Duel Galactic Kaggath Round 1: Drystan Creed vs Antar

[Mauve]

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The arena floor rumbled and shook, the entire surface sliding open like a missile silo to reveal… an enormous Wroshyr tree rising up from the lower levels. It towered so high that its upper branches crested the arena and stood nearly eye level with the skybox. It sat upon a grassy, fern littered field. Amid the ferns, shapes prowled. Dangerous predators. Vornskrs. Force hunting beasts.

The boughs of the Wroshyr tree criss-crossed, forming limbs as wide as Coruscanti skywalks that the combatants could duel upon.

Droids hovered in the air around the tree, some with cameras, but many projecting interlinking rayshields so that the duelists could not interfere with the duels of the others. Of course… ray shields could always fail.

If any of the combatants fell to the ground far below, they risked being set upon by the vornskrs.

“Standing atop the Wroshyr, I give you the Hero of Lazerian IV, the Teeeeeemplar of Ukatis, the JEDI KNIGHT, DRYYYYSTAAAAAAN CREED!”

“And his opponent, sporting the sour look and sourer fists, the Syndicate Sicario, the Enforcer Extraordinaire, the Champion of the Black Sun. ANTAR. ROQUE.”

“CHALLENGERS! BEGIN!”

Drystan Creed | Antar

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 1

Despite the roar of the crowd, the blaring sounds of the arena, and the ear-shattering voice of the announcer, only one word could describe Drystan in this moment: serene. He seemed to disregard everything except the floor on which this bout would take place—and his opponent, who had his full and deliberate attention.

He stood across from his adversary, forgoing all equipment save for a flowing red headband and a simple black gi, patched with a bright, tailor-made logo from his sponsor. With a relaxed frame, he began shifting his weight along the balls of his feet, getting a feel for the floor beneath him.

Did this man truly mean to enter the tournament unarmed? Many onlookers asked the question in their heads, the surprise on their faces making it clear.

As soon as the announcer signaled the start of the match, Drystan's right fist slammed into his left palm. A sharp crack rang out, cutting through the ambient noise of the crowd. With that gesture, he offered a solemn bow.

"It is a privilege to fight with you today."

His tone was courteous—on the border of formal—and his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. Then, he took his stance.

His palms flattened, turned sideways and pointed toward his opponent, knees slightly bent, body squared. An open handed stance.

"Please give me your best."

Antar

 

[Antar]

Drystan Creed
​

---

Artificial light blasts through the arena floor, the ceiling for Antar and the other contestants, as their stage rises from underground. What a spectacle. As everything begins to settle, Antar downloads his surroundings. He makes note of his position, the vague positions of others, and of the life he can sense on the ground beneath the tree.

Antar's attention locks onto his opponent as he is announced and does not break away even as his own blares out from the countless speakers in the arena, though he does grimace at it. Well, he understands well enough that there is little to say for him. His is a name with no renown. He has neither deeds nor exploits to speak of.

They will know him soon.

Antar is the first to step forward. He is clad in a simple black and gray attire; his lightsaber dangles at his side.

His opponent takes an open-handed stance. Arrogance or confidence? He resolves himself to find the answer quickly.

"It is a privilege to fight with you today."

His tone was courteous—on the border of formal—and his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. Then, he took his stance.

His palms flattened, turned sideways and pointed toward his opponent, knees slightly bent, body squared. An open handed stance.

"Please give me your best."

"Likewise," Antar answers and takes on a stance himself. His imposing posture is upright, squared towards his opponent. He raises one hand above his head, palm outward; his other level with his midsection, palm parallel to the ground. Antar calmly shuffles towards Drystan. He enters the pugilist's range with measured patience and a laser-sharp focus on the man's first move.

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 1

Despite the oncoming approach of his opponent, Drystan remained steadfast in his form—unflinching, unmoving, yet deeply relaxed, as if welcoming Antar to close the distance. In this moment, despite the others taking to the tree and moving around it, Drystan's mind blocked everything out except the immediate ground beneath him—and the man standing before him.

It was as if all the lights in the arena dimmed into a flashless void, as if all the noise was drowned in a sea of silence. This was focus at its absolute.

Though his open-handed stance was peculiar, Drystan's hands were not the only thing to watch out for.

Just as Antar entered his range, the wooden floor erupted—dust and bark scattering, splintering upward as a sweeping arc carved into the surface.

To the average spectator, it was too fast to catch with the naked eye. The camera droids had to replay it in slow motion to identify the move: a sweeping low kick.

His leg launched outward, building momentum as it aimed for the calf, bypassing the shin entirely with the curvature of the strike. He tightened his muscles only at the moment he estimated impact would occur, the blow subtly amplified with the barest touch of the Force—meant to test the waters.

Even so, it was enough to flay bark from the wooden floor and carve a groove into it, faint traces of smoke rising from the depth of the strike. What it would do to the average person went without saying.

Antar

 

[Antar]

Drystan Creed
​

---

The image of Drystan's blow successfully landing appears in Antar's mind for only a moment before it is thrown.

I'm not checking this.

It doesn't pass Antar's mind as a thought, but an instinct. An involuntary psychological response triggered by his nervous system. Drystan's opening move screams danger, and it is only narrowly avoided as Antar pulls both legs away, almost leaping a step back from his opponent's range. Drystan's foot whistles through empty space as it misses its mark by the thinnest of margins.

The silence between them is broken by Antar letting out a deep, relieved exhalation. The syndicate enforcer wears a wry smile as he regains his stance and calmly shuffles back into range. He faces an opponent who can finish the fight in a single blow and strike so fast that Antar's senses are almost useless.

Now, how to put this beast down?

There is a slight motion in Antar's hip. His leading foot lashes out, its mark just below Drystan's knee, but it stops midway, and Antar uses the feint to step into a lightning-quick, stiff jab aimed at Drystan's face.

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 1

Despite sensing the jab at the last second, Drystan had already been distracted enough by the feint to be unable to completely dodge it. The fist landed—but not cleanly—as he managed to move with the jab by just a hair's width, enough to slightly cushion the blow.

Excellent.

A multitude of thoughts—singular words—rushed through his mind in response. Pain. Damage. Sharp. Hurt. But the one that stood out, that blared loudest and pushed the others aside was...

Delectable.

He couldn't help but widen his smile. Drystan would never admit it, but he hadn't come here just to test himself. That fighter's blood pumping through his veins was excited—its pulse quickened at the prospect of combat. His was the heart of battle.

He was quicker on the recovery, his body remaining mostly in the same position, with only minimal movement needed to return to neutral. But now Antar was closer—within his range—and he could return the favor.

A one and two. Jab, then cross. Face, then chin. Striking straight from the bowels of a storm—quick as lightning, heavy as thunder. You'd think he was throwing either one, judging by the sound they made as they cut through the air. Boom, boom.

Despite the rapid succession, neither strike lost much in power or speed. Drystan's mastery of the kinetic chain allowed him to remain efficient with each blow, both physically and through the Force, letting it flow through his muscles in the same sequence they were activated.

Antar