The Breaking Point -- Jovian Grey
TW: Torture and overall dark theme

The ruins of Arclis IV were deathly silent, save for the tortured screams echoing against shattered stone.

Smoke drifted in thin, pale coils above the scorched earth, the scent of charred flesh lingering like a scar burned into the air. What little remained of the settlement was reduced to blackened bones of stone, and yet the tension that hung there was heavier than the destruction.

It was crushing.

And it all radiated from him.

Jovian Grey stood motionless in the heart of it all, his scarred, soot-streaked armor weighing heavy on his frame. His royal blue Templar cloak, torn and trailing in the ash, was a pale echo of what it had once been—now a banner of ruin.

But it wasn’t the sight of him that filled the air with dread.

It was the Force.

The cultist hung several feet off the ground, limbs twisted unnaturally wide as if held by a thousand invisible threads. He convulsed—his body wracked by a torment so precise, so controlled, it felt as though the pain was being carved into him like an artist sculpting suffering.

And Jovian stood in perfect silence, a conductor orchestrating this symphony of agony.

"You have made your choice."

The words were calm. Colder than steel.

The pressure in the air intensified.

The Force gripped the cultist—not just his flesh but his very essence. His chest heaved, his lungs unable to expand fully as the invisible weight pressed against his ribs. Muscles spasmed as though his body could no longer distinguish where it ended and the pain began.

But the true torment was far worse.

Jovian reached out with his mind.

And gripped the folds of the cultist’s brain.

It wasn’t subtle. There was no finesse.

The Force sank into his consciousness, pressing through every neural pathway like a serrated blade dragged across the fragile web of his thoughts. Jovian didn’t simply search for memories—he tore them open, forcing the man to feel every piece of himself being unwound.

"I will unmake you."

The cultist’s mouth opened wide, but the scream that followed was wordless—raw, primal, a sound not meant for the living.

"You believe faith protects you? That it gives you strength? Your faith is nothing but the shield you cower behind when the truth closes in."

Jovian pressed deeper.

Flashes.

A blood-soaked altar. The sigil of Mortis carved into stone. The faces of his masters, watching from the shadows, faceless and cold.

"You think they would save you now? Would they even care?"

The cultist’s back arched, body thrashing violently as blood vessels burst just beneath his skin. His mind was no longer his own. Jovian was tearing it apart, fragment by fragment, splintering his very sense of self with every pulse of power.

The Force crushed him deeper.

"I feel your mind unraveling. I feel it breaking. And still, you hold your tongue? Impressive. Let us see how long that lasts."

The pressure twisted—deeper.

Pain unlike anything physical. The sensation of his thoughts being peeled apart like raw nerves exposed to open air.

And then—

The pain shifted.

It didn't stop. It changed.

Absence.

The Force vanished.

Gone.

The presence of the galaxy itself severed. The energy he had felt all his life—the very power that connected him to the world—was ripped away.

The void was total.

The cultist’s body convulsed harder, gasping for something he couldn’t even name, like lungs starved of air. But it wasn’t air he lacked.

It was being.

"This...absence... is what you left them with. Do you feel it? Do you understand it yet?"

The cultist sobbed.

"I... I can't...I can't feel it—p-please—"

Jovian stepped closer, his voice no longer calm.

It was a snarl.

"You do not beg for peace. You beg because you are weak. I will grind that weakness out of you."

The Force returned.

Not gently.

It slammed back into his consciousness like a tidal wave, crushing down harder than before. Bones creaked. Nerves burned. His mind shattered under the renewed weight of everything.

"Tell me where they are. Tell me."

The cultist sobbed harder, blood leaking from his nose, his face streaked with tears.

"I...I c-can't...they...they'll kill me—"

Jovian's head tilted.

"They will kill you? You fear them? Look at yourself.

"Who do you fear now?"

The cultist let out a wretched cry. *"You—please—please—stop—"

Jovian leaned closer.

"No."

The pain increased.

"This? This is my mercy. If I wanted to end you, I would have done so when your faith first failed you. But you will speak. Not because you wish to... but because I will take it from you."

The cultist's body went limp, his sobs the only sound remaining.

Jovian exhaled, drawing back slightly.

The Force remained thick. Unrelenting.

But the physical torment ceased—just long enough for the cultist to feel the ache, the void left behind by pain.

"Now, you will crawl before me. And you will speak."

The cultist collapsed in the ash as Jovian released him, his broken form shivering uncontrollably. His voice was barely audible.

"P-please... I... I'll tell you... I'll tell you everything...

Jovian watched him, expressionless.

"You mistake this for the end? No... you will tell me.

"Then you will learn what comes after."

He extended his hand. The Force wrapped around the cultist's shattered frame once more.

And he dragged him—sobbing, broken, and lost—into the darkness where no one could hear his screams.

The hab block shuddered as it descended through Tythas City’s atmosphere, the vibration almost soothing in its regularity. But Jovian, standing in the control room with the engineers and soldiers, knew better. He felt the shift, that telltale deviation in the thrusters, like the tremor before an earthquake. The hair-thin scar along his cheek tightened as he clenched his jaw, his crimson lekku twitching in anticipation of disaster. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered, his voice low, but carrying an edge of authority.

His crimson eyes, still glowing faintly from the internal power that pulsed through him, scanned the room. The engineers worked at their stations, oblivious to his mounting concern. They were too used to minor malfunctions, the usual chaos that came with deploying Mon Calamari habitation blocks. But Jovian wasn’t. His lekku draped across his shoulders, their intricate tattoos shifting as he moved, a silent testimony to years of violence and captivity. He was no longer a mere ornament, no longer the slave he once was.

The suit of dark, ceremonial armor he wore made him feel invincible — and yet, the feeling of danger prickled at the edge of his mind, more than just intuition. Something deeper, darker, stirred inside him, warning him of the storm to come.

The command panel flickered. A voice crackled through the comms, panicked, though the words were barely decipherable through the interference.

“—thruster malfunction—course deviation—”

Jovian didn’t wait for confirmation. He turned, his cloak billowing behind him as he stormed toward the main viewport, where the glowing outline of Tythas City’s terraformer loomed in the distance. Too close. The hab block was veering off course, inching toward the massive structure meant to terraform the planet into something livable. One of the engineers, a Mon Calamari with wide, panicked eyes, leapt from his station, running calculations on a nearby terminal.

“We’re going off course!” he yelled. “The thrusters — they’re malfunctioning again! We’re going to hit the terraformer if we don’t correct this now.”

The room erupted into chaos, engineers shouting over one another, soldiers barking orders, trying to secure the situation. Jovian watched the chaos unfold, his gaze cold and calculating. The urge to take control burned inside him, but the darkness within urged patience. The solution would present itself. It always did.

“Can we shut down the malfunctioning thrusters remotely?” one of the engineers asked.
“We can try, but it’ll take time,” came the reply from another.

“Time we don’t have,” Jovian said, his voice cutting through the noise. His piercing red gaze locked onto the lead engineer. “What’s the manual override procedure? How do we stop this thing from smashing into the terraformer?”

The engineer blinked, caught off guard by the Twi’lek’s sudden demand. “Manual override? We’d have to go outside — EVA suits, thruster controls are external. And even then, with the speed we’re descending—”

Jovian nodded, already moving. “Get the suits ready.”

“I—what? Are you serious? That’s insane!” the engineer sputtered.

Jovian turned, his movements graceful yet filled with tension, his crimson skin practically glowing in the dim light of the control room. “The choice is simple,” he said, his voice calm yet filled with an undercurrent of barely restrained fury. “You either get the suits, or we all die when this block crashes into the terraformer.”

A silence fell over the room. For a moment, the only sound was the distant roar of the malfunctioning thrusters, vibrating through the metal walls of the hab. Then, reluctantly, the engineer nodded.
Minutes later, Jovian stood in the airlock, the EVA suit constricting around his frame. The sensation was suffocating, a stark reminder of his time in captivity, but he pushed the memories aside. The task ahead required focus, not the ghosts of his past. He flexed his fingers inside the thick gloves, feeling the weight of the suit restrict his movements. The helmet hissed as it sealed, and his breath echoed in his ears, steady but tense.

Behind him, a team of soldiers and engineers prepared for the dangerous task of venturing outside. Their fear was palpable, their movements hesitant. Jovian could sense their unease, and part of him relished it. They didn’t know who he truly was, what he was capable of. They saw only the surface, the scars and tattoos, the armor that whispered of violence.

The airlock hissed, and with a violent jerk, the outer door slid open. The howling winds of the atmosphere buffeted against them, and the moment they stepped outside, they were greeted by the dizzying sight of Tythas City far below, the terraformer gleaming ominously in the distance.
Jovian activated the magnetic clamps on his boots, his steps steady as he moved across the exterior of the hab block. The others followed, their voices crackling over the comms, a mixture of fear and determination.

“We need to reach the starboard thrusters first,” one of the engineers said, his voice trembling slightly. “They’re the ones causing the most deviation.”

Jovian nodded, his focus narrowing to the task at hand. The hab block rumbled beneath them, the metal creaking under the strain. The malfunctioning thrusters sputtered, firing intermittently, veering them dangerously closer to the terraformer with each burst. He led the team to the thrusters, his sharp eyes scanning the control panel embedded in the block’s exterior. It was sparking, wires frayed and exposed to the harsh elements. Without hesitation, Jovian reached into the damaged panel, his hands moving with surprising dexterity despite the bulky gloves. He pulled at the wires, rerouting the power, overriding the malfunctioning systems with brute force.

“Thruster two is back online!” one of the engineers shouted over the comms. “The course is stabilising, but we’re still heading toward the terraformer!”

Jovian growled in frustration, pulling harder at the wires, his movements becoming more frantic. The darkness inside him stirred again, a familiar presence that whispered promises of power, of control. He could feel it pulsing in the insignia on his chest, begging to be unleashed.
No. Not yet
.
“The port thrusters!” the engineer yelled. “They’re still malfunctioning! We need to—”

Jovian didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. He moved with purpose, heading to the port side of the block, the others scrambling to keep up. The wind roared around them, threatening to rip them from the surface of the hab block, but Jovian’s focus remained unwavering. As they approached the second set of thrusters, another burst of fire erupted from them, sending the block into a violent spin.

The soldiers and engineers were thrown off balance, tumbling across the surface of the block. Jovian barely managed to hold on, his magnetic boots straining to keep him grounded.

“Get those thrusters shut down now!” the lead engineer screamed, his voice laced with panic. Jovian didn’t respond. He was already at the control panel, his hands moving faster than they should have been able to, his mind racing as he calculated the right sequence of wires to pull. The darkness inside him surged, lending him strength, and for a moment, his eyes burned with an unnatural light.

The thrusters sputtered once more, then went silent.

The hab block shuddered but began to stabilise, its course slowly correcting as it moved away from the terraformer. Cheers erupted over the comms, the tension releasing in a flood of relief.

But Jovian stood still, his hands trembling, the glowing insignia on his chest pulsing faintly. He had done it. They had survived. But the darkness inside him remained, always whispering, always waiting.
And next time, it wouldn’t be so easy to resist.

Jovian savoured the sensation of strolling through the atmospheric Promenade on Kamino, with the gentle rain enveloping him. He casually tapped the small communication device behind his ear and uttered the command, "Play Joves Playlist." Following a symphony of trills and beeps, there was a moment of anticipation before a melodious tune reverberated through the communication system. Jovian drew up the hood of his jacket and continued his leisurely walk along the promenade with a noticeable appreciation for the music that surrounded him. As a lover of music, he held a personal belief that humans had perfected vocalisations, although he acknowledged that this sentiment was open to debate. The music, a powerful catalyst, despite the ferocious nature of the rain, he found solace in the calmness of the seas below as he ambled along.

Reflecting on the multitude of events that had transpired in a relatively short span of time, Jovian found himself in a state of disorientation. The sound of the rain against his cloak and hood was fierce and meditative, providing a peculiar sense of tranquillity. For Jovian, water always seemed to embody a fusion of contemplation and unrestrained fury, a state of controlled chaos. With its unyielding constancy, the relentless rain exuded a meditative quality that he found deeply soothing.

As Jovian ventured further from the bustling habitation, he found himself in a moment of introspection. The memory of the chilling warmth of blood on his hands, a stark contrast against his now-retired Nightsister Armor, served as a haunting reminder of the sacrifices made in pursuit of his freedom. The melody flowing through the communication system gently drew Jovian back to the present, reigniting his internal struggle. As he grappled with doubts about the true nature of his freedom, he found himself ensnared by an unshakeable sense of bewilderment.

He unclenched his fists and leaned against the railing, fixating on the vast expanse of the ocean below. The distant reflection stared back at him, echoing the same sense of melancholy that enveloped him. He folded his arms, letting them rest on the railing, and continued to peer downward. The rain had transformed into a gentle mist by now, and the ocean appeared like a polished mirror, reflecting the slowly clearing sky. Within this surreal sight, Jovian found himself gazing at his reflection in the boundless expanse. As he leaned against the railing, he allowed his arm to hang by his side as though gesturing towards himself. From where Jovian stood, it seemed as if he could reach out and touch his own reflection. He gently moved his arm and gazed down at the sombre image staring back at him.

He raised and gripped the railing as he looked at the Infinite Ocean ‘What do I do?’ He thought he had met someone who made him feel okay. She was strong but terrifying at the same time, but Jovian saw a hunger in her that he had as well. Jovian knew that when he obtained his freedom, he would be faced with two questions:

What do you want?
How will you get it?

He vowed never to emulate his cruel predecessor by buying someone and subjecting them to horrors. He desired something greater for himself. He reflected on the moment when he first imagined himself free from the man's influence and the exhilarating feeling of independence that ensued. Above all else, he longed for a life of his own. Being his own person was the ultimate aspiration. In the presence of the merchant, he was merely an appendage, but now he was simply Jovian. He was able to wield something that was still relatively new to him, and it was through finding this power that he was going to get more. This Force that pulsed through his was like the rain for him, a remaining constant when consistency was rare.

He started his slow walk back to the habitation, and a series of trills and beeps came over his comms again. “Yes, I’m on my way back” The ocean below him started to stir, and the mist seemed to reappear. He pulled his hood back up and put his arms back in his cloak “I want more of whatever this is” He clenched his fists tightly together, and the Force ebbed between them. He sensed that to achieve that, he needed to calm the tumultuous emotions stirring inside him and open himself up to new possibilities. Jovian's imposing security droid loomed outside, patiently awaiting Jovian's return, visible in the distance. Despite its clingy nature, Jovian had grown fond of this developing aspect. As he approached, the droid met him halfway with warm beeps. “Yes, it was fine. I like human music, don't be rude.”

Manually added by Mandalorian Wulfram Armis