Waiting for an answer, CT-312 watched the micro expressions shift across Darth Virelia’s face. Still smiling. Her head tilted slightly upward. The molten lava below casted flickering light along the underside of her face, her jawline, her torn robes. When the Lady spoke, her tone gave nothing away. No anger. No theatrics. Instead it was controlled. Just calm, quiet, confidence. CT-312 held steady as the Sith slowly stepped forward onto another platform. Closer.
She scanned for signs of aggression. A twitch. A tell. Anything to give reason to pull the trigger. But there was nothing. Only the Lady’s eyes flickering briefly to her weapon, before returning to her visor.
So CT-312 did. This time she looked
closely. Fully assessing the damage. Bandages across her midsection. Burn marks. Saber wounds half-sealed. Still bleeding somewhere, probably. A body in recovery. A body halfway towards death. Not hiding it, nor defending it. Darth Virelia was just… wearing it.
The Camo Scout just simply stood there. Breathing slowly through the modulator. Another step. Two platforms apart. The tension in the air was taught, like a tripwire pulled thin between them. CT-312’s finger rested just outside the trigger guard. Not on it…
not yet. Then she picked up on the sudden shift in tone.
"I am not unchecked power," she said, voice curling like smoke. "I am inevitability."
Confidence. That’s what this was. Not arrogance. Not madness.
Control. The Lady radiated it like heat from the lava below. Darth Virelia’s eyes focused on CT-312 the whole time. Unbothered by the crowd, the risk, or even the weapon she had in her hands. Darth Virelia carried no need to prove herself. She
measured. The Lady had said all the right things. About restraint, balance. About survival. CT-312 had heard it before. Always spoken right before the mask slipped. Reminding her what they
really were.
But still… Darth Virelia hadn’t lied… That much the Scout could read. Not in her voice. But her
demeanor. From the restraint. The
precision.
‘Not.’
Despite the Darth being two platforms away, it felt as if the Lady was standing
right infront of her. As if her outstretched hand might touch CT-312’s chestplate at any second. Her grip tightened on the weapon.
Was it praise or observation? And
‘What the hell even was even a Jedi?’ The Scout’s thoughts churned behind the visor. Processing faster than she should sort them.
‘Unchecked.’
The silence in their arena was deafening. Heat from the molten magma wrapped around them like a vise. Making the pressure of the atmosphere even hotter. Another step from Darth Virelia was taken. Arm’s length now. Close enough for a lunge. Close enough for a squeeze of the trigger. Only a fool would get this close. The Lady’s voice shifted again. Softer. But sharper. Her posture changed again. CT-312 could feel the knife behind those words as they lingered, if she were to pull the trigger.
"You're not disposable, Scout," she said softly. "Not to me."
‘Ha.’ CT-312 scoffed. A dry, bitter sound.
‘I’m not disposable, huh?’ Not to
you. Could mean she was useful. A piece. A pawn. Or maybe it meant she was
seen. And that was almost more dangerous. CT-312 knew she was created to be
disposable. Thrown out like junk.
That was the truth. There was no place for her. Except the inevitable. This?
Amusing. The thought dug deep. CT-312 felt her jaw clench under the helmet.
‘Different.’
She eyed Darth Virelia’s back as she turned. Exposed and vulnerable. Taunting to most. But it wasn’t arrogance. It was something worse…
Certainty. A clean exit had been offered. An option. Choice. Her mind churned. The temptation.
CRASH. Platforms from the arena behind Darth Virelia caved inward. Colliding with each other in a loud shriek of metal.
CT-312 snapped back to the moment. Her eyes twitched behind the Lady. It was the Champion of the Sith Order and Malum. Without missing a beat, another thunderclap echoed across the stadium. A volley of missiles slamming into the arena to the left of them. Flashes of smoke. Fire and chaos. Her visor snapped slightly towards the direction of the destruction, while having Darth Virelia in her line of sight still.
The Scout saw it and knew immediately.
‘That’s right...’ TK-710,
Jacen Breska
, was still here. Fighting in
that arena. Still standing. Still pushing forward. That’s what soldiers did. That’s what
they are. Always fighting their way out. They couldn’t trust anybody in this place, just each other. CT-312’s head slowly turned. Eyes beneath locked with the Sith. A low growl built in her chest.
A frustrated breath hissed through her filter. CT-312 hated
every moment of this karking tournament. She stepped forward. One foot. Not chasing.
Testing. Her body dropped back into a combat stance. Rifle raised. Cautious and centered. She advanced, closing the gap to another arms length again. Muzzle to Darth Virelia’s back.
CT-312’s voice came down low through the vocoder. Steady and unreadable.
“You turn your back like that on anyone else…” A pause.
“ …you die.” No malice. No anger. Just fact.
Aiming at her target.
One more twitch. One more breath. Finger hovering just above the trigger.