Duel Galactic Kaggath Round 2: Arris Windrun vs Drystan Creed

[Razmir Tezhyn]

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Arris Windrun vs Drystan Creed​

Molten rock covered the arena floor, churning under the pressure of its own heat. The dying corpse of the Wroyshr tree lit up with flame, descending steadily as its base burned away. Great branches broke away and were quickly consumed by the lava. As it devoured the last remnants of the first round’s environment, the second round’s stage took shape.

Platforms were scattered throughout the arena. They ranged from small ones which could barely hold one person to larger ones that evoked small dueling rings. Dozens of them floated at various heights, their machinery shielded against the heat from below.

Together, they formed the battleground for this round: a precarious battle above all-consuming lava with limited space to stand on.

Those who fell would be incinerated by the lava and forgotten in a tomb of molten rock.

The announcer’s voice cut through the excited chatter of the crowds as the combatants were ferried into the arena on small, floating platforms: “In remembrance of the Battle of Mustafar, fought by the First Order and the Galactic Alliance many decades ago, we present to you the second battlefield of the Kaggath!”

“WELCOME to the SECOND ROUND of the FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH!”

“Allow me to introduce: she fatally wounded her opponent in the previous round and now stands poised to do it again, ARRIIIIS WINDRUUUUN!”

“Facing off against her in this battle of martial spirit against cold steel: the Jedi Shadow with fists that will tear down the heavens, DRYSTAN CREEEED!”

"FIGHT!"​

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

The soft footfalls approaching the arena were drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Drystan walked out, cloaked in the very shadows of the entrance.

Discarding his now-damaged gi, he revealed a new attire—simple shorts that stopped just above the knee, opting for something more revealing. But the flowing red headband remained, a constant. Over his body he wore a loose robe, its hood obscuring the upper half of his face.

His relaxed shoulders, fluid posture, and casual stride exuded calm—bordering on nonchalance. Even as the soles of his bare feet touched the molten rock of the stage, he didn't flinch.

Tear down the heavens?

A grand boast from the announcers. He scoffed. He had no intention of doing that—yet. That would be for the finals. For now, the summit was still far away, and there was plenty of mountain left to climb.

Continuing his ascent, his eyes locked firmly on his opponent. He pulled down his hood and offered a respectful nod.

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

He took his stance—left prosthetic arm drawn behind his back, knees bent, his center grounded. Then, his right arm lifted forward, bent, palm turned inward. A beckoning posture.

With a slow wave of his hand, he invited her forward.

Come. Let the battle begin.

Arris Windrun

Spoiler: The Fit and the Aura

 

[Arris Windrun]

The cyborg walked through the haze of the scorching hot arena.

Seeva was still inside the drone control system, which meant three camera drones in orbit of their showdown were linked into Arris' coprocessor. Offering an extra pair of eyes and whatever tricks her Herglic friend might cook up in the coming duel.

The damage from her last fight? Tattered hair, torn skin, exposed subdermal armor, damaged servos, and one cybernetic right arm--fully replaced with pristine finish to contrast the wear-and-tear on her left.

"That's all?" she began to undo the holsters that hung at her side. Two of the same guns that Arris had pointed out were a pair she typically wore at her side.

Another new addition was Tai Corde's holsters, each sporting a pair of Ambassadors, married to the gunbelt around her waist. A lit cigarra was held between two well-worn fingers. Arris brought it to her lips and dragged it down to the roach in a single breath by way of her artificial lungs. She flicked the rest into the red-hot glow and clenched her fists in a fighter's stance. Those same peculiar packages were still strapped to her inner torso, and so far, only Vagabond had the particular pleasure of finding out what they were.

She eyed her opponent, regarded his words, and answered only with a rush of movement to close the gap. Her left fist extended in a quick, electrified jab, tuned all the way up. A punishing blow for the unwise, yet the scrappy shockboxer expected anything but an easy knockout, especially with that stance.

Spoiler: Gear

Her cybernetics [X]
Built-in shockmitt (left only) [X]
x2 Tenloss Ambassadors [X]
'Mystery Packages' [X]

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

As soon as he saw movement, Drystan's eyes sharpened with focus, locking onto her stance before she even advanced. She was a blur—his senses not yet attuned to the tempo of the fight. Tracking her movements was difficult for now; his only reliable tell was the sheer speed with which she closed the distance.

But that was all he needed.

He assumed this would be some kind of rush-type attack—or perhaps a high-damage strike, given the momentum behind it. So he made his decision: stop it before it reached him.

How does one stop an attack that can't be reacted to once it's begun?

Imagine a soldier with a blaster aimed at someone's head. The target isn't a Jedi, and the soldier is half a meter away—close enough for a clean shot under any condition. Dodging after the blaster fires isn't possible.

There's only one answer: discern the nature of the attack and act before it's executed.

In essence, this was what Drystan did next.

Shifting his weight into his back foot, he snapped his front leg forward, timing it as best he could so the kick would land the moment she entered range, aiming for her upper torso.

It was a front kick—raised from the hips, knee lifted, shin snapping out as his torso leaned back. His toe extended, and the strike cut through the air with a whip-like crack—driven forward like a piston-powered battering ram, both in speed and force.

By his assessment, the kick's timing and reach should be enough to interrupt whatever attack she had planned.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris saw the foot coming from multiple angles.

Still, he was quick and disciplined. It made a sudden pivot all the more difficult, but the added visual aid and performance of her coprocessor gave her that much-needed edge. The cyborg slid moments before the kick and guarded against it. She was struck with far more strength than she anticipated, even with the sudden burst of speed in his leg.

She went low, bent her legs, and jabbed at his knee before he could get his foot down. She missed the opportunity with her shockmitt, but that was okay, the fight had only just started.

Seeva connected over her channel. "Careful, unlike Vagabond, this one can take you in those close quarters."

"Got it." Their conversation was subvocal, over her implanted comlink. Her lips did not move.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

Quick enough to muster a guard with that timing? Drystan made a note of it, adjusting his tempo in minute increments. The jab from Arris struck his knee—fortunately, he had relaxed the joint just before impact, flowing with the direction of the blow. It reduced the damage, though not enough to nullify it completely.

Gritting his teeth, he resolved to counter mid-air. Bringing his other leg up in tandem, he shot both feet forward as he descended—a dropkick. Whether it landed or not, Drystan hit the ground and immediately transitioned, sweeping his legs outward in a wide arc before tumbling backward into a crouched stance.

From there, he launched forward, aiming a straight right toward Arris's chin—

No…

It was a feint.

Mid-strike, he transitioned seamlessly into a grapple, a shooting tackle aimed to bring the fight to the ground and establish a dominant mount. There was little telegraph—just flow.

Even without the aid of the Force, it was clear: this man was a master of unarmed combat.

This sequence wasn't the product of a single martial art. It was a blend—a synthesis of disciplines. Strike to sweep, feint to hold—all executed with fluid, efficient transition.

Drystan's technical prowess was on full display.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris felt her hit land, but something was off; he moved so quickly that she could scarcely identify the intentions of his next move.

She bent back against the dropkick, only to be swept by his legs. The cyborg stumbled back and only managed to save her fall thanks to the uncanny support of her artificial legs, which kept sole-to-ground despite the unintended acrobatics. However, the damaged servo in her leg cracked, risking further instability. Another hit like that and it would suffer a loss of strength.

The scoundrel didn't have the luxury to analyze her damage. Drystan came quickly, following up blow after blow, and now launched into a grapple after throwing a feint. Were it not for the speed of her coprocessor, she might've been had then and there. Instead, her thought patterns were couped at the moment before impact. A shiver went down her spine as hormones were dumped into her system.

She sprung back off of her legs, sliding away from him across the ground on her ass, but eyes ever forward.

At the same time, the camera drones swept in and began to bombard her opponent with an erratic display of bright camera flashes that could blind organic eyes at this little of distance.

One of those flashes was something else. The flare of her Ambassador, which fired an energy-wrapped slug that expressed one thing as it roared: Overkill.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

The arrival of the camera drones was unexpected—something Drystan hadn't accounted for in the bout. The flashes did their job, temporarily blinding him. The Shadow let out a grunt of irritation, eyelids snapping shut to prevent any lasting damage.

Well… this was inconvenient.

But inconvenience quickly became the least of his problems as a shot rang out—a slug from the revolver beelining straight for his head.

Silence rippled through the crowd. The screaming died down as Drystan's head snapped back from the impact—a clean shot, delivered soundly.

Headshot? The point of impact and the reaction made it hard to assume otherwise.

Technically, yes. But there was no blood. No spray. No viscera.

Drystan found his footing again, his back foot digging into the floor.

"My neck's gonna feel sore after this," he muttered, speaking as if his mouth were full. His head tilted back—revealing that it was.

Well-maintained teeth bared, and between them, the now-deformed metal slug from the revolver—still trailing smoke.

Drystan spat it out.

He had nullified the bullet's penetrative force—but the impact still hit like a concussive blow rather than its intended lethal outcome.

So that's how it's gonna be?

Between her reaction, the retreating slide, the distraction from the droids, and finally the gunshot— Drystan assumed she wanted an outfight. A contrast to his preference for an infight.

Closing the distance became his sole focus. He raised his left arm to form the base of his guard and began his march forward.

Arris Windrun