Duel Master VS Apprentice

[Laphisto]

Laphisto stood at the center of the training room, his posture rigid and deliberate, both arms folded behind his back. The chamber stretched wide around him, its reinforced flooring worn with the marks of countless prior engagements. he stood there patiently waiting for the others to arrive. he had sent the message out to all his current apprentices, and yet they would have the option of open challenge or simple speciation. there was a part of him that actually hoped at least one if not all of them would rise to the challenge.

After all The war with the Mandalorians had forced a realization he could no longer ignore. It was not a matter of strength or resolve. Those had never been in question. What the conflict had revealed was something far less forgiving. There were gaps in refinement, in adaptability, in the kind of disciplined combat training that could not be replaced by instinct or experience alone. Against an enemy that fought with precision and unity, those gaps became liabilities.

And that failure did not belong to him alone. His apprentices had chosen this path. They had chosen to stand within the ranks of the Lilaste Order, to take on the responsibilities and dangers that came with it. That choice demanded more than guidance. It demanded preparation, and preparation could not exist without pressure. Laphisto had held back before, he was afraid truth be told. that if he let them out on there own accord then he would lose them. just like he lost Jacen all those years ago. shaking his head free fromt he thoughts he sighed.

The message he sent had been direct, stripped of anything unnecessary. They were to meet him here, in the training room, and they were to arrive as if they were stepping into a real engagement. No hesitation. No assumption of safety. No expectation that he would temper his actions for their sake. He would not. This would not be a lesson in the traditional sense. It would be a trial. They were to treat him as an enemy combatant. Not their master. Not their commander. Not the High Commander of the Lilaste Order. Titles held no meaning in what was about to unfold. The moment they stepped into this room, those distinctions would cease to matter.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre did not rush.

The corridors of Aurora Station stretched long and quiet beneath her measured steps, the persistent hum of the station's systems serving as a familiar, mechanical shadow at her back. She had received the summons just as the others had, and like them, she understood the gravity of the call; this was not a moment for instruction, but one of judgment.

By the time she reached the heavy training chamber doors, her pace had neither quickened nor slowed. There was no outward tension in her posture, nor any visible sign of hesitation; instead, a quiet, deliberate focus had settled over her like a second skin, anchoring her to the present.

She was not dressed as a diplomat, nor as a healer; her attire bore a much grimmer distinction. The LO-58A plating sat fitted and purposeful across her frame, its matte surfaces broken only by subtle reinforcement lines that spoke to a balance of mobility and resilience. It was not ceremonial armor meant to inspire, but a tool meant to endure the unthinkable.

The doors parted with a low, hydraulic hiss, and she stepped inside.

For a brief moment, she simply observed. The worn floor told its own story, etched with the jagged remnants of countless prior engagements, leaving the space open, unobstructed, and pointedly intentional. And at its center stood Laphisto.

Her gaze settled on him, steady and unreadable. There was no greeting offered and no words exchanged; whatever history existed between them outside these walls had no place here. Not today.

Her hands remained at her sides, unarmed, her posture neutral yet far from idle. The subtle alignment of her stance betrayed a readiness held in reserve—a coiled strength not yet called upon, but never truly out of reach. She moved then, but only enough to claim her position within the space, standing slightly off-center to leave room for the others who would inevitably follow.

As she came to a stop, a heavy silence settled around her, the distant hum of the station pressing faintly at the edges of the chamber. Her attention never wavered from Laphisto, yet she neither advanced nor made a show of preparation.

She simply stood. Waiting.

Laphisto

 

[Aknoby]

The boy took a deep breath as he walked down the hallways. He had a rough idea of what to expect and just how dangerous it could be.

He checked the helmet strapped to his waist, as well as his lightsaber, his sword, and his pistol. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down; he had never been this nervous about something like this before—excited and anxious, yes, but this level of nervousness was something only a father would feel doing this with his son.

Taking one last deep breath, he entered, putting on his helmet, subconsciously wanting to show that at least he had learned that lesson. He didn't need to look at Iandre; he knew his older sister well enough to understand where she was positioned.

He stood there waiting for something to happen or for the other apprentices to arrive



Laphisto Iandre Athlea

 

[Laphisto]

He remained stationary as both of his apprentices entered the training chamber, his arms crossed neatly behind his back. For a brief moment, nothing moved. Then a low rumble escaped him, subtle but carrying weight, and his arms fell to his sidess The shift was immediate.

His hand snapped down to his pistol in a single fluid motion, drawing and firing in the same breath. The weapon cracked sharply, the sound echoing through the room as all twelve rounds were expended without hesitation. Five shots were directed toward Aknoby , spaced with precision to force movement and disrupt footing, while the remaining seven were driven toward Iandre Athlea in a tighter, more aggressive grouping meant to overwhelm her defenses.

He did not wait to see how they responded. His forward step turned into a full charge as his free hand thrust outward, the Force surging from his palm. in a force blast that rolled acrossd the deck between them, ripping through the plating with a screech of tearing metal. Sections of the floor were wrenched free, jagged sheets of durasteel lifting and hurtling forward in a chaotic storm aimed at both apprentices.

Through the debris, he pressed on. His saber ignited mid-stride with a sharp snap-hiss, the blade flaring to life and casting harsh light across the fractured ground. There was no pause in his advance, no break in the assault. He closed the distance with intent.

 

[Aknoby]

Aknob raises his shield, blocking the bullets before they even touch his armor, and plants his feet firmly on the ground.

And then, boom—Laphisto attacked them with the Force, hurling metal at them. The young man didn't wait; he leaped over some of the shrapnel, activated his lightsaber, planted his foot on a piece of shrapnel, and that was enough to launch himself through the air using other pieces of shrapnel. He began to move, using the Ataru form as a foundation for the other forms he had learned.

Laphisto Iandre Athlea

OOC: Now we start laying Duel of Fates??))

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre felt the shift in the atmosphere a heartbeat before the first shot was fired, her lightsaber already finding its way into her palm by the time the pistol cracked. The green blade ignited with a sharp snap-hiss, cutting through the dim chamber as she moved, not in a retreat, but stepping precisely off-line to negate his angle.

The incoming rounds were not plasma.

She adjusted instantly.

Her defense became motion and perception rather than interception. The tighter grouping forced precision, and she answered with it. Her body turned just enough to let the first shots pass, while her awareness expanded outward through the Force, catching the path of each projectile a fraction before it arrived. One round, she met with a controlled, glancing deflection, not to return it, but to shear its trajectory aside. Another she displaced with a subtle pulse of the Force, just enough to throw off its line without wasting energy.

The rest never found her.

They passed through the space she had already vacated, her footwork exact, her movements minimal, denying the rounds anything solid to strike.

There was no wasted energy in her defense, and certainly no wasted motion, even when the Force surged a moment later to tear the floor apart beneath them. As durasteel ripped free in a violent wave, she did not bother to brace against the upheaval; instead, she moved through the chaos, her footing adjusting mid-step as she flowed between jagged fragments. Her awareness extended outward, an invisible web that allowed her to anticipate exactly where the debris would fall so she could simply be elsewhere.

Her gaze never left him, tracking his every twitch until the moment he charged.

As he closed the distance, her stance shifted into the refined lines of Makashi, focused, exact, and predatory. When his blade finally came within reach, she met it with a precise interception; it was not a crude clash of strength, but a calculated engagement designed to redirect his momentum rather than absorb it. The contact was brief and deliberate, her wrist turning just enough to guide his strike away from her centerline as she stepped in tandem with his movement. She maintained the exact distance she required, denying him the close-quarters range his aggression demanded while her own blade flickered in tight, efficient arcs.

Every angle was measured, every probe intended to test his openings and punish even the slightest misstep. She did not press him recklessly, but she did not yield an inch of ground either. Without a single word or a moment of instruction, she maintained a quiet, relentless pressure, the hallmark of a duelist who had no interest in a lesson, only in the win.

Aknoby Laphisto

 

[Laphisto]

A low snarl curled from Laphisto's throat as he tracked Aknoby's movement through the air, watching the boy use the drifting shards as stepping points to carry himself forward. His left hand snapped outward, fingers tightening as the Force answered immediately. The durasteel did not simply lift this time; it shifted under his control, the very pieces Aknoby relied on warping mid-motion.

The shards beneath Aknoby twisted and wrenched sideways as he stepped, altering their angles just enough to throw off his balance and trajectory. At the same time, additional plates tore free from the deck and surged upward in staggered bursts, not aimed to strike cleanly, but to intercept his path. Laphisto's control tightened as the metal bent inward on approach, his intent clear: catch a limb, drag, wrap, and slow him down long enough to break the chain of movement that kept him airborne.

his focus snapped to Iandre without hesitation. just before their blades met, and he felt her control immediately, precise and refined. Instead of contesting it, he allowed it. His grip faulted just enough to sell the lapse, not weakness, but a calculated opening. Her redirection guided his blade off-line as intended, but in doing so he hoped to try and pull her closer than she had planned.

and if he suceeded his head snapped back, then drove forward in a sudden, brutal motion. The strike was direct, aimed square for her brow, his leg then rising up to place a kick square to her chest if the opening allowed for it. otherwise be dug his feet in and aimed to drag his blade across her midsection.

Aknoby Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre felt the shift in his intent the instant it happened.

Makashi prized control, precision, and economy, but it also demanded sensitivity to deception. The yielding in his grip was too convenient, the opening too clean. What another duelist might have mistaken for error, she recognized as invitation.

She did not take it.

Rather than follow the redirected line fully inward, she released the pressure she had been applying to his blade and let her own momentum die by degrees. Her lead foot adjusted in a sharp half-step, angling her body off the centerline at the very moment his head drove forward. The strike passed close enough for her to feel the displaced air brush across her brow, but found no solid target.

His rising kick came a heartbeat later.

Her free hand dropped instantly, palm catching and guiding at the outside of his shin rather than trying to stop the force outright. She turned with it, letting the impact glance past her torso while the movement carried her another step away from the direct lane of his follow-up. Even so, the strength behind it jarred through her arm and shoulder, a reminder that friendly or not, Laphisto never believed in wasted commitment.

His blade dragged for her midsection as he recovered.

Her green saber snapped down in a tight arc, intercepting with a shower of light and a sharp hiss. Rather than bind strength against strength, she rolled her wrist and slid his strike away from her body, redirecting the cut low and outward as she pivoted around the engagement.

Distance. She reclaimed it immediately.

The chamber floor was still scarred and littered from his earlier assault, but Iandre moved across it as though the chaos had been planned for her benefit. Her stance reset into the elegant lines of Makashi once more, blade held poised and economical, point leveled toward him like an accusation.

A faint breath left her nose, almost a laugh.

"Subtle as ever, Master."

Then she advanced.

This time her offense came in a sequence of measured thrusts and narrow cuts, not wild aggression but disciplined pressure. One tested his weapon side shoulder, another his wrist, the next his thigh, each strike flowing into the next with surgical efficiency meant to make him defend honestly rather than bully space through force and momentum.

She knew better than to underestimate him.

But she had no intention of being dragged into his kind of fight either.

Laphisto

 

[Aknoby]

The snarl—he didn't like that move. Ataru isn't the kind of opponent style Laphisto likes to face. Great!

Nothing he throws can wipe the smile off my face—how could you not smile in this situation? Losing your balance? Getting hit? You clearly don't know anything about Ataru.

Not keeping my body still, I spin into in the air and use the Force in a large piece of Durasteel, and the Force bounces me to the next piece, and bang—three shots of training ammunition coming from the air and a target I've never seen being attacked: the tail.

After the shots hit either the tail or the ground, I laugh and spin in the air as I land, lightsaber in one hand, pistol in the other, and I advance, having fun as always in a fight.

Laphisto Iandre Athlea

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto's gaze split between them, but his focus did not. It never did. The boy moved like a storm given limbs, bounding from fragment to fragment, refusing to be pinned. The girl, by contrast, was a blade drawn to its finest edge, every motion measured, every inch of distance held with intent. Two entirely different threats, yet working toward the same outcome: deny him control.

His stance shifted not forward, but down. His talons dug into the fractured durasteel, and this time when the Force answered him, it did not rise in scattered fragments. It sank. The entire floor buckled.

Not in a violent eruption like before, but in a sudden, crushing shift. Plates of durasteel slammed downward while others rose at jagged angles, seams splitting wide as if the chamber itself were trying to devour what stood upon it. The battlefield didn't explode. It collapsed inward.

Aknoby found his stepping stones didn't just move they dropped, twisted, and inverted all at once, turning every point of contact into a liability instead of an advantage. What had been a path became a trap, each piece threatening to fold, snap, or slam shut the moment weight touched it.

When he heard the shots from Aknoby, his hand waved off to the side. and the Force answered in a short, controlled pulse. The air warped just enough to catch the incoming rounds and shove them off their line, sending them skimming wide or into the shifting durasteel with sharp, scattered impacts.

Laphisto's hand clenched, and the metal obeyed. Several of the larger plates didn't simply fall. They snapped upward in a staggered sequence, not to strike, but to cut off escape vectors, boxing the boy's movement into tightening lanes.

He then moved on Iandre Athlea without breaking stride. Her thrust came in clean and direct. He didn't avoid it. The blade struck across his armor with a sharp hiss, dragging along reinforced plating and throwing sparks. The heat bit through the outer layer, but he held position and let the strike carry through. While her blade was committed, his gauntlet came up.

He caught it. Tutaminus flared across his palm as he closed his hand over the blade, the Force wrapping around the energy and slowing it just enough to hold. The contact burned and fought against his grip, but it stalled her weapon for a moment.

That was all he needed. His other arm drove forward immediately, a straight, armored punch aimed for her center mass. He stepped into it at the same time, using his full weight to force the impact and follow through into her space.

He didn't stop there. The forward motion continued, turning into a shove meant to keep her from resetting her footing or regaining distance. If she gave ground, he would take it. If she held, he would press through the bind. Behind him, the durasteel continued to shift under his control, limiting movement and tightening the space around them.

 

[Aknoby]

"Stopping my movement?"

Aknoby speaks without hesitation but still with that tone of someone having fun, and he fires,not at Laphisto but at the durasteel. Each bullet, fired with Force, collides head-on with Laphisto's concentration on keeping everything as he wants it, forcing him to choose where to focus and opening a gap for one of them to attack—speaking of attacking.

Aknoby moves in a straight line, fast very fast. His lightsaber is like a storm; he strikes whatever is in his path using a combination of Ataru and Djem-So, and he continues attacking as he approaches Laphisto, forcing the dragon man to choose between Aknoby and Iandre while at the same time not giving him a single millisecond to do so.



Laphisto Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

The chamber lurched violently beneath them, but Iandre did not attempt to overpower the shifting terrain or force stability where none existed. The moment the floor gave way under the pressure of Laphisto's control, she adjusted with it instead, her footing changing in seamless increments as fractured plates dropped and twisted around her. She felt the structure collapsing inward through the Force before the metal fully obeyed him, allowing her to move with the instability rather than against it.

Her blade struck across his armor in a hiss of sparks, but the instant his gauntlet closed over the emerald blade, she understood what he intended. The resistance of Tutaminis wrapped around the weapon, slowing its momentum and binding the exchange just long enough to create an opening.

So she gave him the blade.

The green saber vanished instantly with a sharp snap-hiss as she deactivated it directly inside his grasp.

At the same moment, she folded backward beneath the incoming punch in one smooth motion, her spine bending into a deep arch that carried her just beneath the armored strike as it cut through the air where her chest had been a heartbeat earlier. The movement was fluid and precise despite the unstable terrain beneath them, more like a dancer slipping beneath a sweeping beam than a duelist trapped in close quarters.

But she did not retreat.

As the exchange carried forward, her free hand struck downward against the fractured durasteel beneath them, and the Force answered immediately. Instead of driving debris directly at him, she tore sideways at the unstable battlefield itself. Sections of already-broken plating sheared violently laterally while loosened fragments spun outward in a sharp circular burst around them, turning the confined engagement space into sudden chaos and forcing the battlefield itself into motion once more.

The carefully controlled lanes and the collapsing structure surrounding them became unstable again, no longer moving solely according to the pattern he had established earlier.

Using the disruption as cover, she twisted out from directly in front of him and reignited her saber in the same motion, the emerald blade flaring back to life near his flank rather than before him. What followed was not a heavy assault, but a rapid sequence of precise Makashi strikes, controlled thrusts, and angled cuts designed to exploit the sudden instability of the moment rather than overpower him outright.

Laphisto Aknoby