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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.
The announcers’ disembodied voice cut through as the combatants took their places on the boughs of the tree. “Honoring those who fell in the Battle of Kashyyyk between the One Sith and Republic, so many years ago, I give you the FIRST ROUND of the GALACTIC Kaggath!”
“Frrrrooooooom beyond the Black Wall. The Sephi Sadist. The Kainite Killer. The Pale Warrior. I give you LIRKA. KA!”
“AND HER OPPONENT. The Warrior-blood of Varl. The Pulsar’s Chosen. The Champion of the Hutt Cartel. Whoooooooooooottoooomuuuuuuuuzzz CHAAAANTIN!”
It was a better arena than she ever could have hoped for, the sheer ridiculous spectacle of it all brought the old gladiator's spirit aflame as it had been in her youth. They wanted a show; she would give them one. Not just the bloodthirsty crowd, the very Galaxy itself. Let them know the name Lirka Ka, and let it be a name uttered in fear. The distant Sith whose rituals had been warped for the ends of the money-grubbers that made this Galaxy knew her well enough, she had been dubbed Imperator after all.
Gladiatorial work certainly seemed to be...detached from the mission charged to her. But appearances were important; any good politicking monster knew that. She had a certain brutal one she liked to present to the Galaxy, Whottoomuzz Chantin
would be the first of many in this bout to taste the violent wrath of Lirka Ka.
She had spoken with the Hutt once before, when matters of shady underworld dealings seemed paramount in heralding herself along the Dark Path. Times certainly changed. Lirka paced on her half on the branch now, a predator's gaze directed back towards the massive form of the armored hutt. She had heard of War-Shells before, seen them never. It was not often Lirka was dwarfed in stature, and she welcomed this newest opportunity for violence.
The bigger they are. The harder they fall.
Glancing down to the distant battlefield floor briefly, she pondered if that would be a literal statement today. Her slit-lenses returned to the hutt as she paced, patiently waiting for who would make the first move. As she walked, a metal fist thumped against her chest where her hearts were. A primal metallic drumming over the rancor of the crowd, a beckon to fight. A beckon to kill.
A beckon to see who Primordial Dark would deem worthy today.
The branch beneath him, massive at it was, still shifted with his every movement bark cracking, limb creaking in pained protest. The bloodseeking shell-hutt of Chantin steadily slithered, every centimeter he advanced was deliberate. There were no theatrics, yet. Clearly, limb of a massive tree was far from a Hutt's natural habitat.
The opponent across the gap was what truly was unnatural, but in this spectacle of battle she appeared in her element.
Small comfort it was that he could barely feel the radius of wrongness of the void stone, the most extravagant material in the opulent worn wealth of Shyran Dol, the dynastic heirloom armor of the Chantin Kajidic. It went unused for centuries, but has seen constant field usage in the past months. Birds no longer sang. The Force, for those sensitive enough to feel it, thinned into something as distant and dry as ash. It was silence and suffocation.
He remembered the slaves he’d bought from her once, a batch of "enhanced" humanoids. They had been modified, twisted. Morbid Aftermarket Upgrades.
The Hutt did not speak of it now.
Lirka Ka had welcomed the fight with pomp and cruelty. Whottoomuzz welcomed it with determination and grit. If this was to be the site of his death, he would not go easily, he would not go silently. A death on his terms, not hiding behind credits and murishani.
He stopped just shy of the center branch. The stabilizers in his repulsor harness adjusted minutely. There was no good footing for a creature like him here. That meant nothing to the violence that would soon arrive.
His Electrostaff hissed to life. A violet hum crackled at either end. The shoulder- mounted armaments began their sweep of targets, aligning with the HUD and Huttese
Glyphs of Shyran Dol. He raised the staff in one hand, as challenge, as acknowledgement.
Then he dragged it against the branch beside him. Sparks hissed.
His armor's heraldry had worn, caked in blood, mud, and slime, obscuring the sigils of Cartel or clan. Only damage. Only scars.
His ranged armaments began target seeking the Imperator. A pragmatic approach as an opening probe – let the terrain serve in some fashion, despite the issues it presented.
The target locked, and he waited, measuring the other hulking figure I. A powered exoskeleton.
At the first sign of movement, a payload spat from the integrated Rocket Launcher system — a dramatic honing explosive, merely to probe the once-Sephi's reaction under the force-suppressed field.
Once, she may have groveled and lied, coaxing out the meaning of the Hutt’s rumbling words. It was not that day anymore, Whottoomuzz Chantin
had nothing she wanted anymore. Nothing but the blood in his veins, and the meat on his bones. So, all she could do was let out a laugh, a piercing thing.
She noted the branch’s pained groans, adding a stomp of her foot to accent the plant’s misery. Though even more, she noted the voidstone on the Hutt’s warplate. That microcosm of bleak material from holy Otherspace, that mirror of her own empty void. Maybe he did have something she wanted.
The thumping stopped, and Ka spoke. Mockery oozed from her words, her voice thunderous. Amplified by her marred helmet.
“Your death shall be one for the history books, your great rotundness. Lirka Ka promises you that.”
And with that, violence. Her blade crackled to life just like his staff. Electro-plasma filament roared as she ran her blade through the tree as she broke into a mad sprint in mirror to the Hutt’s own maneuver. Lirka was bulky, though admittedly puny looking in comparison today, yet despite that she was faster than she ever should have been. Unnatural muscular and roaring servos propelled the Once-Sephi forward like a metal missile.
Much like the missile that was fired at her in response. She moved left, she moved right. A zig zagging flash of dark metal plates, information flashed in front of her face as the missile remained locked onto her being. So she did the once thing that seemed reasonable: raising her arms in defensive stance she let the thing slam into her in fiery explosion. The beast was flung back, a cloud of smoke in the air.
That couldn’t have been it.
It certainly wasn’t it. Green glow pierced through the smoke, and Lirka Ka continued her attack despite the beauteous pain that surged through her. Leaping high, she pounced out from the cloud of smoke with blade raised high to bring it down upon the Hutt. It was her turn to probe defenses now.
Smoke curled where the missile had struck, a trail of it following the gree glowing figure now pouncing at the Hutt, blade aloft. The soot on her armor, the carbon scoring of a direct hit—it told him all he needed. She’d taken the blow on purpose.
Good. This would not be a dull fight.
He saw her launch herself in an arc of fury as her blade's trajectory headed directly for the massive Slug. A gout of flame erupted from the Hutt’s wrist, A spray from his Flamethrower. A swathe of burning gel burst forth, a conical spray of brilliant-orange accelerant spewing into the path of the attacker – He knew her armor would likely protect her from the flame, her momentum certainly wouldn't change, but it was always a pleasent thing to see your enemy wreathed in fire. In truth, it was a distraction to conceal the visibility of his Personal Energy Shield flaring to life.
The blow came like thunder. Her blade collided with the shield’s field, sparks and static flaring between them, before the barrier gave way with a sizzle and pop, overloaded for the time being.
He had underestimated the sheer force of the musculature driving the songsteel and electro-plasma filaments of her blade. Her blade bit into the armored gap of his upper arm, slicing through soft tissue until it kissed phrik. Hutt blood hissed down the plating, viscous and hot, but even thought the branch itself recoiled from the force of the collision, rustiling leaves and drawing attention from the predators below, the warlord didn’t himself didn't stagger.
He exhaled as the dark green slime poured from the wound.
"Toka joday. Da eeth nay uba woy cunkee see uba mee pankay. "
He spoke even as he moved.
His massive, helmeted head crashed forward toward her face in a brutal headbutt rebuttal, his suits servo-assisted power only adding to the massive force of the Hutt musculature – a blow intended to knock the attacker back, to create space.
And if that space was created— even if only half a meter—his Electrostaff swung from the opposite hand, aiming for her midsection with the full momentum of Hutt muscle and repulsor-assisted torque. A single, punishing sweep, crackling with plasma. A call for spectacle; not of words, but of the dance of life and death.
Defensive Actions: Personal energy shield activated to absorb initial blade strike. Overloaded energy shield and failed. Blade pierced left forearm arm.
Offensive Actions: Wrist-mounted flamethrower trap triggered mid-leap (cosmetic fire intended to coat Lirka, easily avoidable/negated). Headbutt attempted to create space for a full-force electrostaff swing aimed at Lirka's midsection.
Mobility / Positioning: Holding near center bough. Minimal displacement.
Armor / Gear Use: Flamethrower (ZX) deployed. Personal energy shield activated (now overloaded). Electrostaff in active swing.
Damage Taken: Deep gash to upper left arm (non-critical). Bleeding but functional. • Status: Wounded. Controlled. Retaliating. Engaged.
Lirka Ka was many things. A bully. A murderer. Insane (from a certain point of view). Self-centered, cruel, conniving. Scum. A liar. And a myriad of other unpleasant things.
But in that very long list of descriptors? Dull would never be one. She would fight, and she would fight well. It was the Primordial Dark bid for the worthy few who walked the Path. She would prove her strength, and her worthiness over the metal slug she brawled with today. Then she would fight, kill, and fight again. Beyond even the confines of this Kaggath. Fight and kill, forevermore.
He thought correctly about his spurt of flame, the heat splashed across Lirka's form and she could feel the plates begin to heat. The Hutt had a mind for spectacle, like a true gladiator. She could respect that. There wasn't enough proper spectacle in the grim broodiness of Sithdom. Her blade clashed with his shield in a glorious spectacle of sparks and crackling energy. She pushed, she struggled against the technology of the Hutt's shield before it finally cracked and the whistling blade found its way to flesh.
Blood had been spilt, and the true battle had begun. Now, it was only a matter of time for her to wait till her own foulblood would be let loose to the world once more in all of its chemical wretchedness. She felt little compulsion to give her fellow fighter respect this time, the people loved a villain. And who was she to deny the will of the people?
"Hm...I suppose looking at you, I expected to see two hutts before me now."
A gladiator's kiss. She was used to the move. It had certainly become something of a signature in her many bouts against Jedi and Sith alike. Except this time, she was the one on the lesser position compared to when she could fling her metal dome around like a club. She tumbled back, head ringing. She could taste the burn of her black-blood in her mouth, good. It would not be a one-sided exchange. He staff collided into her with a metallic thump, a groan of mechanization following as Lirka's many systems did all they could to prevent the Once-Sephi from being flung aside by the force of it. She was a conductive beast, and energy flew wildly from her dark metal plates. Yet, she was undaunted. She welcomed pained. Enjoyed it even, for suffering was a holy endeavor for one on the Path.
Lirka's free hand lashed out, looking to grasp onto part of the staff's handle as she swung her massive machete in another bloody bout, hacking wildly in attempt to find another purchase within the Hutt's ancient plate. She laughed as she worked, a horrible, thunderous laughter that only a monster could truly muster.
The electrical current surged in response, intensifying with a flicker of his gauntlet. But her redirected, conducted it, discharged it. She didn't let go.
And now, she was slashing.
Cuts opened across the seams of his phrik armor—shallow, but multiple. Splashes of greenblood hissed as they met the heated plates. Pain. Damage that might matter.
He growled. Repulsors hissed.
Whottoomuzz lurched forward, accompanied by the screaming of Shyran Dol's repulsors activating with a surge of energy. He yanked on the electrostaff, an attempt to keep Lirka off balance. With a roar, the armored Hutt drove into Lirka Ka with his full mass and velocity, attempting to grapple and carry her clean off the branch. The bough beneath groaned in warning as gravity took hold.
He intended to fall with her. Thousands of pounds of armored flesh and phrik barreling downward through branch and air, intent on crushing her beneath him like a meteor. The arena would feel the quake. Any poor vornskyr below them would be pulped into whatever afterlife they went to.
It was neither an elegant nor precise maneuver, but it was spectacle – a contest of weight, will, and war.
It seemed the two had much the same idea. This branch was unbefitting for such warriors of great bulk, her amusement was becoming palpable. Lirka Ka was the type of monster that laughed through destruction, and through pain. The electricity of the staff surged through her, she could feel flesh beneath the plates simmer and the vague smell of the chemical foulness of her being began to radiate into the air as the pair brawled.
She was making ground, good. The Hutt's blood motivated the monstrous once-sephi like a shark, she craved more. Yet it seemed it would be a short lived bout. It seemed she would get some - though perhaps her own. As Whottoomuzz Chantin
yanked, she let go of his weapon. The metal bricks she called feet shifted some, though the Once-Sephi was not an easy brute to shift.
Well, at least until the multi-ton missile of a Hutt came slamming into her. She would have much rather been the one to knock him to the earth below, but beggars couldn't be choosers. She did not have long to act, she would not try to break from this horrible grapple they found themselves in - such a thing was folly. Instead, with the sound of struggling servos: Lirka intended to try and flip the pair, let the Hutt take the brunt of the fall.
And if not? Well...what were a few more broken bones? She had plenty of replacements back home.
If the Hutt wanted to show bulky brutality, she would show the bulky grace of a brawler.
The world was a blur of twisting limbs and roaring inertia.
Mid-fall, Lirka twisted, trying to flip their entwined masses. Whottoomuzz snarled, serpentine bulk tightening around her like a living durasteel vice, but even he couldn’t fully stop her leverage. The angle changed. Her motion stole control from him, much more nimble than he. The Hutt grunted. One hand released its grapple.
The other swung heavily with the electrostaff in a bid to separate before impact – A punishing blow, meant to break bone or shatter breath, but ultimately gravity would render the impact meaningless by comparison.
They fell towards the inevitable ground, which received them like a blast of artillery.
Mud exploded outward Dust clouded forcefully. Bark, leaves, and a half-dismembered vornskyr were launched in a dome, hissing viscera against the energy shields of the first row seating. The arena's lower level shook from the impact.
The air hung. Above him, the tree loomed. Around him, nothing moved. The staff sparked, snapped under the bulk of the sluglord, along with several once-living things.
A low growl emerged.
One of the Vornskyrs, unscathed and emboldened, slunk forward on taloned limbs. Its snout sniffed. It opened its jaws.
Too slow.
A vibroblade shot from the knuckle plate of Shyran Dol, punching straight through the beast’s mouth and up into its brain. The animal spasmed in its dying throes. The Hutt exhaled.
Pain.
Alive enough to feel pain.
That was alive enough to fight.
Despite the armor's suggestions to wait for medical attention, Whottomuzz began to shift, his bulk rising slowly from the crater. Shyran Dol's left pauldron was crushed inward from the impact. One eye of his HUD was dead. Blood trickled in thick rivulets beneath the armor.
He felt an emotion stirring in his chest. Not his own. He grunted. His voice was low. Private.
Damage Taken: Significant fall damage. Multiple ruptured organs. Non-lethal for a Hutt. Significant pain. Dented pauldron. Tertiary suit systems compromised.
Lirka had missed falling. Once upon a time, when she was younger. In a different time, wearing a different face. Her suit had been built for dropping from atmosphere into battle. Those times had long since passed, and this newest model of Powersuit most certainly was not rated for such a fall anymore.
Now, it was simply the thrill of it.
She felt the Hutt spin in her grasp. And then, the strike of a staff into her. They went flying now, a huff of mechanical exertion as she was broken free from their deathly grapple. Now was only the fall, and the impact. She would try to do what she could to lessen the blow, but there was little to be done than see if Primordial Dark bid her worthy to exist - or if she was to finally enter its cold embrace.
There was a thunderous metal boom as she hit the ground and the earth gave way. A dust cloud had risen where both of the massive fighters had impacted the earth. There was silence…for a time.
Then snarling.
Then squelching.
Then a horrible, wet, snapping.
A Vornskyr’s corpse…with a massive bite mark in it!? was hurled at Whottoomuzz Chantin
to splatter against her face plate. As the smoke cleared, Lirka Ka’s foulness was revealed. The creature shuffled slowly - in the impact, it seemed some of the welds that kept her marred helmet together had snapped revealed the wretched uncanniness of her color-drained face, only the vestiges of a Sephi’s purple-pink skin remained. A mouth of yellowed needle-like teeth in a mouth that dripped blood. Had she eaten part of the beast that assailed her?
The brand of the Kainate emblazoned upon her forehead, the thing seemed to writhe, pulsating with raw meat as if it had still just been pressed. Foulness emanated from it. Evil incarnate. And its name was Lirka Ka.
Broken bones realigned, flesh moved to shift the monster back into place. She wasted little thing with her distraction corpse, for through the chaos a crackle of electricity as her Electro-Whip flared to life, lashing out against the Hutt as she let out a bestial snarl of bloodlust.
This Hutt would suffer now, dearly. Slowly. She would savor every moment as she returned the slug to the void.
The Vornskyr corpse struck his chestplate like a thrown melon and disincorporated to a fine mist.
Blood, fur, bone—it all atomized into a greasy red smear across Shyran Dol. It dripped from the engraved edges of the armor. Steamed off the freshly dented pauldron.
The Hutt did not budge. The trajectory of the corpse guided the saucer-eyes – he saw her through the smoke now. The warped grin. The splitting helm. The brand that pulsed like a tumor. A thing of rot and rage.
Then came the Electro-Whip. It lashed out like lightning, singing through the air with a crack of ozone. It struck him. Wrapped around his arm – Arced easily through the electrum decorative elements of his armor.
It sizzled... and then fizzled. The pulse of electricity surged down his vambrace… only to dissipate against the thick epidermis and fatty insulation of unholy Hutt biology. Nonconductive – the meat had given him a tether. Underneath the helm, his wide mouth salivated, eyeing the accursed abomination with a new appreciation. The reveal of the visage – the meat... Stirred something in the Hutt. A hunger from primal roots. She repaired herself... her flesh reknitted. He wondered just how long he could chew on the once-Sephi before the meat lost its flavor. Whottoomuzz's hand gripped the whip. Tightened.
He was eager now. Almost giddy, even. An appetizing morsel revealed underneath the armor. The servo-whine of his arm braced against the tension. He pulled.
Not a full charge. Not a lunge. Just a slow, steady drag. He longed to reel in the Imperator, to pull her close enoug, to remove his helmet, to unhinge his jaw and—
And then—
Laughter.
Something primal. Relieved. A low, rolling sound like a landslide gaining momentum, approaching inevitably.
"Uba tonka tee woy. Bo shuda. Jee patka che uba see mi eechoboya."
His visor gleamed like a furnace.
The Hutt had found the missing connection to his ancestors. The glint of a war-hungry beast that had been starving too long on politics, proxies, and plans.
Now, at last, he had meat.
And he would savor it. The pain now seemed only to feed his appetite. Every delectable, regenerating morsel.
He ignored the concern and disgust that Xoff Chantin
felt. The Zeltron knew what he married. The Hutt would feel no shame for this.
• Defensive Actions: Took direct hit from electro-whip (minimal effect due to Hutt non-conductive tissue).
• Offensive Actions: None (psychological escalation; whip-grab and pull).
• Mobility / Positioning: Standing fully. Slowly advancing, reeling the electro whip.
• Gear Use: No new gear deployed. Whip entangled on left arm.
• Damage Taken: Surface sizzling; no lasting injury from whip.
• Status: Wounded. Rising bloodlust and appetite. Enjoying it.
The almost humorous savagery of her bout of gore brought a grin to the Once-Sephi’s monstrous form. She didn’t expect it to do much, but the sheer spectacle of it all was plenty. Let the crowd cringe at the sight of such wanton destruction of organic matter, or let their bloodlust be sated by the death of beasts.
She felt the whip around his meat, and fizzle into useless assault. Damnable beast. She should have guessed that the fat brute would have broken one of her favored toys rather quickly. But, there was a tether now. And that was enough. He pulled. She did not resist. Lirka Ka walked, slowly, patiently. Evil in her eyes, flesh writhing beneath skin.
Then the first branch fell, and the next, and the next. The exploded debris from the tree rained down upon them like wooden missiles. Two hungry beasts approaching for the next burst of violence, surrounded by the chaos of tons of tree now burst across the arena.
Lirka deemed it a worthwhile distraction. She stopped her steady pace, she sprinted now. Mechanical legs thundering forward with the whir of servos - then, she jumped. Launching herself high to the sky in an attempt to instead get behind the Hutt, letting go of the handle of her whip as she allowed the thing to disappear.
If all worked well, she’d try and land upon the Hutt’s back. Abuse his bulk against him, and hopefully avoid his gaping maw for a few moments longer. She did not speak, not yet. There was a demand for focus, at least for the time being before sadism could take hold.
He let her land. Let her cling. Let the branches fall up on him. Let the Vornskyr approach. Only she had his attention. Lirka, and that whip she discarded. The whip he still gripped by the painful end.
It was like feeling the weight of a lover from a past life – one that bit, stabbed, cursed. Nostalgic, in a way. It made him feel like he was a spry 300 cycles old again.
The monster on his back clutched with the grace of a predator, their weight slightly swaying the balance of the Slug. If anything, he arched slightly, savoring the contact. Leaning into the Imperator like a lizard basking in warmth. Anticipation for what would come next.
His breath rasped. His tongue wet his lips beneath the helm. And then he pulled. With a heave of the arm wrapped in the Electro-Whip, Whottoomuzz drew the slack cable forward and caught the weapon’s handle in his free hand. It sparked once. Then crackled again, deliberately activated.
Electricity coursed through the whip. It leapt along the cable and arced violently into the decorative electrum of Shyran Dol. Once more the electro whip surged current into every panel and filigree, conducting the energy with buzzing charge. Once again deadened by the Hutt's nonconductive flesh.
The armor turned into a buzzing, arcing, and sizzilng. His outer shell becoming a voltaic trap for the Once-Sephi on his back.
His body flexed under her, surging with pulsing muscle and sizzling arcs of electricity that leapt from collar to shoulder to vambrace. His began a slow, slithering crawl towards the trunk of the tree, moving to find a sturdy remnant to grind her against, between backplate and bark Like a beast scratching their back.
Through it all, his breathing deepened. Hungry. Delighted.
Lirka could respect the single-minded focus that Whottoomuzz Chantin
gave to her, ignoring all the anarchy around them. She was much the same, the beasts could not sense her emptiness - they were but a nuisance, the falling tree would most certainly not break through her plates. Though the simmer of flames and ash that fell from the burning leaves above them, it was chaos. Yet in the chaos, there was a savage calm as two goliaths brawled. Salivating, hungry, wretched beasts ready to indulge in the base instincts that drove their minds.
Lirka did not feel love. Not in the way the rest of the Galaxy did, she was simply designed differently. The weight of a lover? Distant, impossible. It was the weight of violence, of the struggle, of a way to prove to the Primordial Darkness that she was still worthy to breathe. It was the violent struggle of Lirka Ka's youth, in those distant years in the Choah Belt. In a dingy arena, fighting for the amusement of the bloodthirsty slobs that filled the underworld. Somewhat like the Hutt she struggled against.
Then, lightning. Her whip turned against her, though it did little to waver the Once-Sephi upon the Hutt's back. If anything, the pain motivated her further. She would hurt this day, that was a given. Her undersuit melted some, lightning arced over stolen skin and plundered flesh as things boiled and burned. Inky blackness seeped from the wounds beneath the armor, only the vague smell of chemicals was enough to let the Hutt know the beast was wounded.
But she intended to do far worse to her opponent.
She spoke, mocking venom in her words. There was a giddiness there too, though perhaps not in the same way as her hungry Hutt foe.
"Please - I'm far sturdier than you'll ever know, you rancid slug."
There was a click as Lirka maglocked her boots to his back. Ready to ride this violent rodeo, even as the bark slammed against her. Let him try to crush her, she could only hope now that he wasn't prepared for the Lirka Ka classic.
She fought dirty.
Sticking out a clawed thumb, sharpened like a knife. She swung around as much as she could to begin slamming the thing against the Hutt's eye lense, again, and again, and again till she'd either flail helplessly to stick her shiv into his eye as the lightning arced through her plates just like that which happened in the Hutt's war plate.
Well...in the most literal sense, one could suppose there was a spark between them.
The thumb punctured his visor with a sharp crack - shards of transparisteel spidered across his field of vision before one great plate split entirely, just in time for her claw to jab into the gelatinous, bulbous mass of one of his saucer-sized eyes.
A low rumble left the Hutt's throat. A sudden intake of air from the pain. He shuddered.
The world on that side went red, then black. Nerve endings flared, and blood streamed down the split helm. The eye was gone—but a Hutt had centuries to grow another. A few decades, at most. She'd earned it.
She’d earned everything.
The whip still arced. Her legs still clung, boots mag locked to his armor. He turned to the tree, and began to grind his back against the tree, to crush Lirka betwixt.
It started slow. A press. A test of the motion, enough force to squeeze a wookie's organs out through their eyesockets. The slug found the rhythm, the he put his weight into it, pressing fully – into the tree, almost full engulfing Lirka in his mass.
He eased just before he slammed his back into the tree with a powerful shove, Lirka against bark and trunk. Again. And again. The momentum building with each brutal scrape. His massive frame undulated with glee, a lurching repetition like a beast scratching an itch it could no longer ignore. The bark shredded, the shriek of her armor—each one was a note in their primal harmony.
"Jee banag che uba... Rancid slug? Mmm. Tee zee patka koosee."
The words oozed like slime. Her insult was dessert, long has it been someone was bold enough to insult him so brazenly. His tongue lolled behind the shattered visor, saliva streaking the inside of the helm.
Then a pause.
The crushing slowed. His hand reached up, found her wrist, thumb lodged into his eye. He reached to grip her arm. He intended to pull her arm down. Forward. Guide the regenerating flesh that made him salivate with possibility into the shattered crescent of his helm. Through the broken glass, over his scarred mouth. She could resist, she probably was lithe and dextrous enough to slip free, if not the brute strength pull free. But it would be fun if she didn’t.
And then would come his bite. No teeth. No crunch. Just pressure. A pull. A seal.
If he could manage to get the delectable digits into mouth of Whottoomuzz, he could engulf her forearm, flesh vanishing past his lips. His tongue—a massive, abrasive radula—a chewing implement for Hutts and other gastropods, would slide to scratch and pry at armor, to run along her skin like a sandbar scraping barnacles. It would churn. It would flay. He could fed on her like she were jerky after a long winter's hibernation.
He longed to swallow the first bite taste of flesh
But he needed to get that invading arm into his mouth.
The feeling of metal into flesh was one Lirka would never grow tired of. Its what success felt like, its what victory felt like. Its what pain, misery, and suffering all felt like. It was beautiful, it was almost holy if one wished to get particularly philosophical with such relentless violence. The Hutt made for a nice target, all fatty and bulbous - their kind didn't break like some of the weaker species in the Galaxy Lirka had the pleasure of tormenting in the past. It made this a good fight, a microcosm of the Endless Struggle of existence. Two warriors, battling under the shadow of the ever present and uncaring Primordial Darkness where only the worthy would rise from the dust.
Whottoomuzz Chantin
may have mused what she had earned, this violence, this butchery against the Hutt's flesh? It was just a fraction. Lirka Ka had earned everything ever since she had been thrust into cursed existence by hands not her own - she had only been given something once, that single opportunity by the Eternal Father to massacre a world. It had all tumbled down from there, the spark that sent her down the dark path of damnation. The path that had brought her here, fighting for the amusement of bloodthirsty crowds once again, her metal thumb rammed into the eye of an armored hutt like it was a crude knife.
The universe had a funny way of repeating itself.
She felt her back slam into the bark, metal colliding with nature as both of the mighty forces struggled against each other. The tree dented, organic material giving way to the cold, hard certainty of Kainite engineering. The tree might have given way some, but her Hutt foe did not - even with an eye down. She could feel the air knocked out of the plundered lungs in her chest, again, and again. Her bout was looking certainly less advantageous than she had originally thought.
The Hutt's repulsive language was like rubbing salt into the wound - such a far cry from her beautiful home, all guttural and foul. It reeked of slime and shadowy intent. An assault on the ears just as much as his attacks assailed her physical being.
Her foe would have his fun, she seemingly did not stop him from taking her gauntlet into his mouth. She certainly wasn't in the best of positions to wretch herself free with the Hutt to her front, and the tree to her back. Her forearm disappeared, and then.
Pain.
The tongue ravaged as it scraped against metal plates, dislodging where it could, scraping against soft padding where it could not. Her foulblood leaked, the horrible burn of unnatural chemicals. A blood that squirmed and writhed, impossibly viscous and thick as if were closer to the slime that covered the Hutt's frame. It was agony.
It was a chance. She had access to the meat within the metal frame now, she let the pain fuel her. Suffering was the catalyst of transience, she would suffer, she would grow stronger. What would happen to the Hutt? Well, only the Primordial Dark could determine that. It wasn't Lirka's place to do anything but beat this slimeball into a pulpy mess.
She leaned close, her voice was soft, venomous. She was mocking him, trying to twist the knife.
"I hope your pretty pink pet sees this one."
Lirka Ka knew just what to say, Whottoomuzz Chantin
was right about that. In fact, the Once-Sephi realized that she did actually know a bit of Huttese still. Her voice roared out, amplified by the systems within to be like that of a thunderclap.
"Konza tah, Schutta!"
Inside his mouth, Lirka struggled but she still was able to point up her forearm as much as she could within. And closed her fist. A single explosive dart fired up into his flesh, and then. Explosion. A roar of fire that would engulf both his his head instead the helm, and her arm inside his mouth. Lirka Ka always knew how to play dirty when the time came.
The explosion came as both a surprise and an insult. His vision went white. Flesh tore. Pain rippled through his jaw and neck, helmet partially sealed but his mouth gaping from within. The dart had exploded inside his mouth, charring the tongue, peeling layers of soft palate and boiling the inner cheeks. Perhaps it had even exposed some of his brain cavity via soft palate, but that was hardly a threat of death for a hutt.
He was still moving.Still very much alive.
And more importantly—
He couldn't taste her anymore. He had thought she was something special. She had burnt his tongue. The flavor was gone, the delicious spiciness of blood like nothimg he would ever taste again.
The primal intimacy was gone.
It stole from him the flavor. The texture. The softness of her meat. The meal had been spoiled. And in its place, only anger remained.
Thick Hutt gore dribbled from his slack jaw, bubbling from the edges of his broken visor. His breath gurgled, but did not struggle. His guttural growl was garbled and monstrous. He tried to speak, voice his dissatisfaction, to whisper sweet venom in return.
"Glurrrk... ghrrrrauuuugh..."
Only blood came out.
She had ruined the moment. Now there would be no more restraint. Her usefulness as a toy was spent, and now he would break it in a multi-ton tantrum.
Whottoomuzz gripped the stump of her arm with a crushing, possessive force. Slime and sparks still danced across his phrik armor as he heaved his massive weight forward—twisting at the hips to swing her up and over.
If successful, Lirka would be flung from his back like a ragdoll, slammed into the dirt ahead of him with seismic force. If she kept herself magnetized behind him? The torque would was more than enough tear a rancor's limb off at the shoulder, likely Lirka's arm as well.
He did not care which.
If she was tossed into the dirt before him:
the Hutt would rear up, casting his shadow across her as he brought the full girth of his tail down across her legs—pinning, crushing, mounting.
And then down would come the fists. Each one a falling meteor, a thunderclap wrapped in phrik. His gauntleted would hands rise and fall in rhythm, punching her torso, her face, her chest. The knuckle plate vibroblade extended again with each impact, puncturing deeper, further, over and over. One blade. Dozens of wounds. Whottomuzz scarcely wait to see the impact crater of each blow into the flesh and metal of the once-Sephi.
If the schutta resisted, and the arm pulled free of her torso, he would settle for using her own limb as a bludgeoning implement to see whether it or her torso would turn to pulp first.
If it was anything else?
His wrist-mounted flamethrower was still intact. His skin was covered in flame retardant slime, he doubted her flesh was. That exposed faceplate of hers would be a fine target to blast flame in a long, concentrated spray of fire and fire. It was almost as preferable as smashing her flesh. He didn't hesitate with his priorities.
He was roaring now—though the sound gurgled wetly through gore and flame-scoured tissue. This was no longer a delectable battle. It was an execution.
He would beat her into pulp. If she kept regenerating, good, the suffering for ruining the flavor would still not enough.
And if she stopped moving?
He would still beat her again.
And again.
And again.
Until the sight of her destroyed body was consolation for the denial of the uniquely spicy flesh that he only got a few tantalizing of with his radula tongue.
Defensive Actions: None. Took explosive damage to mouth. Loss of tongue functionality.
Offensive Actions: Arm grab. Slam attempt to throw Lirka from back. Crushing pin with tail. Repeated overhead strikes with vibroblade knuckle. Or bludgeoning with the freed limb. Or a flamethrower blast point blank to faceplate if the limb did not pull free.
Mobility / Positioning: Upright to mounted atop Lirka. Dominant ground-and-pound posture, if successful.
Lirka felt the explosive blast back against her limb - the weapon certainly was not made for such a close-quarters shot. Bone snapped, tendons ripped, all the force that had splatted that chunk of the Hutt’s head returned right back against her. Yet - she had wounded him, and that was good enough. It would make for a good replay when these bloodthirsty savages too meek to get their own hands dirty wanted a bloodbath to look at.
She might have been disappointed if he died there, an explosive was so…impersonal. A click, a boom, and that was it. Pretty to look at for a moment, yet grossly unsatisfying. She needed a weapon, a real weapon. Something that hacked, slashed, or cut. Something to feel in her hand, something that killed by the might in her wretched flesh rather than the pull of the trigger.
It was a shame her blade had tumbled away in the fall from above.
There was a degree of amusement across her uncanny form as the Hutt gurgled and gargled in rage. He had suffered. Good. That meant at the end of the day, live or die, win or lose, Lirka Ka had won. For another soul in this Galaxy was just another step closer to the dark path of survival against the Primordial Dark.
Now, she would suffer.
His grasp on her now useless arm - she was not foolish enough to stay magged onto him, and flung to the dirt. Another thunderous slam as her metal collided with the ground below. With the tail down on her legs, Lirka was trapped as the wild blows began to land. Some clanked against armored plating, some sunk into the soft joints, the smell of her blood pierced the air as the Once-Sephi thrashed in defense - she had awoken the beast, she was happy for it really. The more monsters in this Galaxy the better - but she had been hoping not to have to replace so many of her bits and bobs after the first fight.
Then, a glimmer. The shine of songsteel in the distance, her savior. Her defense weakened, more blows, more blood, she was battered and savaged now. Her hand launched out, grasping, and in technological parody of the Force her Sith master’s called upon - she pulled the blade into her hand letting it roar back to life once more. She swung, hard, looking for the most exposed bit of flesh she could find to bury the weapon into and respond to the relentless hail of blows from Whottoomuzz Chantin
She called her blade with a magnetic grip, and it set for an arc to his heart, between plates of Phrik. His personal energy shield flared to life, just as the sword whistled in.
The bubble shimmered blue for the briefest moment, it caught her strike like a sudden impact into a body of water - but her strength was monstrous, overwhelming the shield again, only losing some momentum in the process. The shield burst in a flash of photons and a gust of ionized air.
Her blade still sank deep.
Between phrik plates. Past and reinforced Armorweave joints. Into the fat meat of a lung that bubbled with escaping air as it collapsed. Blood gushed—thick, steaming, alien. Hutt ichor painted the edges of the blade and her gauntlet.
The audience hushed on the edge of their seats. She had struck true.
The Hutt grinned.
Behind the ruined T-visor, between shards of transparisteel and cracked electrum filigree, something smiled. Tongueless. Mutilated. Dripping gore like drool.
He brought one arm down—an elbow clamp over the blade, locking it into place like a vice to plug the wound.
His other fist rose.
And in one massive fall of fless, Whottoomuzz Chantin drove his knuckeplate-Vibrobladed fist thunderously down toward the faceplate of the Once-Sephi.
She felt it. That beautiful feeling - a blade in flesh. For all her monstrous bulk, Lirka had an assassin’s precision when it came to hacking her machete into opposing meat. The gurgle from Whottoomuzz Chantin
reminded her of that. A true strike, yet the beast still lived. Lirka couldn’t allow it for much longer.
With the clamp of his elbow, the Once-Sephi didn’t allow herself to be deterred. So struggled with the whirr of servos pushed to their limits in an attempt to slowly, painfully, send the blade deeper and deeper into the Hutt’s nigh endless layers of fat. Let it all sizzle against the relentless heat of Electro-Plasma. The moment of truth was upon these two bettered souls, they stood upon the peak now. Victory for either so close.
His blade came, assuredly a death blow. Lirka’s nigh worthless arm swung as best it could to block - though really, just to get in the way. The vibroblade found purchase in her hand, she felt the blade dig into the meat of the mangled thing as black blood poured down to her face. She did all she could to prevent the weapon from merely stabbing through the limb right down to her face. Struggling against his weight, as with each passing moment it neared closer and closer.
All the while, she attempted to push her blade as far as she could as the two goliaths found themselves in this brutal deathlock.
Lirka Ka
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Whottoomuzz Chantin
Melee Weapons • 