The reports came in. His minions had been performing similar destructive tasks all over the planet's surface. The entire planet of Almas was engorged in bloodshed and violence, and the Dark Lord reveled in the feelings which washed over him through the Dark Force. Madness, fear, hatred, anger, death... the power of it all raged through the very core of his being.
The Dark Lord looked out the window, and saw a group of peasants huddling in a corner in fear of his extermination squads. With a grin, he leaped from the balcony and to the ground before them, his flowing black cloak swirling around him in the updraft it caused. He landed without sound, which was odd since he came from three floors up. However, the huddling group did not notice, they only knew the fear of his arrival.
The Dark Lord extended a hand towards the oldest man in the group, probably about 45 human years. He opened his palm then began to slowly close it, the man began to scream out in pain, holding his head. As his fist closed, the mans head caved inwards, his skull shattered to fragments. Opening his hand quickly and violently, the fragments tore from the mans skin and impaled the bystanders through different parts of their anatomy.
None of them could run, either from pain or fear. He began to repeat the process over and over until the small group lay limp and lifeless, surrounded by gore. The Dark Lord loved the feeling. Each of their minds so full of fear and hatred, each mind pleading with his own for extended life. Each life denied in an instant of bloodshed at the hands of the Dark Force.
The Dark Lord began to feel the effects of his usage of the Force, even if only slightly, but replenished himself in the sea of anger, hatred, and fear around him. A constant well of Dark Energies flowed from the result of their use. It was a self sustaining cycle, and the source of the Force's true power.
The Darkside had proven itself once more.. .

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