The Punishment of Ammit Bathori

**THE PUNISHMENT**

"Irritating Iktotchian Insolence."

IC: Darth Skyllan

Kaas City

(Closed Punishment RP)

156ABY

Darth Skyllan left the cantina shortly after Knight Bathori did. They stalked through the streets, their eyes glowing a furious sith yellow and the sceptre at their side had clouded over in darkness as aspects of the force literally leaked out of the sith master. Their speed enhanced and their drain spreading almost like a cloud from them. Anyone they passed shuddered and sometimes fell as they felt their energy sapped. Skyllan was angry, angrier than they had beennin a while. So it was time to set the record straight.

The s'kytri caught sight of Ammit again as she reached her ship, reaching out to trigger the mechanism for the entry ramp's release. With a telekinetic leash, she was torn backwards from her ship, Skyllan having grasped her horns and brought her staggering backwards. She span as she stumbled, falling into a low stance as she want to unshesth her weapon.

Skyllan splayed their hand, holding the Knight in place with a degree of careful contempt. The only sign of movement being her eyes widening as she she realised who was attacking her. The Dread Master closed the gap, and crouched so they were at eye level. In a harsh voice, one that spoke of barely restrained rage and hatred. "I taught you better than to embarrass me, 'Knight' Bathori." Came the furious whisper, just loud enough to be heard above the constant rain of Drommund Kaas.

She tried to speak, her jaw trying to open but failing against the master's telekinesis. Ammit even tried to respond telepathically, but with the aid of their mind shield, Skyllan was deaf to her cries. "You always obsessed over seeing the past and future Ammit, perhaps after this you will learn to pay more to the present." Skyllan brought the splayed hand crashing down, causing Ammit's body to crumble into the floor. Before she could even think about standing up or crawling away, the point of the Skybound Sceptre rested against her throat.

"Do you know how irritating it is to see someone I know to be smart, act so. kriffing. dumb?" Skyllan grinded out, irritation lining their tone. "So first-" the Sceptre flashed through the air impaling through Ammit's shoulder, pinning her to the floor "-I'm going to check your brain is in fact, still there." They said through gritted teeth, pulling out a small blade as they spoke. With a snap of their fingers, the iktotchian was immobilised again and the Dread Master moved to behind her head.

As Skyllan did this however, a new set of voices began to echo in Ammit's mind. Voices she hadn't heard since her apprenticeship. The echos in the Skybound Sceptre. The voices of Shari, Belliare, and the original Pallas screamed into her mind amongst countless other s'kytric voices. 'Useless', 'child', 'fake', 'idiot', 'earthbound', 'dull', 'Fallen', 'weak', 'fledgling'.... Thousands of psychic messages layered on top of each other, screaming into her mind powered by fear, hate and disgust. Assaling her mind with the strength of hundreds of pained ghosts. The sound of thousands of wingbeats filling her mind as her vision blurred, flickers of the s'kytric faces appearing and vanishing before her.

Uncaring for this, the Dread Master crouched behind her head. The average skull thickness for humanoids of Ammit's type was 7.1, add a small modifier for her being an iktotchi, and you're getting to roughly 7.5 millimeters. It was lucky for her that the s'kytri had a stead hand. They made a small circular cut just above her ear, maybe a half an inch in diameter. Then they pulled out a small portion of her skull. They shone a light on the wound and, to Skyllan's immense dissatisfaction, was revealed that Ammit did still possess her brain. "Pity. That would have made for a suitable explanation." They murmered, then they placed the bit of skull back in, applying Dark Side Healing to fix the recent injury, drawing on Ammit's own mental pain to repair it. A silver scar forming after they'd finished their work. Skyllan did not care enough to make it seem like it had never happened.

The Winged Sith stood up again, pulling the Sceptre back out of her. They wanted to make sure she heard Skyllan when they talked. A moans of pain was auidble from Ammit as she began to writhe in the water on the ground. The constant rain washing the blood away her wound. Such a thing was helpful for keeping the Dread Master's boots clean... But they wanted their boots bloody today. With a glance from the older sorcerer, the ramp for Ammit's shuttle, the Nebuchadnezzar, opened. Skyllan grabbed Ammit by the horns, physically this time, and threw her into the ship.

A large clanging sound could be heard as the knight crashed into the floor of starship. A robotic voice called out, with as much horror as droids can muster 'Mistress!' Without skipping a beat, the s'kytri spat out on override code for the KX droid. "K-0R9. You wil go and wait in the cockpit until I leave, then you may do whatever your programming tells you too." The droid made an affirmative noise and left. Skyllan stated down impassively as they watched their apprentice suffer on the floor, blood leaking out of her as she did so.

The sith master watched their former apprentice for a moment as she fought to control herself despite the pain. But they were hardly done yet. Skyllan had been given permission to take one of Ammit's arms - an opportunity that they would not take lightly. The obvious one to go for was the one covered in metal. But Lord Cruor had done that to her in punishment, forcing her to cover her arm in molten metal that he had then alchemised to her skin. Theoretically, Ammit could use it to her advantage in a fight. But Skyllan knew their apprentice, she didn't fight unless she absolutely had to. In actuality the only effect having a metal arm had had, was forcing her to move house because it caused her pain in colder climates. Not to mention, removing the reminder of someone else's punishment was not something done lightly. Especially when it was Lord Cruor's punishment. Skyllan's gaze transferred to the still flesh arm. Besides, it was always more memorable to go for the pain.

Two discordant clangs where audible as the sceptre struck the ground twice. Immediately reacting to the s'kytri's unspoken command, the door of the shuttle twisted to obey. Bands wrapping around Ammit's every limb, as well as her stomach and her head. Then the sheet of metal twisted upwards, contorting to fashion itself into a chair complete with metal restraints and a restrainee. Skyllan walked around it to admire their handiwork, taking a perverse amount of pleasure at the the sticky crimson stain covering the left half of the chair's back. With some added bacta, any force sensative would recover from such a blow. That being said, she'd be bleeding out of somewhere else soon though. To make sure they didn't inadvertently kill her... the Dread Master stared at the hole in her shoulder and with a firm glare, it cauterized itself.

Calmly, they waited for Ammit to stop screaming. Punishment or not, Skyllan would not be rude. It was one of the things that seperated the sith master from the rabble after all, and after recent events, clearly from Bathori too. While waiting, they applied their Force Drain to the little seer. She may not have the presence of self to use the force at the moment, burning she got it... well. Disappointment or not, she had still been trained by Skyllan after all. Plus the screaming would stop quicker this way. "It is my understanding that your metallic arm was original force upon you as punishment for speaking out of turn. Clearly the reminder it currently leaves is not a poignant enough one for you to remember. Don't you agree?"

The ashen sith stared into the iktotchian's eyes challenging her to respond. To answer the question. It took her a moment to stabilise her breath enough to speak, but she did so. "Yes, Master Skyllan." There was the barest hint of reluctance in her tone, but mostly pain and self hate that the monsterous sith who taught her still had this effect. Not that they'd given her any choice.

"Good. It appears that despite your 'behaviour', you have not forgotten everything I taught you." The Dread Master stated with a sneer as they stared down at her. Ammit stared back up at them, she may have been upset and irritated earlier as evidenced by her foolish actions and words. But Skyllan was different from the others she had to answer to, she hated the s'kytri, and they knew it. Chaos, they'd gone to the point of nurturing that hate over the course of their apprenticeship. Even now, well after it had ended, the Winged Sith could see it shining out of her eyes. "I told you when your apprenticeship began, that if you reflected badly upon me I would make you suffer. So congratulations, you managed to screw up badly enough that I've come away from the other work I was doing to come and deal with you. How thoroughly surprising, and ultimately disappointing. Before we begin, did I ever tell you why I picked up Dark Side Healing?"

"No Master." Ammit responded, but you could practically see the cogs turning in her mind. She'd probably get the answer soon, not that they cared enough to wait.

"It is because I want to make sure that when I hurt someone, they stay conscious enough to feel it." They answered darkly. Some members of House Dreadwar never really embodied the demonym of Dread properly. But in this moment, as they placed their sceptre to one side, and cracked their neck from one side to the other, Darth Skyllan certainly did. They flexed their fingers to removed the restraints on Ammit's arms - though the limbs were still held fast by the dread master's telekinesis. "Now then, we're going to play a little game called 'I make you remove your own arm with your other arm - piece by piece'. For reference while you still retain the presence of mind to listen: if you ever take steps to replace it, I will be back."

As Skyllan finished talking, her metal arm with all its unnatural strength moved, the fleshy hand spreading with a thought from the Master. Taking hold of the distant phalanx of her little finger. The s'kytri smiled, and the Ammit screamed as the end of her finger was torn off. The metal hand offered it to the ashen sith. They took it with a spark of happiness in their eyes. "I have an anklet made from the bones of Kemuel's hand. I think I'll add a second one made from yours." They couldn't even hear themself over her screams. Then the middle phalanx was torn off, and the screams renewed. There were certain limits to the amount of pain someone's mind could process before passing out, but with the steady trickle of healing coming from Skyllan, Ammit was well set to surpass that. How fun.

The middle phalanx of her pinky finger was followed by the proximal phalanx of it. That was followed by the phalanxes of Ammit's ring finger, then her middle finger, then her index finger. "The thumb is an interesting one you know," Skyllan lectured as said thumb was removed. "While the other digits have the distant, middle and proximal phalanxes, the thumb only has a distant and proximal one. I suppose the extra joint just wasn't enough of an evolutionary advantage in most species." The thumb joined the fingers in the Skyllan's hand.

"Now then, there are five metacarpals in your palm. They're a little trickier to pull out as we can't see them properly, but ultimately, it isn't difficult. Especially for someone who knows what they are doing." The metal nails of the alchemized hand dug into the flesh of her palm with decisive strength wrenching the first of the metacarpals out. A spray of blood entering the air as the flesh of the palm tore properly, breaking one of the veins in it. The scent of Ammit's crimson plasma permeated the air beautifully. Skyllan's tongue darted across their bottom lip, a hungry look in their eyes ...and to think, some people thought \*sex\* was pleasurable. Hah! So much more can be derived from drinking in someone's pain, even your own if you're that way inclined.

Held in place by the metal restraints on her 'chair' Ammit couldn't help but shake in fear as the master who had threatened, bullied and manipulated her morphed into a true monster. Even as she screamed in pain as bone after bone was removed, she couldn't physically couldn't tear her eyes from Darth Skyllan, who had begun to eat the flesh from the bones that had been torn off.

TWO HOURS LATER

"That's fourteen phalanxes, five metacarpals, a hamate, a trapezoid, a trapzium, a capitate, a triquetrul, a carpus, a scaphoid… where's the- oh, there is the lunate. Then we of course have the ulna, the radius and the humerus. I also took the scapula and a bit of your clavicle too. I hope you don't mind." Skyllan counted, the bones in a bucket in their hand. They were all stained red, but there was no flesh on them. There was blood all over the floor, and dripping down the dread master's chin, but no flesh was anywhere to be seen.

Ammit was slumped in the chair, her eyes staring unresponsively. Streaks of tears visible on her face, as well as the odd splatter of blood on her cheek. A large blackened mark where her shoulder should have been, and the tattered remains of what was once a sleeve the only indicators that something was missing. The crimson recolouring that had taken up most of the inside of the hull, stank. Her metal arm, was golden and shiny, lay limp and tarnished scarlet. Skyllan did a little impromptu alchemization of the blood to permanently stain bits of the arm that colour. Then with a spark at the end of their finger, they wrote onto the metal arm, etching the words into it. Blood sinking into the marks the sith master made in the metal.

Skyllan lent forwards, so their mouth was directly next to her ear. Ammit was mostly unresponsive at this point, but they knew she'd hear this. "The next time you kriff up my little apprentice, it won't be your arm I'll eat. I'll come for your children's as well. I'll make you watch them suffer and scream as I consume them, and then I'll kill you. Do you understand child? Nod once if you do." The slightest of movements as the silent apprentice's head nudged up and down. "Good." The Dread Master whispered softly.

With that, Darth Skyllan stood up and walked away, their sceptre in one hand, and a bucket full of Ammit's bones in their other hand. They could hear K-0R9 rush out of the cockpit and begin treating Knight Bathori for shock as they left. The wicked smile that had been a near constant on the sith master's face throughout the whole ordeal slipping away as they pocketed the emotions for future use. It was wasteful to use such a thing now when it would make for excellent fuel later on.

End Punishment RP