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For centuries now, the Jedi believed that they knew of the force, they knew of the very thing that bound them all, woven in every atom and every breath, connecting them all to one another in some harmonious divergence...so perhaps that's why it was such a suprise when the force bestowed upon them all something new. When something they'd named sensitives crawled out from the shadows, beings that were not quite Jedi and not quite Sith, scattered across the cosmos with nothing in common but the strange force they shared that had settled like chaos brewed beneath their battleworn skin...and that, as such, was how Storm had came to be.

However, it seemed that the universe had took one look at her with its burning gaze full of damned hypocrisy and declared her weak when she had clawed her way to bended knee and asked for purpose, had scoffed at the way the force had wound itself around her fragile flesh scarred with ruin, at the unsteadiness of her hollow bones, of the faceless alter of mercy, of her godless strife...and it had declared her to be far too human for the barbaric nature of war that had been bestowed upon her by the force itself.

Because, you see, her planet was well known, but not in a way one might expect, the likes of which had devoted themselves to the worship of a higher power, had claimed peace as their willing God with heads bowed and divine hands held up to the heavens, where every singular drop of rain was a blessing. They had denied the Jedi, they had denied the force, they had denied all those that weren't sweet salvation...and for that, they had been seen as cowardly, as casualties when the universe had no other option but abandoned them to their fates, where soon their world burn and suffer for their supposed ignorance...something the Jedi themselves could not even dare to save.

And so...Storm had no choice but to give herself purpose and sin in the dying light of sainthood, had no choice but to stain her once blessed hands with gore and crimson mortality, begging for forgiveness from something stronger than herself but knowing deep down that she would sin and sin again, until she was nothing but a mere blade in the republics hand for the brutality in her veins that was the price of the love she had paved. Storm had caved her way through the bloody pillars history, scratching her way through every unsavory job and rank and battle with teeth bared and hungry, forcing a savagery that only came with survival to make herself something to be feared.

Eventually the universe all had stopped their mocking laugher from where it had once came, when the heads just kept rolling and it soon was able to taste that sharp electricity cackling in the air, when the mere echo of her name, the echo of the rumbling thunder had the whole galaxy becoming quiet, their fear sweet liquor on her tongue as they all waited...waited for the silent storm, for the devastating lightning to finally strike.

Now, the only problem with a powerful soldier like Storm commended herself on becoming through brutal fatalities, was that there was always one thing, one singular thing, some damning creation that always stood in her way from being absolute perfection, that immovable object to her unstoppable force that threatened to ruin and unravel her from her very seams, that stopped her from becoming absolute legend like she had craved to be...and that was the clone commander that seemed to despise the very air she breathed...and who's simple presence made her blood reach to boiling point like no other could dare to.

The force worked in mysterious ways, that much she knew to be true...but she still didn't understand why it had condemned her so, why in all of those connected in the force to hate her, it had to be the one clone she worked alongside the most, the one she desired the most, the one she burned for most completely...it just had to be Commander Wolffe.

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"WILL YOU FIGHT? OR WILL YOU DIE LIKE A DOG?"