Duel Galactic Kaggath Round 2: Darth Malum vs Allyson Locke

[CT-312]

//: Allyson Locke Darth Virelia Darth Malum of House Marr //:
//: Arena, Ruusan //:
//: Attire //:
//: WEARING:Halcyon Armour |Contact Lenses |Wrist Mounted APG |Ancile Shield |Aredian Armlet //:
//: EQUIPMENT: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LO-18D | LO-22S | Sunshot Pistol //:
//: 35|40 Active Mag : 3 Backup Mags x LO-KI/22 Standard Slug Round | Shiva Knife | S.A.N.D. Powder //:
//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 3x Ravenous Grenades | 2x Kushute Grenades //:
//: 1x Ion Grenade | 1x Flash Grenade | 1x Incendiary Grenade | 1 x Smoke Grenade //:
//: 1 x Arrow head of Absence //:​

An arrow soared above, landing somewhere behind went unnoticed by CT-312 when she was pocketing the arrow head. Both Allyson’s and Darth Malum’s signatures vanished from Halcyon's HUD. To the naked eye, both were gone. CT-312 didn’t curse out loud. The tension in her jaw was enough. Her two slugs aimed towards Malum hit nothing but steel, chewing through the arena’s durasteel panel. The Scout scanned again. Nothing. No return ping, except for Darth Virelia.

Then in the corner of her eye, she noticed the lava was moving around the Lady and her. Not like before. Not the steady simmer of a volcanic tide. It was unnatural. Guided. The magma was shifting with purpose as it began to bubble more sporadically and rise.

CT-312’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. Tsk. “Annoying.” she muttered. A double blink of her right eye activated the infrared overlay. Heat signatures bloomed in color. Just in time. The Scout’s eyes snapped toward her last two shots where the metal platform was shredded above. A flash of heat signature ‘There.’ Allyson. A flicker of motion. Gone. “What the—”

The lava surged. Refocusing CT-312. She didn’t have time for this. Waves began to curl around. Her head snapped towards where she shot at Malum. Locating his heat signature. There he was, standing tall. Arms raised. Whatever he was doing, it was doing something with the magma around them. Not natural. ‘Force user nonsense’ again.

Her HUD flickered. Darth Virelia’s signature began moving. CT-312 shook her head slightly ‘Idiot.’ Charging in a straight line. Direct. No cover. No tactics. Is this how Force Users fight? Power over strategy? The magma swelled higher. The Lady was gone. Dropped out of view. Fallen or diving. There wasn’t time to verify. It didn’t matter. Unfortunate.

It was a long shot. A gamble. CT-312 smirked. ‘Kark it.’ Might as well with how this whole tournament has been. End it all here. Holstering her weapon. She began to run to the edge of the platform.

CT-312 spoke flatly. “System. Manual Override: Repulsor pack.” [WARNING: MAY CAUSE IRREPARABLE DAMAGE] blinked across her HUD. “Confirm.” She didn’t hesitate. The repulsors roared louder than it did before. A long, continuous thrust screamed out of her back vents. The heat washed up her spine, feeling a slight burn to her skin as CT-312 launched from the unknown fate of Darth Vierlia and the platform. Leaving the lava wave behind her.

THUD. She landed hard. Boots slamming into the next platform. Halfway between her old position and Darth Malum's. The metal groaned under the impact as she launched herself forward again.

CRACK. Lightning struck down. Slamming down into the incoming waves of magma with the force of a god’s scream. BOOM. A wave of energy erupted from behind CT-312. Shaking the whole arena. The metal floating platforms all around swayed, before restabilizing.

The shockwave from the combustion hit CT-312 like a speeder at full tilt. Her body jolted forward. Flung faster by the blast behind. She didn’t resist the speed, instead she used it. Mid-air, her left hand reached down to all three ravenous grenades. Her fingers swiftly pulled the pins, activating them all. One of the grenades stayed in her grip. Within seconds a mist began to trail out.

THUD. CT-312 hit the platform. Landing right in front of Darth Malum and in one continuous motion, she drove forward. Closing the gap indefinitely. Bringing up her left hand, shoving the final grenade between them. With her armored grip, crushed the shell in her palm. The casing cracked. All at once an unnatural mist exploded outward. Flooding the open spaces of the narrow platform with a cloud of mist.

Her right hand snapped forward, reaching for Malum's chestplate. To seize him and drag him down as her knee drove straight into the bleeding wound at his chest. The Scout quickly remembering the state of the Sith Lord when she had entered the arena.

CT-312’s HUD blinked. That’s when it hit her. Something was wrong. In the back of CT-312’s mind. She couldn’t tell what. But something was wrong. Too many of her HUD warnings were going off.

[REPULSOR PACK: OFFLINE]
[WARNING: BREACH DETECTED]
[WARNING: TOXIN INTRUSION]
[DAMAGE: MODERATE—CRITICAL]

Her stomach began to twist violently. Breathing slowly became ragged. Every joint burned like it had been set on fire. Then came the blood. Slow at first, a single line from her nose. ‘The grenade.’ Something in the mist wasn’t just chemical. It was designed to bypass armor, seals, and filtration. Nothing stopped it.

[AUTO-INJECTING STIM BOOST]

CT-312 could feel a sharp need like stabbing down her spine. Adrenaline kicking in. Enough to function. Enough to fight. Her breathing rasped through the vocoder, sharp and uneven. Tilting her head slightly. Looking straight at Darth Malum. Despite everything. The chaos, the pain, the burning through her veins. CT-312’s voice cut through the haze. Steady, resolute, and unmistakably sure.

“Hi.”

Set for the next move.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The two champions, one by right, the other by grant, dominated the arena. It would only take a few more minutes, nay, seconds, for the intruders to be disgorged of their unfortunate existences, and for a battle he actually wished to fight to resume. Unlike the two invaders, there existed no formal alliance, no formal understanding between the two had only moments ago been in the midst of attempting mutual annihilation.

Malum as ever was required to keep part of him at reserve, to commit so fully would be offering his neck for the execution, yet, still, even as their energies faded from each other's perception, there seemed to be some primal understanding.

Or at least a shared antipathy towards the one in particular who had seen fit to show herself.

Arrows flew through the air, as the lava bubbled and smoked, from both the air, and the ground, their foes were trapped in a pincer of their own making. Even, as the strain had him trailing salty terraces down his brow, as the conductor of the most macabre orchestra, the Force adhered to his will, commanded forth as near everything he wore seemed to channel the arcane energy that flowed through all living and all cosmic existences.

Another arrow flew.

The lava reached a fever pitch, surrounding the platform in ghoulish measure, rising high into the air, a wave of delugeous proportions. The fiery orange sung in draconic rage, as if it was possible, that which reflected the star's heat, seemed to grow hotter still, tinges of blue streaking across the area, as if lightning itself transcended the air, to grace its presence a reflection upon the grevious molten liquid.

They would be buried, in ash, smoke, and soot.

His hairs stood at attention.

The air itself seemed to shift.

An explosion of power ripped out across the arena, a scream that brought a marked chill up a lesser man's spine, the air seemed to pop and crackle with archaic mystery.

Lightning streaked across the sky, like a web, drawn upon the clouds.

She rose, away from where he had measured her position, rising forth like some avenging dark angel. The wind reaked of desperation, of a surrender to oneself in a bid for survival, it mattered little in the end, withdrawing his hand, as the lightning lapped at the magma, breaking it upon the platform, as the blue shimmered slag bore itself upon the metal plate.

Drawing his sword forth, the Sith Steel hissing awake as the plasma crossed the air, preperations made to cross over the lava lake, and bring the fight directly to his foes. As the air kissed with the energy that was held so delicious, he could not help but reach out. He was reminded of primordial tales, that of mere men stealing fire from the gods.

Rage, pain, anger, anguish, that all which made them human, made them alive, was made manifest and real, an energy seeped that seeped him. A second wind, stolen from a delusional girl, all the while himself?

Superior to self-proclaimed gods.

His breathing calmed, the agony of his chest, a mere ache, as the strain of the power he commanded.

Became ever slightly easier.

Allowing him the focus to witness the next threat, just in time. She did not fire her guns this time, a mistake or marked strategy, the cloudiness of his mind, taking in the energy, as if it was the sweetest of honey, could hardly tell the difference. The repulsorpack roared with an energy that refused to be denied, refused to not be given notice.

So the soldier had survived the lava too.

How galling.

The lightning shook the arena once more, the metal seeming to sway at already unstable currents, the battle sense became alive once more as time seemed to slow, even disorientated by the rush of adrenaline through his veins, he was always a thinker, an analyser, she was exploiting he momentum of the strike.

Clever, it allowed her a speed that she might not have otherwise achieved.

Her hand drifted down to the side, fingers grasping upon black cylinders tinged with red tops. A red mist seemed to elicit out of them, a poison, a gas. A thought crossed his mind, she had already wielded within her arsenal what should have been far beyond a regular soldier, indeed, to reach out across with inky invisible tendrils.

Her presence was... shielded, no... camoflaughed.

She had the voidstone, he quickly surmised, memories of how the previous soldier he had fought felt, crossing his mind, that same way in which the arrow striking the metal at the beginning of this round felt, crossing his brow... she may have been shielded, camoflaughed, but the rest of her? What she held?

That would be his moment.

The wind itself blew against her arrival, as she crashed into his platform, suddenly his abilities cutting away. Two grenades already brimming forth with whatever chemical compound she had brought, forcing the gas to spread up across the air, even as she dived forward, crushing the cannister between them both, as whatever it was.

She seemed determined to expose him to it.

As the hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention, every inch of his body, his mind, and soul, barked at him with the trepidation of fear, the need, to be as far from it as possible. The wind blew, bellowing forth like the icey trembles of the north, casting away the great majority of the poison.

The great majority.

The need for breath, forced air into his lungs, as through his rebreather, he prayed, he hoped, that the rebreather embossed in the mask worn upon his face, would keep whatever every instinct of his six sense rebelled against, far, far away from him.

As he lost his grip on his body.

Dizziness festooned upon him, a platform resting upon molten liquid feeling as dangerous as he knew it should be, as the blood began to draw from his lips, nostrils, and ears, an ache resounding from the back of his mind, that his lips taste of ash, his tongue taste of acid, and his throat taste of bile. Tears soaked his face, mixing with the blood, as it flowed down his cheek, guttural grunts, mixed with grave groans, and a hoarse hiss fell through him.

As he lost grip upon his mind.

As he felt himself falling away from grip, skin, and flesh. Gazing out through what was once his red sockets, windows out to the waking world, he fell through into the darkness, there was no gravity, no air resistance, only a descent, final, and forced, as Malum was shuttered off into the confines of his mind.

As he welcomed the cage that was so often his involuntary prison, but in this moment? A welcome relief.

As the body's instincts snapped into attention. A body alight with invisible flames, that in any other moment may have dove into the lava itself, if only to bring a moment of relief, and... nothing. Singular minded determinism prevailed, a singular goal, the only belief that mattered. The blade hissed in motion, as it sang upwards, aiming to cut off the arm that dared to aim for Malum's chestplate, twisting as it withdrew itself, making distance, exploiting the advantage it held in a weapon of reach. The free hand flicked to the side, drawing forth from its pouch two grenades, one circular but angular, the other more like a bottle, the pins pulled, as they were thrown forward, a fragmentation device, followed by an incendiary grenade.

As dulled red eyes gazed forward, Malum's light having been stolen away, leaving only now.

A warrior.

Drawing blade forward, steel and plasma hissing in challenge.

Spoiler: Equipment List

Equipment:
The Amulet of Darth Marr's Ashes x 1
Band of Conjuring x 1
The Eliadian Ring of Flames x 1
Mk. 2 Ophidia Assassin Armour x 1
Lionskin Defence Gauntlet x 1
The Blade of Storm and Flame x 1
The Soulsabre x 1
Jin'Wodasir x 5
A Lover's Healing Potion x 1
A Seer Stone x 1
Grenades x 8 (1 Incendiary, 2 Chemical Gas, 1 Fragmentation, 2 Stun, 2 Smoke)
Shikkars dipped in Devaranonian Blood Poison x 5
Tsaisibola x 1
Tsariquira x 1
HG-88 'Big Iron' Hand Cannon x 1
Dishiarza x 1 (Carrying the Soulsabre)

Spoiler: TLDR

1. Malum keeps channeling the lava in an attempt to drown CT-312 and Serina.
2. Failing in that, he uses his blade to conduct and coil Serina's lightning to empower himself using Consume Essence.
3. Achieving a second wind he turns to face CT-312, and desperately attempts to keep the ravenous grenades at bay using Force Wind.
4. Failing in that, he is momentarily cut off from the Force, experiencing the physical symptoms of the ravenous grenade, and having his null personality take over, who attempts to cut CT-312's arm off when they attempted to go for Malum's chestplate, and using his freehand throws an fragmentation and incendiary grenade in an attempt to take CT-312 out.

Allyson Locke Darth Virelia CT-312

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Virelia //:
//: Darth Malum of House Marr //: CT-312 //:
//: Attire //:
//: Equipment //:
//: Bow & Arrows //: Cybernetic Eye //: Jacket //: Arrows of Absence x 25 //: Bag of Absencite x 5ea //: Sword //:
//: Non Transferable "Equipment" //:
//: Ava'kash Brand //: Emperor's Echo //:

The electrical paroxysm cracked through the sky—wild, untamed, and devoid of the control expected of a proper Sith Lord. It threaded itself through the lava below, two elements not meant to meet—colliding in a violent explosion.

The heatwave surged across the arena. Allyson stood firm, letting it wash through her. It was exactly the boost she needed.

Her eye tracked Serina. The arrow she'd fired strayed off course—an unfortunate side effect of the little lordling's tantrum.

Unlike the other two, Allyson's composure held.

Serina had been the only one to ever break her. The Corellian had sworn that would never happen again. Now, she was without protection. Serina was too confident and too proud after dodging just one arrow.

Serina probably thought she'd already won. That she had bested the Allyson Locke.

Her hubris would be her undoing.

But before Allyson could act, her eyes widened in horror.

She saw it—the grotesque display of power unleashed upon the crowd. Innocents. People who had nothing to do with this fight.

Rage surged through her. If Serina needed something to drain, she should've taken it from one of the Force-users—or even from the desecrated bones of a Jedi world.

Instead, she fed on lives that had no part in this.

Hatred churned in Allyson's gut as she watched the wretched creature that Serina Calis had become, gorging herself on the helpless, grinning all the while.

It was pathetic. That moment of evasion had inflated the witch's ego, made her feel important.

Allyson stepped to the edge of the platform, partially visible on the underside of the platform. Serina wasn't far—but it was clear she intended to return to her arena.

Consume…

The hunger stirred in her again. She'd felt it before—on Manaan. That same sickening sensation had gripped her for days after, had dropped her to her knees.

The whispers returned. Urging and starving.

The Force Nexus.

She felt it nearby, its power open to those who dared take it. Allyson remembered that feeling. She had been here before. She had touched it. Claimed its light when she took the name Jedi.

Faces filled her mind. Ones she missed. Ones she mourned. Tarnished memories of the people she had once stood beside. At the end, the face of one Echani woman—a Jedi Master.

The one who gave her a chance.

The one who had once meant everything.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. What she was about to do…It was a final step. The point of no return.

But she justified it. Because this time… it wouldn't be used against the living.

I'm sorry.

Golden tears streaked down her face as she reached out, anchoring herself to the Nexus.

The font screamed.

And Allyson Locke began to drain it.

The power was unimaginable. She had never felt the Force in such pure, uncut form. It filled every fiber of her being, twisted with glee, devouring, consuming, without shame.

The dark side surged through her like wildfire. Images twisted in her mind—faces of the Jedi she was betraying.

She fell into it.

Fully.

Completely.

And the rage she held for Serina began to shape those memories into something darker.

Twisted forms rose from the ground—wraiths bearing the faces of the dead. Jedi. Sith. None were spared her reach. Their mouths screamed in silence. Their eyes were wide in horror.

But her will reigned.

She had summoned the Phantoms before, and Serina had managed to deflect them. Not this time. Her mind stayed focused, locked on the creature Serina had become—bathed in stolen power.

To the Phantoms, she was a beacon.

Their next meal.

They hungered.

Allyson stood still, controlling them, hidden in herself.

And then, another manifestation of the Force cracked through the air. Three imperceivable spears of dark energy followed in their wake, hidden by the power of her brand and her bow.

The Phantoms were just a distraction.

As they closed in on Serina, they would dissolve into mist...Right as the spears pierced through, one after another.

And then came the final blow.

Allyson drew an absencite arrow aimed for the throat of the galaxy's sin. She waited. She felt the timing, letting the Force pool around her.

When the moment was right—

She fired and faded to shadows.

The arrow sang through the air, humming with force suppression.

The the witche's death echoed in its wake.

Spoiler

1. Watched and absorbed the wave from Serina's electicity
2. Watched Serina Force drain and in turn force drained the Force Nexus
3. Wealth of Power feeding the Force Phantoms Ritual
4. Locked the Phantoms to Serina and Summoned Darkshear
5. Released Phantoms, Released Darkshear
6. Fired an Absencite arrow & activated the stone's force suppression
7. Art of the Small & Inertia control continues, force cloak returns at the end.

** made edit to clarify target for arrow

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Round 2."

Tags - CT-312 Allyson Locke Darth Malum of House Marr



The air thickened again.

Not from heat, nor smoke—but pressure. That sickening sensation of malice stirred to motion. She knew it. Felt it coil against her mind like barbed silk.

The phantoms returned.

She didn't need to look to know it was Allyson. Serina—no, Darth Virelia—had seen this game played before. The Corellian's little ghosts, forged from memory and hate. Cheap conjurings for an audience too blind to see the strings. But this time, they were different.

They looked like the dead.

Jedi. Sith. Hundreds. Wraithlike, broken. A tapestry of guilt sharpened into weapons. Their mouths opened wide in hollow screams, eyes vacant, reaching for her with arms that should have rotted centuries ago as they clawed away at the power that was so rightfully hers.

She didn't blink.

"You always were too sentimental," she murmured.

A breath drawn. A calm before the plunge.

The moment the first phantom touched the edge of her aura, she moved.

Not in panic.

In certainty.

Her boots slid half a step against the ash-coated platform, shoulders rising like storm pillars as her body flexed with the motion. One arm out. The other pulled in. Every nerve was fire. Every breath lightning.

Force Maelstrom.

It exploded from her with no scream. No fury. Just a single, staggering pulse of power drawn not from rage—but from calculation. Energy surged around her body in an orbit of crackling brilliance, catching ferrocrete fragments, superheated shrapnel, and strands of hair still damp with blood and ash. A cocoon of destruction.

The Phantoms didn't falter.

But neither did she.

The ghost collapsed as they crossed into the storm, the moment their forms flickered in the haze of heat distortion, the Maelstrom adapted. Not with raw power, but with clarity.

A shift in angle. A redirection of current. The ghosts were reduced to smoke and static.

But she didn't relax.

If Allyson had conjured phantoms, then there was more.

The spears came next.

Invisible. Razor sharp. And real.

She didn't see them. Couldn't sense them. Not through the chaos.

The Maelstrom reacted.

A sudden, angular shift in her body's posture widened the radius. The kinetic field snapped outward in a spiral, catching the first spear with the barest edge of interference. Not enough to stop it—but enough to veer it. The second exploded against a slab of ferrosteel debris caught in the storm's orbit. The third—the most direct—skimmed past her ribcage, cutting through air that had already moved. A breath later, and it would have punctured her spine.

The storm crackled, unbroken.

Virelia exhaled.

Her vision lifted.

There. Across the field. Faintly cloaked, but not enough.

Allyson.

Fading into shadow, as she always did. A trick of the bow, or some Force cloak, it didn't matter. She'd loosed the real blow.

The Absencite arrow.

Virelia heard it before she saw it. The air hummed strangely—not from impact, but from absence. A scream in negative. The sound of what wasn't there.

And that was how she knew where to act.

She didn't use the Force to stop it directly. Couldn't. Wouldn't.

Instead, she bent around it.

At the exact moment the arrow crossed into the final ten meters, Virelia dropped low, the full weight of her body slamming into her own Maelstrom. It detonated around her in a perfect centrifugal flare. Lightning turned inward. Ferrocrete turned outward. And in that shockwave—the air itself snapped. A geyser of pressure burst upward just before the arrow could get any closer, debris flying throughout the arena in one giant blast.

The arrow missed.

By a couple meters.

Not from luck.

From calculation.

The arrow spun past, carving a violent path across the edge of the platform. Sparks flew. But no blood.

Virelia straightened.

A long, slow breath through bloodstained teeth.

She looked toward the platform where Allyson had vanished.

She had liked her once. That crooked smile. That damnable wit. The way she always seemed one step out of reach. She could have been an excellent tool. A spy. A weapon. Perhaps even more, if the galaxy had bent a little differently.

But no.

She had chosen defiance.

And defiance required punishment.

The Force still bled through her. All around her, the crowd screamed—not from excitement now, but terror. She didn't need to look to see them dying. Her drain had never been subtle. It had never been fair. She'd fed on their fear, their dreams, their belief in the spectacle.

Now it would be their monument.

Virelia extended her hand.

The ground cracked beneath her. The sky seemed to hesitate.

She didn't gather the energy. She was the energy. She had stolen it, digested it, and made it hers. Their lives flowed through her veins now, converted into a purity of purpose no Sith holocron could teach.

Her voice was soft.

"Oh, Locke..."

The wind howled.

"That, requires a lashing."

And then she unleashed all the rest of her power in one final Force Storm.

The air detonated.

Forks of violet lightning tore open the atmosphere, not from the clouds, but from the ground itself. They raced toward where Allyson had last been, bending metal, ripping ferrocrete, turning platforms to slag. The sky boiled black with converging energy, swirling around a singularity of Virelia's will. No focused beam. No delicate strike.

A tempest.

This was no bolt. This was no spell. This was a world-ending scream.

The storm consumed the hiding place. If Allyson had remained there, she would be ash. If she moved—good. Let her run. Let her feel what it meant to flee from inevitability, because the storm would be all around her.

Because Virelia wasn't chasing.

She was reclaiming.

And when the storm ended, the sky hung heavy with judgment.

She didn't look away.

She whispered it to the wind:

"Everything."

Her neon eyes never dimmed.

 

[CT-312]

//: Darth Malum of House Marr Darth Virelia Allyson Locke //:
//: Arena, Ruusan //:
//: Attire //:
//: WEARING:Halcyon Armour |Contact Lenses |Wrist Mounted APG |Ancile Shield |Aredian Armlet //:
//: EQUIPMENT: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LO-18D | LO-22S | Sunshot Pistol //:
//: 35|40 Active Mag : 3 Backup Mags x LO-KI/22 Standard Slug Round | Shiva Knife | S.A.N.D. Powder //:
//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 3x Ravenous Grenades | 2x Kushute Grenades //:
//: 1x Ion Grenade | 1x Flash Grenade | 1x Incendiary Grenade | 1 x Smoke Grenade //:
//: 1 x Arrow head of Absence //:​

As CT-312 was advanced towards Darth Malum, she watched as he drew his blade. Lighting struck it, as she was mid-air, just like the bolt that destroyed the rayshield earlier. She didn’t dwell on trying to grasp Force users and their nonsense. She didn’t care where it came from. The Scout kept her eyes on the target. Just do.

Wind howled against her, gusting hard as she landed on the platform with Darth Malum. But CT-312 had already crushed the canister between them as she closed the gap. Once more the wind rose unnaturally, swirling around them hard enough to send the majority of the ravenous mist from the destroyed canister scattering.

She noticed all it took was one exposure. The mist clung like tar. CT-312’s HUD blared with alerts. Suit breeches. Repulsor offline. Vital signs dropping. Nausea swept through her. Her breath came ragged through her helmet and a trickle of blood ran past her lips. The Scout’s body screamed in every joint. A boost stim slammed into her spine. Dulling the pain enough to keep moving. CT-312 fought through worse. It wasn’t her first time feeling like karking Bantha turd.

Whatever symptoms she was feeling, Darth Malum was affected too. Micro-expressions from his body language didn’t lie. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Her right hand snapped out to grab the Darth by the chest plate. He twisted out of her reach. In the corner of her eyes, CT-312 caught the shimmer of his sword rising from below. Aiming for her outreached right arm. Reflexes kicked in as she activated the micro-repulsor in her right palm. Shifting her right arm’s trajectory down. As she too drove the armored plated forearm, catching the saber blade on the rise. Back handing it downward from where it was drawn. Sparks screamed across her plating. Leaving a gash on the top layer of the plating. Pain shot through her arm like a bolt.

[WARNING: FRACTURE RIGHT FOREARM DETECTED]

The alert barely registered. Two grenades flew toward her. Her HUD and eyes caught the glint. Incendiary and frag. A dry chuckle escaped her lips. ‘Cute.’ Clearly, Darth Malum didn’t know what lengths this Scout was willing to go to complete her duty. She gritted her teeth as she brought up her left hand. Catching the incendiary grenade mid-air and flung it back toward Darth Malum’s feet. It skidded once.

BOOM. Plasma fire erupted behind him. Consuming the whole back of the platform. Cutting of any retreat.

The fragmentation grenade went off in front of her. BOOM. Shrapnel slammed into CT-312. Pieces lodged in her combat glove and into the Halcyon’s armored plating. The armor still held. A few cut across her visor. Cracks spread like spiderwebs. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. CT-312 tasted iron. She didn’t stop. Activating her micro-repulsors, continuing to surge forward. Unrelenting.

[WARNING: INTERNAL BLEEDING DETECTED]
[AUTO-INJECTING STIM BOOST]
[AUTO-INJECTING BACTASTIM]

CT-312 would force the fight at close range. The remaining mist still slowly emitted from the ravenous grenades attached to her. Engulfing CT-312 and whoever was within her proximity. Her left vambrace blade snapped out. Guarding across her body. “My turn.” Another jolt of pain shot up in her whole right arm as she grabbed the incendiary grenade on her. Pulling the pin with her thumb, priming the grenade. Surging forward.

As she drove herself forward to Darth Malum and his drawn fourth blade. Her left vambrace blade would intercept. Once more driving herself within arm’s reach. CT-312 brought up her right hand, just as she did with the crushed ravenous grenade before. Her grip loosened. The incendiary slightly lifted up. Just out of her hand. Between them.

BOOM. Flames engulfed the area between the close proximity of Darth Malum and CT-312. The whole platform was consumed in fire.
Within seconds CT-312’s cracked HUD screamed. Flashing warnings on the cracked visor.

[SYSTEM CRITICAL FAILURE]
[WARNING: OVEREXPOSURE TO HEAT]
[WARNING: HEALTH STABILITY CRITICAL]
[AUTO-INJECTING BACTASTIM]

Everything burned. Her cloaking shut off. The front side camouflaged plating of her body glowed red hot. Searing with unbearable intensity. It wasn't just outside. It was inside now, sinking through the seams of her amor. Baking muscle and nerve beneath. It scorched through the body suit, gaps in her gear. Crawling into her skin like fire made flesh. Another stabbing pressed against her spine. CT-312 didn't stop burning, but the bacta-stim gave her a few seconds to endure it. Biting back the agony like liquid ice. Nerve endings numbed. The worst of the skin damage halted mid-layer.

CT-312’s vision blurred. Faint loud explosions and crackling on the other end of the area could barely be heard. Was her mind slipping? Ghosts appeared in her field of vision. The dead. Were those phantoms or memories? The Scout couldn’t tell. They were all moving towards the faint sounds of destruction. CT-312 laughed. A jagged and broken sound.

“Ha… ha ha…”

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum’s head shook with the gravity of whatever the poison that had set the claxions whirling in his head off, Malum’s entire body shook with the desperation sought forth of the very matter of skin and cells on invisible flames. Whatever the gas had been, it was not like the first duel, that in which the voidstone had Malum rapidly disconnect and reenter his mind, the gas had banished Malum truly... but the poison, whatever it was, still affected what remained behind. It was focus, it was singleminded determination, that had the form stand its ground. It was not only Malum that fight to mutual annihilation.

War had never determined who was right, the ghost that inhabited the form of the youngest Dark Councillor held no care for who the figure before it was, it held no concern for their values, their history, their intent.

War had never determined who was right.

It only determined who was left.

As a hand alone tried to cease the momentum of his blade.

Malum’s lips grunted at the energy held within the armoured hand, even as it knew, it knew deeply well that even as the accelerating blade ceased, its velocity broken.

It had broken bone.

The soldier did not stop.

The figure of Malum did not either, even as the blood leaked out of their lips, any other moment there may have been concern, but now... concern did nothing in the face of an enemy that so suredly wanted their master dead. The blade whirling forward in defensive position, ready to counter any new assault.

One of the grenades caught in the enemy’s palm, thrown back towards the Sith Lord’s form, it may have played for an amusing game of hot potato if not for the trajectory of the throw.

A hissing burst shook the background environs, as the lava behind was joined in front of it by a wildfire of flaming torches, the path of retreat cut off. The other grenade did far batter, time seeming to slow as without ceremony nor ritual, the circular weapon exploded, sending the fragmentation of its making colliding into the form of the soldier before it. Whatever fragments meant for the heir of House Marr, blocked away as for barest moment, the gauntlet came alive, a yellow shimmer, blocking the path of the grenade.

She fought with a suicidal tenacity, well, the ghost that inhabited skin and mind would not deny them the demise they so dearly deserved and sought.

Black boots swung against the plate and steel of the floor as the next grenade unveiled itself, drawing forth close, too close, indeed it could be called point blank. It would not only strike it, but it would also strike the soldier.

Good enough.

Singleminded purpose needed to be away from the soldier, if the soldier killed themselves then all the better.

Flames rose behind it.

A platform lay nearby, speeding towards them, one of the few that held the ability to be in motion.

The figure turned slightly, the cape unclipped, bait to be caught, Malum’s cape to be a direct casualty in the matters ahead. One hand drew a grenade filled with black smoke, the other's fingers found itself with a poison dipped Shikkar.

As the Tsaisibola awoke, the black hand forming purchase around its tail.

All flung forth for the enemy, one to blind, one to pierce, one to wrap around, and find any weakness to bite down upon. As Malum's form leapt onto the speeding platform, the run was slower than it would have liked, the knees wavering and frail, but despite the poison its lungs, survival, singleminded survival was all that could be considered, the flames might have cooked the figure alive, as the gauntlet activated again, wrapping around the form, as only it had made the ghost so bold.

It may have even fell into the lava, and it would have been safe.

A grunt fell forth, as shaking knees made purchase upon new ground, new ground enirely unstable, as it shook side to side, gravity making its work, as new weight landed.

A great fire took over the platform as the newest incendiary grenade went off.

Spoiler: Equipment

Equipment:
The Amulet of Darth Marr's Ashes x 1
Band of Conjuring x 1
The Eliadian Ring of Flames x 1
Mk. 2 Ophidia Assassin Armour x 1
Lionskin Defence Gauntlet x 1
The Blade of Storm and Flame x 1
The Soulsabre x 1
Jin'Wodasir x 5
A Lover's Healing Potion x 1
A Seer Stone x 1
Grenades x 7 (1 Incendiary, 2 Chemical Gas, 1 Fragmentation, 2 Stun, 1 Smoke)
Shikkars dipped in Devaranonian Blood Poison x 4
Tsaisibola x 1(Thrown)
Tsariquira x 1
HG-88 'Big Iron' Hand Cannon x 1
Dishiarza x 1 (Carrying the Soulsabre)

Spoiler: TLDR

1. The poison's affects continue to hit Malum, despite the limited quantity ingested, the entire form suffering.
2. Malum's blade parries away the soldier's hand, and takes up new defensive position.
3. The incendiary grenade explodes behind, seeming to cut off the path of retreat, as the fragmentation grenade slams into the soldier, Malum using his gauntlet to block any that may come his way.
4. Malum notices one of the mobile platforms being near and determines to leap, throwing down a smoke grenade, a poison dipped shikkar, and the Tsisaibola in a bid to finish the soldier off, as she's wielding a grenade at point blank range, hoping the suicidal fighting style will take her out, as he withdraws.
5. He successfully jumps, but begins to note how weak he is becoming, as the platform he was on is engulfed in flames (Of course up to CT on what ended up happening.

Allyson Locke Darth Virelia CT-312