Blasters echoed, drowning out her Master's voice. Kito had been right to stay on edge. She had been right to assume the Mandalorians weren't interested in what the Jedi wanted.
Kito hated being right
sometimes.
The Mandalorians were a people defined by combat. Honor, loyalty — all of it was proven through sacrifice in battle. The Padawan understood that. They were not so different from the Echani, or even the Kro Var shapers. Battle was the high, and dying in battle was considered a blessing.
With that understanding, Kito doubted any of them would yield today. They would fight until the very end. Until the last one stood.
Excitement surged through her, the fire in her belly igniting with thrill. Combat — that was what Kito understood. It was where she flourished. Her Master seemed much the same, an Echani Battlemaster whose entire life revolved around war and discipline.
It was perfect.
Her Master was the perfect hand to guide her.
But that would require the Padawan to ignore the fire the battle stirred within her.
Impossible.
Kito's hand tightened around the hilt of
the odachi as she drew the blade and let it rest across her shoulder. She waited, watching to see if the Mandalorian would take the opening shot on the two Jedi.
He didn't.
Words crackled through the helmet's vocoder.
By then, Kito's mind was already made up.
Her front foot slid forward across the ground rather than lifting off the ground. The motion was subtle, barely enough to shift her weight. As she moved, the odachi slipped from her shoulder and settled into both hands, angled low across her body.
A breath licked with flame escaped her parted lips.
Then she attacked.
The distance vanished in a sudden diagonal burst, her speed fueled by the Force. Kito did not charge head-on. Instead, she cut across the warrior's line of sight, forcing the blaster to track laterally rather than settling cleanly on her center mass.
She felt no touch of the Force from him, nor from most of the Mandalorians present. But they were still dangerous.
As she closed in, the odachi rose in a clean upward arc, singing through the air. White-hot flame burst along the ancient blade, revealing its true nature. The strike was not aimed at the Mandalorian's chest, but at the arm holding the blaster.
Kito did not follow through with the blade in an attempt to sever limb from body. Instead, she stepped into the space she had just created. Her eyes burned into the visor staring back at her, no emotion softening her face.
"Good," she muttered.
"I hate talking."
Her rear foot planted and her hips turned, the momentum of the swing carrying through her body as her leg snapped upward. Flame burst around the heel of her boot as it drove hard into the Mandalorian's midsection just beneath the chest plate.
The kick was meant to stagger him — to break his balance and create an opening.
For her Master.
Heat surged through the Shaper as she stayed close to the armored warrior. Fire gathered deep in her chest, building in her throat as she pressed the attack.
