Duel Galactic Kaggath Quarterfinals: Mercy vs Drystan Creed

[Mauve]

x

The boiling lava forming the surface of the arena began to hiss and steam.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN THE THIRD ROUND?”

The hissing grew louder, the steam now rising in voluminous clouds, concealing the entire surface of the arena behind a condensation layer so thick it appeared like a sauna.

A sudden geyser of water burst from the midst of the arena and the sound of rushing water became overpowering. As the steam dissipated, it revealed that the lava had cooled and hardened, but was swiftly disappearing beneath a lake of water.

“What you are seeing is four MILLION gallons of salt water pumped into the arena. And those cages being lowered in… Yyes those are in fact mutated firaxan sharks!”

The beasts thrashed wildly before they were let loose from cages and splashed into the water.

Hoverfreighters lowered huge platforms onto the surface of the water, which floated placidly.

“BEHOLD! THE GREAT PLANET OF MANAAN AND ITS FLOATING CITIES!”

The not-Marka Ragnos announcer zoomed around on a hover pod, holding something aloft in his hands.

“AND ITS SEAS….” He snapped the vial and tossed it down into the water far below. A thick, pungent green ichor spilled out from the vial and began to pollute the surface of the arena lake. “POISONED!”

“YES, THAT’S RIGHT, THIS ROUND REPRESENTS THE BATTLE OF MANAAN AND ALL THOSE WHO FOUGHT AND DIED THERE SO LONG AGO!”

Smaller buoys bobbed in the midst of the lake, strange bundles attached to them.

“EVEN A SMALL DIP IN THE LAKE MEANS CERTAIN DEATH… BUT THERE ARE SOME ANTIDOTES, CONVENIENTLY BUOYED ACROSS THE ARENA! USE RESPONSIBLY, THERE’S ONLY FOUR!.”

Of course, the contestants could also use abilities to purge the toxins from their system too, but where was the fun in announcing that to the audience?

"FACING OFF ACROSS THE PLATFORM, YOU HAVE SEEN HER SMASH HER WAY THROUGH THE COMPETITION, IT'S THE INDOMITABLE MERCY! AND HER OPPONENT, THE JEDI WITH FISTS LIKE THUNDER, DRYSTAN CREEEEEEEED!"

“LET THE QUARTER FINALS OF THE GALACTIC KAGGATH, BEGIN!”

Mercy | Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 3

Fists of thunder?

Drystan held back a smirk at the announcer's description of him, now hidden beneath the visage of his helmet. For it was not the thunder one should fear in the heart of a storm—it was the lightning it heralded.

He eyed the toxic lake below them, noting that he would prefer to avoid any skin contact with it. The enviro-filters in his armor were inadequate for prolonged submersion, but he could fall back on the nexus if needed. He'd rather not, however, as tapping into that source remained a foreign strategy—he had only managed to use it to heal his wounds during the intermission.

"If we fought a round or two ago, I would have met you as a martial artist," Drystan said, his voice crackling through the helmet's voice modulator. "But I have chosen to see this tournament through as a Shadow."

He raised an open palm, then brought it down—planting it onto the platform floor as he channeled the Force. Honor was thrown to the wayside, and in its place: Cold and brutal precision.

KRAKOW!

Without warning, the clouds parted as four bolts of golden lightning split the sky—one on each side of the platform, missing the edges by mere inches. The results were immediate: a toxic, obscuring fog crept across the arena, a reaction caused by vaporized traces of the poisoned water.

The effect was twofold—first, to obscure Drystan's form within the thick haze; second, to turn the tainted lake into airborne toxins that could be inhaled. Not that it bothered him—his suit's enviro-filter allowed him to breathe without purging any impurities or suffering ill effects.

His saber remained unignited as he stalked his side of the platform, a predator lying in ambush, hidden within the mist.

Mercy

Spoiler: Equipment and Implants

• A pair of stock-standard blaster pistols.
• 2x blue lightsabers modified with the FFS- A.D.A.P.T Saber Kit and a blue amplification kyber crystal, 2x Hurrikaine crystal
• A grapnel launcher.
• An FFS Utility Belt
• FFS Force User Battle Armor
• A custom made prosthetic- Phrik internals, cortosis plating, reflec, emp-shielding and a built in laser system similar in concept to lightsaber rifles using one of the lightsabers in Drystan's posession. It can electrify using a similar concept to an electro-staff.

 

[Mercy]

It might have taken a moment for Drystan to realize that the low, hoarse sound echoing through the arena was laughter.

Mercy's laughter.

Loud. Violent. Mocking.

It rolled across the platforms and up into the stands, and the crowd: a beast stirred to bloodlust. It began to echo it back.

The handiwork of her apprentice, no doubt.

"Thunderfist?" she called, her voice thick with venom and glee. "I name you coward."

"You fought with your fists... right up until you met someone who'd break you in half with hers. You were forward motion, until you met someone who stopped you cold, you pathetic rodent."

She grinned like a predator, baring teeth. Then breathed in the toxin-laced air. Her lungs shuddered. Her new arm twitched, curious, almost... hungry. As if it could practically taste a new victim in the fog. The copper-amber color darkened but didn't shift. Not yet. She had dubbed it Thronegrasp. An echo towards the understanding she had gleamed in the bacta tank between the two rounds.

Her body wanted to cough. Expel the foreign gas. Instead, she inhaled deeper. The Force began to stir inside of her. Writhing. Uncoiling.

Drystan needed a suit. He needed armor. Filters. A battlefield sculpted to his advantage. She had been looking forward to a real fight. Flesh and bone. Blood and sweat. Instead in her disappointment she realized he was just a metal toy like the rest of them. They all seemed to need something to be able to even grasp her heights. And that made them pretenders, unworthy of anything but scorn.

Mercy was whole. She needed only her body. And it was already adapting to the toxic fumes. She had inhaled poison directly and then force-killing gas, it had ravaged her from within, but she managed to press through even without the Force. Ever since then her body had become hardier. Tougher. Something about her arm ripping itself apart and becoming more.

"I give you one chance to shake your cowardice and to face me like a true warrior. If you don't, I will break you and there will be no coming back from it."

She didn't attack yet. In her own strange way Mercy had rules she followed, she would give him a chance to prove himself worthier than the ones she left behind in the last rounds.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 3

Mercy's speech was met with silence. Correspondence through words could no longer be accommodated, nor would the challenge be answered in the way she might have hoped. Drystan had long since discarded the notion of this being a fight. It was now a mission—and he would approach it with the professionalism of an operative. Activating the thermal sensors in his helmet, he took his first step.

He folded his presence into the surroundings, deadening himself to the senses. He timed each movement with the ambient sounds: the murmurs of the crowd, the rolling waves of the lake below, the cries of the announcers as other matches were called. Each footstep was deliberately placed to coincide with another noise, helping mask his intent.

Hiding from sight, he maneuvered through the storm-forged fog, rotating toward perceived blind spots and zigzagging through the densest pockets of haze. His lightsaber remained unignited to maintain the veil of obscurity.

Each step, each stride toward his opponent, held to these principles with precision.

What Drystan had displayed in the earlier rounds were explorations of specific aspects of his martial discipline, self-imposed constraints to refine his technique within that aspect. But now, those limitations were lifted. His last match had shifted his priorities. The desire to win had supplanted the desire to learn.

And with that shift, he would use everything he had. Including what he did best.

Closing the distance between them, Drystan dropped into a low stance—unnaturally low. The Force gathered into a singular focus within his mind: speed.

For speed and stealth shared the same domain. To move before being noticed was, in every sense, an act of the covert.

He channeled this principle into his body, flooding his legs with power—and unleashed. Drystan shot forward in a dash, a blur of black slicing toward Mercy. He kept pace with the sound of his own footfalls, saber still in hand.

This wasn't just speed—it was efficiency. The Force moved through his muscles in precise succession, each one activating in perfect synchronization, wasting no effort. His stride was flawless: each footfall landed beneath his center of mass, knees driving upward and forward, posture tight and optimized to maintain momentum.

The only word to describe the maneuver was meticulous. Even at a blinding pace, every motion served a purpose—no more, no less. Like a machine in perfect calibration.

His aim: a lateral strike to her torso. The saber ignited at the last possible moment—just a brief flash of blue in the mist—then vanished just as quickly.

Whether the blow landed or not, he would then attempt to vanish back into the dense fog.

Mercy