A Painful Burden...

[Reverance]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7gn-byX94A​

Plop...Plop...Plop...Plop.

Water drops fell from split pipes, the occasional gush of steam flowing freely across the walls of the large and relatively empty room. Spot lights shined beams across the logo of a raven upon frayed tapestry, hues of dark red glittered with specks of blood and stains of dirt and stripes of black. It was quiet, spectators giving the silent contemplation that their bets deserved, as they congregated in spectacles of murmured pockets outwardly from the large ring. It was a tad bit bigger than the typical fighting location, a place reserved for a more prominent display of prowess. After all, the closer the audience was to ring, the closer the participants were to violating the no kill policy. Even if it were against the rules, Gabriel considered the notion of such things.

As his footsteps clacked against the cold and wet cement, he gave an almost threatening head tilt to the outer ring of flesh puppets that now blocked his access. He wasn't here to watch, though he did thoroughly enjoy the concept. Though the lack of killing and maiming was disheartening, he let such things go. Not the time place, he told himself, these were potential allies. Their blood could be spilled on the battlefield for far superior purposes. No, he was here for the sport and the teaching that could be dealt from the deliverance of pain. He the Envoy, his new pupil the recipient. It was time to discern where their journey would begin in an almost ceremonial ritual of bloodletting and injury. Given the slightest smirk, he parted the betting sea with seemingly biblical ability, walking to the red ring drawn in red paint. This wouldn't be our limit, he thought, as his gaze shifted down to the circle. No, this would be a far more active partaking of this ancient form of dance.

He wore armor for the moment, but that was quickly to change. His right hand idly drifted down the buckles, clanking as they split, before he loosed the mixture of armorweave and prhik and alloy. Dropping it to the ground, the sound of metal against cement echoed through the room, as he revealed a body marred in countless tattoos and scars that couldn't be covered by the greenish tinted black ink circling his torso, arms, and neck in tribal formations. A call to his people, the ones he had spent so much time forgetting, given the most intimate of respect for their capacity for damage. Without armor, he was merely a man now, albeit one seemingly cut from stone and graced with black braided hair and the blossoming of a salt and pepper beard. But unsurprisingly, his singular crimson eye was his most entrapment characteristic. It cut and it pierced and it penetrated, far deeper than any weapon he could have brought to this fight. His was an aura of blood lust, a drive to pick the flesh from bones, and the need to see the assuage of weakness through the infliction of misery and torment.

From his hip, two cylinders of little distinction. Pulling one from the waist hip, he tossed it underhanded across the rink and placed the other within the grip of his right hand. Now, it was time to make good on promises.

The announcer gave way to his name in drawn out tones, something which mattered very little to him, as he drowned out the distractions with a brazen smile. But the name REVERANCE was boldly spoken in an almost hushed respect, no booing, no hackling, no cheering. Lights shifted from the tapestry to the ring, awaiting the entry of his opponent, [member="Logan of Little Coruscant"].

Sabers and powers and flesh only, the announcer screamed across the soundwaves. Gabriel cracked his neck and waited.

 

[Evor]

It felt as if every muscle in his body was contracted as he walked toward the sparring area. He didn't have the same presence as [member="Reverance"] did .The sea did not part for him but rather he dove through the waves, wading to shore through the froth and stench. Had he been walking towards any other opponent the mood in the room would have been far different. He would have ran to the ring while being belligerent, boisterous and ready to dole out pain to those who stepped up to the plate. The energy in the room would have been electric and surged through the room, raising everyone's spirits and sending a rush of adrenaline through him that would make him invincible while brawling. But this was to be unlike any fight he had ever been in, and the fear of this wrapped tightly around his stomach, making him feel ever so alone despite the crowd of people around him. There were two people here; Him and Gabriel.


Sweat beaded from his forehead as he slowly made his way to the center of the crowd. His chest tightened as he could see the Sith Lord through the crowd now. He did his best to relax his muscles and to at least appear normal in posture, as he was almost sure he was watching him now, despite the anxiety that grew by the second.He stopped at the edge of the crowd, almost teetering between two life paths. Both would end in death, but one would result in it rather quickly. He took a deep breathe and stepped into the circle, cracking his fingers as they hung by his side. He had forgone his usual smoke and chug of whiskey before the fight, for once in his life preferring to be as on edge as he could be. He shrugged the long brown over coat off of his shoulders, and pulled his long sleeve shirt off over his head. He unbuckled the utility belt at his waist and tossed rolled the shirt around it, tossing it to the ground.

His body was clearly tense, his bare chest rising in falling. Much like Reverance, his body too was covered in tattoos and scars. Although the tattoos held little meaning outside of the quite meanings of the symbols and pictures, the scars meant much more to him. Each scar, whether it was a contracture or a hypertrophic scar held meaning to him. Each was a symbol of his life and what he had been through. And he wore them as badges of honor. He walked forward slowly, not looking away from the slightly disfigured face of the Sith. As he neared the center of the ring he dropped to a knee and went to reach for the practice saber with his right hand.

 

[Reverance]

What was a moment in time but the mere opportunity to claim advantage? For a man that felt he didn't need it, he suddenly felt the weight and the burden of it's necessity. In the teaching of it to one that may require it in the future, it became something fundamental. If Logan was going to be the pupil of the Hand, he would inevitably discern the calamity of hesitation...of reluctance. And even if these actions spoke lengths to the Sith Lords capacity for creating a hole where the wall once existed, he had morals outside of the lesson. He was a man to fight others at their best, advantage given to the opponent to better buffer their efforts against his own. A challenge in the making, he was forever seeking his own end and the blaze of fire that would lead to it. But that end wasn't here, not in this place, in the halls that would let a man bleed but would push the life back into him, force feeding the essence down the gullet. Pills given to a man seeking something else.

The speed at which Gabriel spanned the distance, between him and Logan, may have been but a blink to the common man, not in tune with the nature of the force. But being a beast of battle, he had whittled the powers that surrounded everything into something of a physical enhancement. Powers that destroyed, powers that crushed, and powers that enhanced his own being, such were the abilities that he harnessed. Like a pack of wolves caged in the box and set loose upon raw meat, so did the Sith Lord blitz Logan as he reached upon the practice saber. His own, swinging a violent fan of red, leaped from his own right hand towards the kneeling apprentice. It would slap against the left shoulder, should it go unblocked, leaving quite the evident burn against tattooed deltoid. Just after, he kicked out with his left foot, focusing his weight into his core, to swing his shin hard against the chest or right side of the apprentice. His left hand was living quite the sedentary life, only lunging out for the brief moments needed in order to shift his weight, maintaining it in his core. When not moving, it was waiting against his side, prepared to let loose the pack against [member="Logan of Little Coruscant"], when the time came.

Should the hit attack, he would likely continue, unrelenting. One thing was for sure, Gabriel would teach the value of never giving an the inch, for fear of the mile.

 

[Evor]

Pain shot through his left shoulder and down the upper portion of his arm as he was unable to bring his arm up and turn the practice saber on in time, the pain receptors sending violent messages to his brain. He instantly pulled back, expecting a rain of blows to follow. Energy surged in his hamstrings and quadriceps, telling him to stand and fight. He went to lunge up and slightly forward to push [member="Reverance"] back to create space but a swift and strong kick slammed into his ribs, cracking one and sending him stumbling back. He groaned softly as he raised the training saber amidst the rain of blows from Gabriel, waving it around like a stuck, the feel foreign and bulky to him. This wasn't a dagger he could just wildly stab into someone, especially against such a well trained opponent.

The speed and ferocity at which the Sith Lord attacked was frightening to say the least. Never before had Logan encountered somebody who was so proficient with any sort of weapon. The common thugs and rogue Jedi he had fought had never even come to close to remotely putting up this much of a fight with their hands, and then adding the training sabers into the mix, it was a recipe for disaster. If this was a lesson, it would be a hard learned one. While he was currently on the defensive, it wasn't in him to just quit regardless of how badly he was being beaten. His eyebrow furrowed as Reverance's lightsaber danced around him, teasing him and tricking him and just generally leaving him unable to do anything to stop it. The man moved as if it was an extension of his body, flowing from one hit to the next leaving Logan both confused and in awe, interrupted by spurts of burning pain.

 

[Reverance]

After he had administered what he would consider a substantial level of pain in the blows delivered, he stepped back and twirled his saber, looking upon [member="Logan of Little Coruscant"]. He was most assuredly not finished with the student, but just as clouds drift in the face of the sun, even celestial bodies take the occasional break. He had captured plenty in just those few moments, primarily the unwieldy way in which his new apprentice wielded the lightsaber. That was something that we would need to fix, he thought to himself, as he turned from Logan and began walking the perimeter of the ring.

"The lightsaber is far different than most melee weapons..." He spoke as he titled the saber before him, holding it parallel to the ground. After walking the distance around the ring, he turned to face his protege. "Most importantly..." He nearly growled as he pointed to the center of the handle. "The blade holds no weight. It's all centered in the palm of the hand." He flicked it back and forth. Had there been an opponent in front of him, it would have smacked the left shoulder and then the right before drawing back to the Sith Lord, giving the illusion of a crimson fan through the air. He began to pace, though seethe may have been the more apt term. "You don't need to cut your opponent. The lightsaber is actually more similar to a bat or bludgeoning weapon in that respect, it has no need for a cutting surface. Allows a certain versatility." He continued his walk, back and forth, waiting for Logan to collect himself. Continuing, he would instruct upon the blade of pain. It was in these times that Logan would recall upon his pain and the lessons that were formed.

"You will learn to depend on the speed of the wrist and the power transfer of the shoulder. As you descend from deltoid to wrist..." His free hand drifted from the top of the shoulder, down the elbow, to the wrist. "...You transfer from power to speed. And since we need but a flick to plunge lightsaber through flesh, we will depend on our wrists and our elbows." He was beginning to recall the training in the Academy, his lesson of Form II. It would take time for Logan to not depend entirely on his physical strength. But only when he was broken, would be built back up. Iron reforged in his masters image. And of course, in this specific setting, the term 'we' was entirely meant for Logan. But just as an apprentice must learn through practice, so must the master administer the training.

"Get up..." He spoke as he stopped pacing and faced Logan. "Attack me...use that emotion I feel in you, whittle it into something sharp and useful!" His saber remained at rest, pointed in a 45 degree angle, towards the ground. But across his mind and across the surface of his skin, the force grew in undulated ascension as he released all of his own pain and torment and anger and misery. Looking in the pools of his soul and seeing that thing he hated most, he prepared himself to release another attack.

 

[Evor]

He sat crouched on his haunches, listening to his master. He knew that this was not the end of the lesson, but only the beginning. His body already hurt and he wanted nothing more than to sit down and get drunk, but that was not an option today. It dawned on him what [member="Reverance"] had told him before. More than my life. The thought echoed across his mind as he listened. His soul, his mind and his body all belonged to the Sith Lord now. That must be what he meant. If it wasn't, then he hoped it would come as easy as this revelation.

He gripped the handle of the saber as it lay in the dust, wrapping his right hand tightly around the metal grip, holding it with one hand as one would a tennis racket. He tried to visualize what Gabriel said, imagining himself swinging it. Even the though of it felt foreign and odd as he did his best to understand. He hefted it in a questioning manner, feeling the weight and the balance of it.

The pain had already sunk in, his body aching and a soft groan escaping his lips as he stood. He stood there with his left arm at this side, and his ride arm extended slightly forward and to the side, creating about a 30 degree angle between his arm and body. He took a deep breathe in, making small circles with his left wrist and flexing his elbow slightly as he thought on what the man said. He cracked his neck, trying to get rid of a crick in it that appeared as he took the beating Reverance had just given him with his head bowed to avoid his face being beaten.

"Yes Master. As you command..." he said as he raised the training saber parallel to the ground as the man before him had. He grunted loudly as he charged at Reverance much like a linebacker would, his left shoulder lower to the ground with the blade behind him as he ran, sticking out to the side slightly so that he did not hit himself on accident. He exhaled sharply as he brought the blade from his right side to his chest in a swing at Reverance, as if he was trying to hit the man with forehand swing. However, his emotions were not in it right now. He fought back as a beaten animal would, only doing so to retain his pride.

 

[Reverance]

That word. Master. It was a difficult one to swallow, one impressed upon him a long long time ago. Yet, in those times, it was not of his own doing. A slave, betrayed by the mercenaries he considered brothers, and forced into pit fights like a common thug. But it was these things that drove him and pushed him to become something better, to brace a rancor between the jaws and punch and claw through the soft palette. A necessary thing, one meant entirely for survival. Yet it had led him down this path, fighting a man who charged just as they Rancor did. Sure, the emotion was there, but it was without meaning and without focus. Face. He was saving face now and Gabriel could see that in the brief moments it took Logan to span the distance across the rink. Like a man without purpose, he ran with his eyes open. And while those eyes were open, the mind was still shut, not ready to accept the truth of the matter.

As the lightsaber came out, swinging in a forearm swing style, Gabriel contemplated the weakness of such a swing. To cross the body like that, one exerted an intense amount of power but suffered the vulnerability of crossing not one, but two planar axis. He rotated his right handed saber to a reverse grip and squinted, extinguishing the blade. Lifting his left arm up, the saber held by Logan caught the Sith Lord just on the ribs. In that moment, Gabriel let out a growl with a wince, wrapping his left bicep around the beam to trap the saber. The pain was something to behold, something cherished, as he relished in the nuances of the synpases popping all at once from the ribs up to the shoulder and down the bicep and elbow. After all, these were modified to intensify the pain.

Just as he caught the saber, looking Logan square in the face with teeth bared, he punched forward with this right hand, attempting to hit against forearm that held the saber, using the hilt as a sort of roll of half dollars to strengthen the punch. And in the same fluid motion, he shifted his weight, kicking out with his right foot towards Logan's side. If it landed, he would let loose his grip on the ignited saber, sending [member="Logan of Little Coruscant"] flying wildly into the crowd.

 

[Evor]

His armed jarred as the training saber was caught. A look of astonishment crossed his face as he stared dumbfounded down at the gnarled arm that held the blade that glowed and purred softly in place. He had felt the adrenaline surge through him as the blade connected with Reverance's ribs, not realizing in the moment that such a powerful man could easily stop such a pathetic attack. A slight grimace painted his face, casting a murky shadow on Logan's mind. Who was this man really? Why did he subject himself to pain this way? Surely he could have stopped the attack in a much more efficient way. He didn't have time to pursue the thought train further as [member="Reverance"] used the hilt of the training saber as a weight, slamming his fist down onto Logan's forearm.

He let out a muffled cried, not letting it fully escape his lips. He lost his grip on the saber and it fell to the floor, rolling off to the side, as he felt his forearm bend ever so slightly. It didn't break or fracture but the pain was excruciating. The thought of pain had barely sunk into his mind before his mentor brought his foot up in a kick, smashing into Logans side, cracking the 6th and 7th rib on his left side. He flew several feet, his large mass crashing into the crowd as a wave crashed onto the shore, violently and sending everything around flying or stumbling back.

He laid there for a moment in a daze before the pain brought him to reality. He gingerly touched his side and his forearm, wincing slightly as he did so. The adrenaline from landing his hit still seemed to flow through his veins. Shakily he stood up, having already learned his first lesson. Don't wait to be told. Have initiative. The pain he felt was nothing new, having suffered similar injuries in fights before. But it was his wounded pride that drove him now. Never had he been defeated in such a fashion. His face turned red as he took a step back into the fighting area. He squatted quickly, grabbing the training saber from the ground. He pursed his lips in a slight snarl, clearly embarrassed and angry now. This was supposed to be his turf, and although he expected to lose, the reality of it now faced him and it sent him wild.

He ran forward at Gabriel, his eyes still wide open. He brought the saber up in an upper cut, aiming at the mans chin. He knew the attack wouldn't miss, but he wouldn't go down with a fight. Assuming the attack was blocked in a normal manner, he would keep swinging at Reverance with all of his strength in a sloppy flurry of blows, none of which were probably going to hit.

 

[Reverance]

Yes! Keep fighting, Gabriel wanted to scream it! He wanted to swim in his pupil's anger, roll in it, and claim it for his own. It was something to truly cherish and it times like this, on the precipice of anger and it's descent into desperation, the Sith Lord wished that he could spectate the fight. From the outside looking in. But instead, he had this man, face flushed with rage and bent upon the bow of glory, looking to reclaim what pride he had lost in the tumble. That was good, it was important to experience every facet of loss, no matter what form in came in, he silently mused. After all, its only after we have lost everything, that we are free to do anything TM.

Putting his hands up, in a stance of bare knuckle boxing he had learned so well under the sands of Tattoine, he stepped to the left and rotated his body as the blade crossed before him. It hit air and likely beads of sweat. Even a Sith Lord could find exercise in such physical exertion. The next swing came from his right, looking to tap him on the right shoulder. Ducking and stepping to the right, the blade crossed over him, and he maintained his fists in front of his face, the hilt clamped in right hand. Another blow downward and across, from the sith lords left to his right. He stepped to the left, maintaining his weight, and shifted his body at an angle to match parallel to the diagonal swing of the attack. It missed as well, just as an unfocused and rowdy hit would against a man of such expertise. As Gabriel dodged the last attack, the force jumped from his left hand, in the form of a force push with the intent to separate the two. With the distance allowed, he would speak before the attack began again.

"War..." He spoke as he inspected his nail bed, pushing back a cuticle with his thumb. "...is not a matter of fighting, but of time. So long as the will exists to push forward, the body will follow. No matter how broken. Just as the storms of Kamino are described not by a single shower, struggle can be seen in the same way. It is everlasting." He ignited the saber, inviting [member="Logan of Little Coruscant"] to attack again. "We don't fight because we are told to. We do it upon the knowledge that, in a world devoid of justice and injustice, it is the natural order for the strong to take and the weak to give." He twirled his saber, rotating towards the protege as he signaled for him to strike with the free hand. "Peace is the endeavor of the fearful. Fearful of death, fearful of loss, fearful of the future. Since we fear none of those things, we will press on."

 

[Evor]

Air flowed into his lungs with deep, ragged breathes as he stood there. His ears and cheeks were flush, both from exertion, anger and embarrassment. All three of which would prove to be excellent teachers for Logan. The exertion it's self only made him all the more furious, his swings growing wilder, slower and even more ineffective as it took a physical toll on his body. As for the anger and embarrassment, they fed off of each other, each boosting the other higher and higher until the only desire left in his mind was to destroy. He snarled softly, cursing to himself under his breath. His massive chest heaved up and sank back down, the tattoos on his bear chest glistening in a mixture of the dim lights and the sweat that beaded down his chest.

He just stepped out of the way of every damn swing, he thought to himself. Absolutely god damned ridiculous. The speed and ease that he his master dodged was both unnatural, uncanny and awe inspiring. As he shifted his feet and moved his arms into a slightly more familiar fighting stance to Logan he raised a single eyebrow, very curious as to how this would play out. He hadn't even gotten a chance to figure out how to swing the damned saber properly and he was already toying with him, mixing up the style and getting all creative, like a tiger playing with its food before it ate dinner.

His nostrils flared as he was forced to listen what [member="Reverance"] had to say. He doubted interrupting him would be any better for his health that covering himself in animal blood and poking a Rancor. What he was told only solidified the anger in his mind that was about to be directed, albeit poorly, towards Gabriel. He lunged forward, his arm over extending and more trying to stab Reverance in the heart than anything. He used the saber as a pointy stick and not a a fine, well worked tool. The lunge alone was almost enough to jar the blade out of his hand, his own form so poor. He growled under his breath, a string of choice words escaping from between his barred lips.

 

[Reverance]

Like a man seized with the lust to destroy and attack until there was nothing left, Logan attacked with a lack of technical skill but with more than enough passion and resilience to make up for it. Had it been another situation, a lunge in such fashion would not have appeased the Sith Lord. But with injuries delivered, pride and ego squashed like grapes between the toes, Gabriel could appreciate the dilemma that now faced his newly minted protege. On one hand, he faced an adversary with a power that he had never known. Upon the space station above Barab I, Logan had seen but a fraction of Gabriel's power, so small as to not be even appropriate in his characterization. While Logan may have entered into this fight a wad of cookie dough in the eye of the Sith Lord, he would leave this mentoring in statuesque persistence, a man beaten like iron against the heat of a flame. And on the other hand, Logan was in his own arena, fighting to save what face he had left. If one couldn't win, they must at least go down trying.

As the lightsaber jumped out from Logan's attack towards the Sith Lord, Gabriel formed a barrier that crawled out from the palm of his hand and encompassed his fingers. Placing his hand at the center of his chest, he caught the tip of the beam with his palm and cradled his fingers around it, entrapping it with an iron grip. His muscles, his body, were rigid and would merely shake with little to no hint of effort should Logan attempt to pull the blade from hand. Beneath his feet, dust shot up as boots scraped against the ground, body pushed back from the physical force of Logan's attack. Baring his teeth, that crimson gaze bored down upon [member="Logan of Little Coruscant"].

"The flow of power from the strong to the weak must be comprised, in all it's awe, of dual volition. That it would either present in damage or example, power will always move to those willing, and able, to accept it." His hand shook against the saber as he held it's grip, looking down at the blade. "A solid weapon bares the weight of weakness in it's ensnaring. A lightsaber..."He flicked the power of his saber off, and then on again, as it ignited and extinguished in it's path towards the ground. "...holds no such vulnerability." To grapple with a more capable foe, intentionally or unintentionally, was the quickest route to the compromise of the connection of soul to body. Gabriel would give but a second more for Logan to realize this before setting loose the power that dwelt within.

 

[Evor]

As the man caught the blade again, anger flashed in his eyes. Never had he been so humiliated especially in his own temple. He furrowed his brow and his gaze never left Gabriels face, every minute flicker and detail registering in his brain, the almost undetectable tremors doing naught but fuel the fire within him some more. Yes, Gabriel had stumbled back slightly, but that wasn't enough to prove that anything was going in his favor. The muscles in his own neck flexed, the tension running down his shoulders and making its way into his triceps as he went to yank the blade from Reverances grip. He growled low as it did nothing, the blade stuck firmly in his grasp as it surged energy through the mans body. But before he could attempt to retaliate [member="Reverance"] started to talk at him. As he saw Reverances muscles tense up, he quickly flicked the switch off and realized the point he was making. He flicked it back on and understanding flooded his mind. He had to use the tools at his disposal to their full capacity or else all of this work would take him no where.

He would tense up his lower body, going to push Reverance back with a powerful kick to the chest or stomach area to create some sort of distance. Should that work, he would grunt loudly as he brought the training blade up to above his right shoulder, bringing it down on a diagonal plane that would attempt to cleave the Sith lord from shoulder to hip had they been using real light sabers. As he would deliver the strike, he would flick his wrist at the last second, the movement feeling unnatural to him. If the attack was dodged, he would loose his balance slightly and attempt to bring the blade back up across the same diagonal plane with a lot less control and force. Should the attack be blocked, it would most likely jar his arm and leave him stunned for a moment.

 

[Reverance]

He couldn't help but feel the yank of lightsaber as it retracted into the hilt, the pull of the blade hesitantly released by the barrier formed in the palm. As the boot hit against diaphragm, the Sith Lord slid back like a brick upon stone, weight pushed into the center to absorb the hit. Good, he thought, instinct was taking over. And the bruises and breaks formed on this day would remind both men of lessons learned. To halt his backward progression, Gabriel struck out at the ground with the practice saber, leaving marks against the rink floor like wooden stick drug across asphalt. Sparks shot up in spit and spatter as his crimson eye lifted to gaze upon the assailant, face partially masked by hairs released from the braid.

THWAK! Gabriel's right knee shook as he absorbed the attack, his body consuming the pain like some sort of empty vacuum. White teeth bared out from the black hair as free hand leaped out to grab Logan's hilt hand, cementing the sabers position against sternocleidomastoid muscle, now broken clavicle beneath. The electric pulse of the saber jumped across scarred and tattooed skin, now covered in beads of sweat from the effort. His crimson eye winced against the pain as he swallowed it, slowly closing his mouth.

"Evolution of sentience...is a matter of equal men excelling beyond each other." He swallowed hard, growling and exhaling. He wasn't pushing the pain out, he was accepting it. Pain was but a consistent reality of life, one of the only things he could trust to never relent. There was a certain comfort in that. "We are constantly challenged throughout our lives. Weakness is inherent in everything. Stone...wood...earth, it matters not beneath the weight of worlds. But those who can push past it, can become something truly awe inspiring...they are the ones that can make a difference." The tightening of his grip around the attacking hilt shot pain from his elbow to his ear, electric and fresh, as he lifted the saber and the hilt away from his shoulder. His saber hand released a force wave, generated by the shear strength of his will and the impact that pain had about him, sending a violent bludgeoning force in a 360 degree angle from the palm.

[member="Logan of Little Coruscant"]

 

[Evor]

Legs over head he went flying backwards, his large body smacking loudly and harshly against the floor. His breathe was driven out of him, flying sharply into the air around him. He rocked back and forth with a groan as it felt like he had been hit, not for the first time in his life, by a speeder. Every inch of him hurt without any sign of stopping. Every bone felt as if a gust of wind would snap it in half, every muscle as tense as if he was being struck by lightning over and over again. His brain was a mottled, murky mess of anger, fear and most importantly pain. His left adductor magnus involuntary screamed out in pain with a series of sporadic twitches that shook his lower body slightly.

With a loud groan he rolled onto his stomach and winced in pain. His arms were weak and he struggled to push himself up onto his knees. After a minute of ragged breathing and shaking arms, he managed to tuck his knees up underneath himself and stay there curled up into a ball, his muscles straining to push himself up any farther. Every vein and muscle in his upper body was strained and popping out, seemingly clawing at the skin that held it in place. "Pain... Anger... Defiance..." were the words that barely escaped his lips as he said them under his breathe to nobody in particular. He had been beaten. He knew that. There was no denying it at this point. But his body was still moving, however slightly. He would fight till he collapsed.

Black dots spotted over his field of vision, as it slowly grew narrower and narrower. He stumbled and pushed himself to his feet, his muscles groaning in protest. The training saber hung loosely in his hand, the blade still vibrating softly. His chest rose and fell sharply as he stumbled forward toward @Reverance. Kill or be killed... he said to himself as he made a final decisive step toward his master. He torqued his body, putting all of his energy into bringing the blade on a horizontal plane towards the Sith's shoulder. He exhaled sharply as he did, expelling the air from his lungs. It was a move of desperation, but it was all he had left in him. He figured that a few more swings was all he had left in him before he collapsed from both the pain and sheer exhaustion.

 

[Reverance]

"Yes...pain and anger and defiance." The apprentice would soon learn of the bond now forming, as words spoken were derived from thoughts, things as transparent as water running across cobble and stone. The Sith Lord winced, the necrotic tissue forming in splotches of red across chest, soon to take hold in hues of black and yellow and purple, to remain unseen under the guise of black and green tribal tattoos. His collar throbbed with every movement of the body, a sensory perception turned to fetish for a man that thought of himself as the Lord of Pain. Pain, pleasure, they resided in cohabitation for the one who couldn't find where one ended and the other began. Nevertheless, no matter how the mind, demented as it may be, perceives the stimulation, the body bends beneath the weight of it.

He clenched his free hand, the pulse of the vein and artery something visualized, as electricity runs down communication lines. Up and down, up and down, pumping back into the generator of the heart, pain traveling within synapses upon sodium ion channels. The Sith Lord smiled widely as the man approached him, baptized in his own pain and ache, reborn with a willpower to overcome his own inability. But no matter how hard he struggled, he would not climb this mountain. Time would only tell if he would ever crest the peak, but he could be assured in the knowledge that that day was not today.

As Logan approached the Sith Lord, Gabriel held both arms out and perpandicular to his body, a man crucified without the post to hold the weight. As the blade neared shoulder, he twisted and tilted forward, bending at the waist and placing weight in his forward right foot. The blade of the apprentice passed over the body of the Sith Lord as he twisted his core hard and swung, aiming the right handed lightsaber towards the legs of the apprentice. With the power applied, and Logan's exhaustion, the attack might very well knock the feet out from beneath him and send him in a sideways flip to once again find comfort in stone below. Hopefully, Gabriel thought, this would put an end to this endeavor and lead to more fortunate and future prospects.

[member="Logan of Little Coruscant"]

 

[Evor]

Awe filled Logan's eyes once more as the self proclaimed Lord of Pain pulled a move that seemed to bend time and space before his own eyes. The man moved as if a reed in the wind, bending and swaying with ease. As his master dodged his attack, he tried to angle the blade down into his abdomen, but he was too late. The training saber whistled right past [member="Reverance"] 's side, the momentum taking him way past his intended target. He start to swear under his breath but he was quickly cut short.

A buzzing sensation filled his ears and he blinked his eyes open slowly. He was vaguely aware of shouting, both boo's and cheers filling his head, but not entirely registering. The floor was cold on his skin, cooling down his sweating body. He groaned softly, but his arms and legs were numb and couldn't move. He layed there for what felt like hours, but was realistically only a minute or two. He strained his muscles as much as he could, trying to push himself up onto his hands and knees. He tried once, but collapsed into a large heap of muscle and flesh. His breathing quickened along side his heart rate, both escalating in turn. He shifted his weight, and slowly rolled over onto his back, looking up at the ceiling as it swam in his vision. He blinked, wide eyed in shock about the events that occurred and the sheer fact that he had lost. He had never lost in such a humiliating manner. It made his cheeks turn red, and his jaw clench in fury. But he was far too exhausted to do anythign about it. All the strength had left his body and he had no way of moving.

 

[Reverance]

The Sith Lord cared little for the applause and boos and their commingling upon the sound waves. At least, that's what he originally thought, until he heard it and felt the stir within him. But he had an image to uphold, a thing he cared almost as much for as the notion of his prowess upon the field of battle. And this was a meager sort of field, but a field nonetheless. With blade extinguished and tossed into the crowd, the Lord of Pain approached his acolyte and merely smiled, leaning down to kneel against broken and bruised body.

"Logan...you did well." Perhaps those were surprising words for the apprentice to hear. Truth of the matter, there are few who could stand against Gabriel, even less that would continue with such persistence. His crimson eye lifted to the roaring crowds, people jumping over one another to collect bets. It seems there was an upset. "All we have our the memories and sensations attached to them. One day, you will think back on this and remember the pain...I hope you do. It will fuel even the coldest of flames. It will keep you warm in fiercest of blizzards." He placed a warmer than normal hand against the flushed cheek of his apprentice and patted softly, in an almost fatherly sort of manner. "Chin up and lick your wounds, there is more yet that I would teach you."

They had a starting point, a place of departure for Logan's training. Gabriel had a feeling that this was merely the beginning. The beginning to a profitable and illustrious relationship. With those thoughts, he lifted himself from the ring and picked up his armor, carrying the item out of the fight club. He could hear the sound of medical officials being called to pick up [member="Logan of Little Coruscant"]. When he had received the attention he needed, the two would depart this world for blood and battle to come. The pain in a broken clavicle ached with a sort of sensation akin to a throb, the pleasure it reeked was something to behold. This...this was a good day.