Conflict was essential for growth. An often spoken proverb for any in the culture, from the youngest verd'ika to the eldest clan patriarch. It brought glory, honor, and wisdom to rise through the storms of life, turning problems into opportunity at every turn. Tenacity and determination grit heavily into the teeth of every vod, while they both participated and observed the concepts of battle. Normally such expressions of might and valor were taken in the concepts of spars, and while they were still very dangerous in their own right - none was more so than when a challenge was on the line. For a Mandalorian to announce their candidacy for the throne, there was no greater risk - for a reward that surpassed all else. There was honor in such a claim, the highest that the Mandalorians could afford one of their own. Taken by force, that was their way - to prove your merit and your mettle was to lay waste to any competition and earn that title. Azrael had understood that paramount importance in the great hall when he was named successor in the wake of his father. What he hadn't fully grasped was the gravity of the situation and the burden of the so-called crown. From the onset, leadership had been a struggle, something he'd adapted to over time, and grown into the position with each passing day. Honestly, he was surprised that none had challenged him sooner, when his own doubts were clouding the salvager's mind. Now, however, he had fully ingrained himself into the role and was working on ways to defend the vode from the forces of darkness that rode for them, and their legacy. This was the next storm he would weather, and until he was no longer able to withstand - Azrael would fight to retain the honor, and prove himself once more to the children of the Manda.
Agile and fierce - Azrael's opponent showed himself to be continually capable of being a step ahead of the salvager's movements - anticipating lines of thought while still missing his own mark in trying to pin the Mand'alor down. Lines cut into the sand now in various places where the iron chain bit into the course grains, missing Betna's form by inches and seconds. It was a dangerous tool to be in the cross-hairs of, and the pilot was doing a solid job of making sure to avoid the more perilous positions that Azrael attempted to lead him into. Another aerial somersault, leaping over the grappling line and skirting away from the segmented bes'briik told of the warrior's fortitude and preparation. Once the dart made purchase, carving the sand in its wake - the half-blood tugged back on the chain while Betna advanced with Az raised and shield presented. Shifting the tide of battle and throwing himself into close range for an offensive measure of force. Drawing back his left leg into a more solid stance, presenting only the right leg as the viable target.
The flat of a beskar forged blade came with solid connection towards the armor plates, and yet a mere inch before collision an energy field materialized into semi-transparent status. A flicker of a teal lattice work shimmered with a wave of energy as the Echani combat shield unfurled from the strike, diverting the energy and path of the weapon akin to a glancing blow. To the second and continuation of Betna's movement, the reverse grip on the beskad slung out into a full and true hold raised in a moment to met the crux of the Ax's back end with it's own handle, preventing the backlash and transforming the attack into a locked parry. With a press upwards to raise the weapon even higher, the salvager's left foot pivoted to gain even more firm footing while his right knee raised in a brutal attempt to smash directly into the kidney and ribs of the armored mercenary - right into an opening that would allow more firm impact.