Duel Blind Revenge is Tasteless | Acier Moonbound

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Rattatak

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

There was a sudden hollow in the Threads, where pressure had been a moment earlier. Ace felt it before he understood it, a sharp dip in intent that didn't match her posture or the set of her shoulders. Deception.

There was no time to disengage. No space to correct the entry. So he twisted into it instead of pulling away, committing through the wrongness rather than away from it.

A harsh grunt escaped him as amethyst fire detonated behind his shoulder, filaments reigniting inside his guard. One raked across his weapon-side ribs beneath the shoulder blade, heat and pain exploding along bone and muscle as it carved instead of impaled. The sensation was blinding but he stayed upright. Another filament snapped past close enough to scorch fabric and skin. The third never found clean purchase.

Ace didn't retreat. He used the same rotation that spared him to drive forward, letting the hit carry him deeper into her space instead of giving it distance to finish the job. He dropped the hilt into his right hand on instinct, while his left surged up in the same breath, the beskar prosthetic snapping toward her throat in a brutal, reflexive clamp meant to steal posture and breath.

Whether it found purchase or was torn away, the exchange cost them both something. Ace simultaneously raised his right hand, lightsaber in his grip and prepared to finish it. If she stayed where she was, if she hesitated for even a fraction too long, it would be over.

Then... through his rage, through her tenacity, through the chaos of battle, he sensed it. Like a small note in a sea of noise. A familiar Thread closing in.

Golden Boy?

Remowa | Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Remowa]

Abandoned Arena - Rattatak
The Chiss Woman vol. 1 |:| Issue #3: To Duel Again w/ Acier Moonbound Lysander von Ascania

The scent of scorched synth-silk and ionized air was thick enough to taste, a metallic flavor that Remowa inhaled with a sharp hiss. She had successfully turned Acier Moonbound into a broken bird struggling within her cage, his robes smoldering and his stance equally broken. Yet, as she readied to twist the hilt and reduce his torso to minced flesh, a disturbance in the force caught her attention.

Something was approaching swiftly, taking the shape of Lysander von Ascania . She was unfamiliar with this new adversary, but it was a reasonable assumption that they hailed from the Sith Covenant, given the still-active beacon nearby. Another servant of the new order arriving to rescue his playmate.

She had a microsecond to respond, as Acier's beskar prosthetic was rising toward her throat, designed to strangle her. His right hand was already bringing the blade around for the killing stroke. He thought he had her pinned, and thought the calvary had arrived to witness his triumph.

"Who gave you permission to touch me, wart-encrusted boy." Remowa spat, her eyes glowing with a violet intensity. Her free hand having not been targeted, curled into a jagged claw, snapped upward as the force gathered within her palm to unleash the raw unrefined power of Force Lightning.

The searing heat of lightning erupted from her fingertips in a explosive wave of violence as the bolts likely slammed into Acier's chest point-blank range. The electrical discharge acted as a kinetic hammer, the massive voltage reacting with the metal of his prosthetic and the moisture in his lungs to blast him backward.

He was hurled away like a leaf in a hurricane, his grip on her throat never even closing as the lightning conducted through his armor and sent him skittering across the sand away from the advancing Lysander.

Remowa didn't stop to watch him land but pivoted once more, the whip filaments still hissing as they retracted toward her hilt, and faced the golden newcomer. She dropped into a low, bestial crouch, her obsidian armor smoking from the heat of her own discharge. The blackened veins on her neck throbbed with a rhythmic, sickening light.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound Remowa​

Darkness pumped through his body; not the absence of light, but a viscous energy that crawled through his veins, a potent stimulant that heightened senses and throbbed in sync with the pounding of his boots; for the Threads, they were alive and roaring, pulsing with every draw that drew him near death.

Rage burned, yes; but beneath the heat was something finer.. surprise, unease, and even the pull of kinship. Recognition always hit differently in the midst of violence; he had learned that truth early. It was wrong, seeing Ace here like this. Not only as Arris' apprentice, but someone who connected back to Fatine von Ascania .

A flash of violet, a flash of energy, and the former Jedi was launched backwards.

The dark surged hotter, a living stimulant, supplementing a being of trained muscle and augmented power. That was when Lysander's hand began to curve delicately, gathering intent, shaping it, pulling it from his veins and inner lattice, molding it into something ephemeral.

A spear of hate.

The Sith's jaw clenching with the effort of turning shadows into one lethal point. And he was there, ready to execute the first strike. Muscles along his torso cinched inward; as his weight shifted onto his lead foot, the left arm extended. A tangible thing it was, ready to bite through bone if allowed.

With a snap of the hips, he hurled it; the spear streaked across the short distance, aimed for the Chiss, hungry as a predator. As it flew, his left hand closed around the hilt of Nightstar. Torque from his shoulder was primed, ready to follow through right behind it.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Rattatak

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Remowa's free hand was already moving as his prosthetic rose, intent snapping sharp and lethal in the Force. Lightning detonated point-blank against his chest.

Ace's body seized, muscles locking hard enough to tear a breath from his lungs as the blast punched through him. The world inverted, his back arched violently, then the force of it hurled him away, convulsing, smoke ripping off scorched fabric as he was thrown clear of her space.

He hit the sand hard and rolled from the momentum and impact, shoulder screaming as he twisted sideways before finally slowing to a stop on his front. Electricity crawled through him in ugly aftershocks, fingers spasming against the grit as residual current burned its way out.

Everything arrived at once. His shoulder throbbed hot, his ribs burned where the filament had raked him, the ringing in his ears surged into a brutal, nauseating roar. His chest refused to expand properly, lungs stuttering as he dragged air back in through clenched teeth.

Ace tried to push himself up. His arms shook and his body lagged behind the command. His strength was there but delayed, like the signal had to fight its way through static to reach muscle. He got one knee under him and stalled, head hanging as smoke curled faintly from his back.

Then he felt it. Lysander again, his presence tearing through the Force like a blade through water. His Thread was dense, furious, structured. Rage, yes, but bound into something deliberate. Purposeful. Familiar in a way that made his chest tighten.

Ace lifted his head just enough to see him. The Dark Side surging around him like a living storm. It reminded Ace of Chandrila, of standing near something powerful enough to bend the air, but this was heavier. Sharper. Focused into a single point instead of bleeding outward.

Ace watched, breath still ragged, as Lysander shaped that darkness with terrifying precision. He'd made... a construct. A spear of hate, pulled from raw intent and hurled forward with lethal clarity as Nightstar came up in his hand, ready to follow.

The Apprentice stayed where he was, body still catching up, eyes locked on the exchange unfolding in front of him. He'd started training just a year ago. He'd fought Sith, Elites, killers who thought themselves untouchable. He'd bled for every lesson.

And still... There were parts of the Force he was only just beginning to understand.

Case in point.

Remowa | Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Remowa]

Abandoned Arena - Rattatak
The Chiss Woman vol. 1 |:| Issue #3: To Duel Again w/ Acier Moonbound Lysander von Ascania

The spear of condensed malice known as Darkshear sliced through the air like a jagged shard of the Void, targeting her with deadly precision. She sensed the overwhelming force of the Dark Side flowing through it, intent on eliminating her without a hint of reprieve. Remowa had learned of this technique from the previous Galactic Emperor, yet she had never witnessed it in action during an actual battle.

She did not intent to be a tactic target, as from her low bestial crouch. She moved her weight laterally using the uneven terrain to execute a barrel roll through the sands of the arena. The spear of darkness whistled mere centimeters above her obsidian shoulder plates, passing through the space she had occupied a heartbeat prior and dissipating into the sand with a frustrated hiss.

She came out of the roll with a spray of sand, her boots finding purchase on the lip of a seismic crater.

Before Lysander von Ascania could bridge the gap with The Nightstar of Desevro, her hand snapped out. The amethyst filaments of her lightwhip roared to life, uncoiling like a nest of disturbed vipers then lashing out as three plasma strands went screaming towards Lysander's lead leg and the hand gripping his blade before being deactivated with Tràkata.

She never did anything without purpose as this movement was merely a distraction, as the three Mandalorian iron-studded leather cords slapped against the ground, kicking up a blinding curtain of sand and dormant seismic charges directly into the path of his charge.

She kept her eyes locked on Lysander, but she could feel Acier Moonbound behind her, struggling to regain his footing. She was a Dark Side Elite between two storms now, standing at the center of a confrontation she had invited.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Remowa Acier Moonbound​

Lysander's gaze was transfixed on the streak of malice slicing through the air, like glass scraping against bone. Before his eyes could fully comprehend the Chiss' movements, a vibration thrummed through his chest.. an instinct coursing through his being via the Threads. Without a moment of hesitation, his body responded.. he pivoted smoothly on the ball of his lead foot, his knee flexing to soften any impact. His shoulder dipped, while his right arm coiled tightly, guiding Nightstar in a line as Amethyst snapped at his leg and blade alike.. a serpent's strike.

Naturally his wrists would flex, to absorb any kinetic feedback, feeling the heat lick past his armor.. yet none of it bit into him. Still, his left arm rose, elbow tucked, as he’d been prepared to redirect her attack. But instead another round of seismic charges erupted in succession.

Just how many had been planted in this trap?

His hamstrings cinched to counter the wave of vibration shooting up the legs and into his left side. It took every vertebra to maintain his balance. Even with his best efforts, the boots skidded across the floor. Shrapnel pinged against his armor, throwing off his center of gravity mid-stride. Lysander’s body contorted to the side, pulled by the heavier weight of Nightstar.

Despite the Darkshear's failed strike, for which he may have selfishly craved success, it at least would serve to buy Acier moments to recover. Probing and searching for weaknesses, he was already searching for the next move. Though the other two may have been in the later stages of this duel, or so he believed, Lysander was just getting warmed up.

His right hand moved in a sweeping motion, fingers splayed and drawing the Dark inward, twisting it into a tight and lethal weave. The tendrils, extensions of his will, coiled around the debris and lifted and spun it with control. In a sudden burst, the shards snapped forward in a jagged wave. As sand sprayed into the air, the hissing barrage took aim for her.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Rattatak

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace saw the Darkshear cut the air like a fracture in reality itself. He felt the density behind it, the compression and the intent, then watched as Remowa rolled through the uneven terrain at the last possible instant. The spear died in the sand.

Her whip came alive again in the same breath, amethyst snapping toward Lysander in a sharp, predatory test. Even from his lowered position, Ace tracked the geometry of it, the distraction, the leather cords slapping down to churn sand and dormant charges into motion.

Just how many had she buried? He'd set off a large swath of them earlier, the arena had convulsed under it. It should've thinned the network. But the way the ground continued to answer her… Either she had layered redundancy. Or he hadn't detonated as much as he thought.

Lysander pivoted through the first snap of plasma, Nightstar steady even as the next wave of charges erupted and the terrain bucked again. Then the Force around him tightened, Dark side flaring. Inward. Debris lifted. Spun. Twisted into a lethal weave under deliberate control before snapping forward in a jagged wave, shards and sand hissing toward Remowa in a storm of sharpened intent.

Ace felt the shift in tempo. Two fronts now. Remowa between storms. Good. The arena was already destabilized; cratered, fractured, hollowed in places where the sand only pretended to be solid.

He reached for what was visible. A tight telekinetic shove tore through one of the crater lips near her rear flank, collapsing the already weakened edge inward. Sand sloughed down in a sudden cascade, the footing beneath it giving way into the void carved earlier by his own detonations.

His aim wasn't destruction, it was to sink. Enough to complicate balance and demand correction. Ace rose as it fell, pushing off the churned sand and stepping forward through smoke and grit. Shoulder burning. Ears still screaming. Muscles lagging half a beat behind command.

He didn't try to outrun Lysander's assault, instead he moved to intersect it. Let her divide her attention, he wasn't going to waste this second opening.

Remowa | Lysander von Ascania​