mockery and insults in your short years, you are not going to allow such offences to ring within your ears ever again.

Your hands tighten around your sword’s hilt, cementing it within your grip. Then you lash out with a vicious overhead strike, the blade falling upon his face. The blunted edge both cuts and crushes its way through flesh and cartilage. Burying itself deep into Thang’s face. A blood-curdling scream rips from his lips, deafening any within earshot. Still buried within his face, the grey metal is still trapped between the flesh it has parted. With a vicious yank, you rip the sword from his face, which causes an even more feverous wail, and the small strips of skin holding what remains of his nose to his face rip.

The human’s hands go to his ruined appearance, and blood gushes through his fingers, staining his hands a rich crimson. Blood gushes from the heavy gash and flows and flows. With a cruel smile, take pleasure in saying, “If you scurry off, you might be able to re-attach it.” Each word is slowly spoken and purposefully enunciated as you enjoy the taste of each syllable escaping your mouth. Not that he is listening, Thang is focusing on his mauled face and severed nose. Thane shoves you aside to look at your wailing victim writhing on the floor, checking you haven’t left him with a fatal wound.

A rapid succession of barks from Lord Thane causes slaves to run over to the wailing student. They grab at the flailing young man and drag him towards the medical centre as much as they can while dragging a thrashing body that fights their every step. The Besalisk’s duty done, he turns to look at you. For the first time, you see approval from the four-armed Sith directed towards yourself. No words are spoken, but the amused grin is more than enough to tell you his opinion on the matter. With this, you have earned the interest of Thane and the fear of your fellow Acolytes.

Gazing down at the crowd at the base of the temple, they wither under your glare, not wanting to inspire your ire. Even Yira averts her eyes in fear of summoning your anger. Some wear small smirks, others are horrified. All now respect, not only your strength with the Force, but your skill with a blade.