Studying Force Maelstrom

A world scoured by time. No fauna. Barely any flora. Cracked stone, sand-blasted ridges, and jagged iron formations like forgotten blades. It is a planet few visit, and fewer return from—with gravity just strong enough to simulate real pressure.
Cogadh kneels atop a mesa of black basalt. The sky is colorless—distant stars dim behind a failing red dwarf sun.
He’s alone.
But not empty.
 
The Holocron of Darth Achronos
The pyramid-shaped holocron hums as it levitates. It flickers and opens, revealing the form of a long-dead Sith warlord, his presence like a smoldering furnace.
Darth Achronos:
“Three forces, braided into one.
The Shield. The Storm. The Shatter.
Master only one, and you will die attempting this.”
Cogadh listens, brow furrowed. The holocron’s projection gestures, and the dust around it warps, rippling with invisible force.
 
Phase One – The Bubble
 
Cogadh begins with what he knows: Force Protection Bubble.
But here, it must not just deflect—it must contain. A perfect sphere.
He kneels, extends his arms, and projects the field outward. The usual shimmer takes shape—but cracks under pressure.
Achronos mocks him.
“A shield? No. This is a womb.
You must trap the chaos, not just hold it back.”
Cogadh shifts his focus. He alters the density of the field, layering kinetic resistance and ion dispersion.
Over several days, he learns to form a field with multiple layers—transparent, yet impenetrable.
But only for seconds.
It collapses too easily under inner pressure.
But it's a start.
 
Phase Two – The Storm Within
 
Next: Force Lightning—but no longer as a weapon.
Here, it is contained, shaped, fed within the bubble.
He sparks it first in his hands, then lets it dance between his fingers. He releases it into the shielded space—
—and it rebounds wildly, almost electrocuting him.
“You seek to contain a storm in a bottle,” Achronos warns.
“But do you know the storm’s desire?”
Cogadh spends days learning how to loop the lightning, forming chambers of polarity within the sphere.
He scorches his hands more than once.
One attempt shorts his rebreather, forcing him to climb back to his ship gasping.
Eventually, he manages it:
A whirling storm, trapped in a humming sphere, like a miniature sun of shrieking light and rage.
 
Phase Three – The Shatter Point
 
Now: Telekinesis.
Not simple lifting or throwing.
No—this is about compression, inward force, and finally—detonation.
Cogadh stands within the shield now, and brings rocks from the ground—dozens of them—levitating them into the maelstrom.
They hover, orbiting the lightning. The pressure builds. The shield hums with strain.
One second too long, and the shield collapses.
One second too short, and the explosion is meaningless.
He misjudges the timing.
The result?
A premature discharge. The rocks explode. The lightning lashes outward, and Cogadh is flung back twenty meters, armor seared, body bruised.
“Again,” he hisses.
 
Final Attempt – Force Maelstrom
 
Weeks later.
He stands again on the basalt mesa.
His hair is shorter, singed from countless failures. His fingers ache with phantom sparks. His bubble field forms instantly now—reflex, not effort.
He breathes.
He pulls lightning into the dome.
He draws shards of iron from the earth.
He condenses them—pulling the energy tighter, tighter, tighter—
Then, with a roar that cracks the cliffside:
Cogadh:
“NOW—”
He releases.
The bubble bursts, unleashing a multi-directional shockwave—a perfect fusion of kinetic force, electrical discharge, and sharpened debris.
A supernova of rage, will, and precise timing.
The mountain cracks. A nearby ridge collapses. The wind, if there was any, would howl.
Cogadh stands at the eye of the crater—arms scorched, breath ragged.
The holocron flickers once more.
Darth Achronos:
“And now… you may call yourself its master.”
Cogadh (quietly):
“I am the storm. Not its bearer. Not its victim.”