Duel Galactic Kaggath Round 2: Arris Windrun vs Drystan Creed

[Razmir Tezhyn]

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Arris Windrun vs Drystan Creed​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FIGHT!"​

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

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

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

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

Tear down the heavens?

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

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

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

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

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

Come. Let the battle begin.

Arris Windrun

Spoiler: The Fit and the Aura

 

[Arris Windrun]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler: Gear

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

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

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

But that was all he needed.

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

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

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

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

In essence, this was what Drystan did next.

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

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

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

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris saw the foot coming from multiple angles.

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

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

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

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

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

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

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

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

No…

It was a feint.

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

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

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

Drystan's technical prowess was on full display.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

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

Well… this was inconvenient.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drystan spat it out.

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

So that's how it's gonna be?

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

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

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

The crowd around their fight went silent, and there was a pause in Drystan's attack. Had her attack struck true? The cyborg certainly hoped so.

It was a good gambit, and she was glad to see it pay off, and--

Wait... What? Bewildered eyes widened at the scene. She did hit her mark, yes, but the Jedi managed to catch the slug between his karkin' teeth! Didn't seem to matter that the Ambassador was a hybrid weapon, that the rounds were wrapped in energy--didn't seem to matter at all.

Her mind wanted to panic, as most minds do when confronted with the impossible, but then she thought about it... Is this the Force? Arris had only just begun to understand it, thanks to her conversation and newfound friendship with Tilon Quill , and she experienced it firsthand during her fight with Vagabond.

Pain, frustration, fear, and grief all melded together, into an involuntary reaction. A release of power, manifesting in a scream of hateful anguish, one that rippled outwards with the supernatural power of the Force to cause devastation on the branches and tree, and would bear down on his foe all-the-same.

The memory threatened to haunt her, as it did during that fight, as it did when she was lying in the procedure bed afterwards.

That bloody scream. It struck her, not just physically, but to the core of her very being. It invoked dark thoughts, bad memories. Flashes of life-threatening moments. Betrayal of a lover. Death of a friend. The fear she felt on the run. The fear she felt now.

Like a spark, that sensation returned. She noticed the heat of the arena, the deadly red glow of lava moving beneath them, and the defiant growl that was her opponent. Arris steeled herself with a grunt and a grimace.

It was as clear to her that Drystan was a close-range specialist. So was she, but if a man could catch a slug with his teeth... The thought made her scared, it made her angry, and she wasn't sure what to do. Being stuck in indecision while her opponent closed the gap. She felt trapped. It didn't help that his deliberate pace only seemed to reinforce the aura of a dangerous man.

A strange sensation crawled at the back of her neck. It wasn't more fear or defiance. It was an urge, a reflex. The cyborg jumped backwards and flipped onto another platform as it sailed past. She hadn't quite realized it was there, and at no point did she take her eyes off Drystan, yet as soon as she landed, Arris felt strangely powerful.

Her confidence returned with a chit-eating grin, and all she wanted to do now was capitalize on that feeling.

"Hey! Will you catch it with your cheeks if I shoot you in the ass?!" She shouted.

The Ambassador ripped again, firing a second round at her target, as she prepared for his next move.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

Drystan paid little mind to the remark—but he did watch as the next shot fired off.

Still reeling from the first, another bout of showmanship was off the table. He sidestepped, bending at the knees to shift his body slightly. And then he began to mo—

On his first step, he dropped to a knee.

Upon further inspection, the shot had grazed his side. The Shadow hadn't accounted for the energy trail surrounding the slug. It had dissipated well enough when he applied the Force to the initial round, but he'd assumed all he needed to do was avoid the physical projectile.

That miscalculation cost him.

It didn't help that he was mildly dazed from catching the first bullet. No doubt, that played a role in turning his dodge sloppy—turning what could've been a clean evasion into a debilitating graze.

He was thankful, at least, that the energy had cauterized the wound. He wouldn't bleed out. But the damage was done—and it would affect his approach. He had no intention of getting hit again.

Drystan quickened his pace, coupling it with the Force as he began to obscure himself in intervals. It was a Force Cloak—executed in an unorthodox manner. Instead of maintaining full invisibility, he blinked in and out of it, half-second bursts at a time.

The result gave the illusion of teleportation, each flash making it harder to track his movement as he advanced toward Arris. The stuttered cloaking was intended to disrupt aim and perception—to make every shot more difficult to land.

Throughout his advance, he maintained a tight guard, keeping a four-point watch: one on Arris, and the others on the three camera drones—one glance each, every second or so.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

Suddenly, her opponent disappeared, only to reappear a moment later. While her eyes were far better than an organic pair, they still had their limitations, and right now they offered no aid in discerning the movements of her opponent.

Arris holstered her weapon and went on the defensive. "Seeva, what can you do about this?" She asked her friend over their subvocal comms.

The Herglic had been her trump card in this fight, and all it took was a generous tip to the Black Sun Syndicate to get him involved.

"Not sure. Jedi trick, I'll find a solution." He replied. "Just stay alive until then."

Great.

The cyborg broke into a sprint and leapt with her powerful legs to clear across to yet another platform. Perhaps--she believed--she might take advantage of the fluid, moving platforms that hovered above the dangerous lava below. If her opponent was going to neuter her advantages, so would she have to shut down his.

Whatever Seeva needed to figure out, he had better do it fast, because the scoundrel had never fought an opponent who moved like that before.

"I didn't even know teleportation was possible," she muttered. A Jedi trick? No...

The Force? The question imposed itself on her psyche yet again.

Arris thought back to her conversation with Tilon.

"Different cultures have different names for it. Jedi call it the Force. It's more of a psychic and life energy network between everything alive. There's a thousand ways to listen to it or control it or get other benefits from it."

So, how was Drystan listening to it? How could he control it? Arris wished she and Tilon had a longer conversation... Because none of this made any sense.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

Drystan watched Arris increase the distance between them. The Shadow grunted in frustration. A chase?

He wanted a fight. Temporary retreats were all well and good, but he wasn't in the mood for a chase—especially now, when things were just starting to get interesting.

His current pace—optimized more for elusiveness—was no longer sufficient. That changed the moment he shifted into a full-on sprint, speed enhanced by the force, intent on closing the gap between himself and his quarry.

He kept up well enough, flipping and tumbling across the elevated platforms that hung precariously above the lava. His agility was impressive, but raw movement alone wouldn't be enough to catch a cybernetically enhanced opponent.

Still, he kept a tight guard, anticipating potential retaliation from range. There weren't many places one could run to in an enclosed space—and the objective of this tournament was clear: to see the other person struck down, one way or another.

Drystan remained ready, prepared for any possible retaliation—either once the chase concluded, or during it.

As he darted across the platforms, Drystan raised a hand, his fingers making subtle, precise motions. Eyes shifting to the platforms Arris leapt to and from.

With rudimentary telekinesis, he began to sway them—shifting their balance and angle ever so slightly, attempting to throw off her footing just enough to slow her down.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

The cyborg had a lot in her to keep up the game of chase thanks to the potent trifecta of an artificial heart, lungs, and a steady flow of stimulants injected into her bloodstream at calculated intervals. She kept the distance, enjoyed the momentum, and most of all used the time to consider her next angle of attack.

"Maybe..." she muttered.

No, that won't work.

She shook it off like the last two sloppy ideas she came up with. The worst part of this arena wasn't the lava; it was the moving platforms. Sure, they aided her in retreat, but their unpredictability made the molten death below them an anxious proposition.

As Arris jumped, she noticed the platform ahead of her suddenly shift, and had only a split second to adjust. She crashed down and rolled with a pained grunt. No serious harm, but she lost her momentum and sense of focus.

"Chit!" She exclaimed as she came out of the roll and looked behind her to see if Drystan was close.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

The gap between them shortened—but not enough, and not fast enough for Drystan's liking.

He didn't want to use this.

Throughout the entire tournament, Drystan had abstained from using subterfuge—a skill he had honed to a razor's edge during his tenure as a Shadow.

Why? Because he hadn't come here to hone those skills. He came to push the limits of his body, his connection to the Force, and his martial ability. Relying on trickery would only detract from that goal.

But for this chase, he would make an exception.

Something told him he'd have to tap into that skillset more often should he move past this round.

What followed was a synchronized display—two abilities cast in unison.

The first: a doppelganger, mimicking Drystan's movements down to the finest detail. It matched his stride, his posture, even the twitch of his muscles—nearly indistinguishable from the real thing.

The intent was to hide the fact that there was a doppelganger in the first place as it mimicked his movements to keep within his outline.

The second: an extended application of his cloak. Unlike the brief bursts he'd used earlier, this was sustained.

As Arris stumbled, Drystan saw his opportunity—and accelerated.

The doppelganger moved in tandem, arching for another shot—this time replicating the exact same tackle Drystan had used earlier in their match. A psychological feint. An attempt at conditioning, perhaps.

Then, with near flawless timing, Drystan uncloaked—just as he launched over the tackling illusion, delivering a flying knee aimed squarely at the upper body.

To onlookers, the final moment—when both he and the doppelganger appeared side by side—would appear as if there were two of him attacking in unison. One from above, one from below.

Only one of them would leave a mark.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

There was a moment when Arris landed.

"I don't know how, but every time he 'disappears,' light bends, and he reappears," Seeva reported.

The Herglic uploaded an algorithm to her coprocessor that would adjust her visual acuity. "Follow the bend, and you'll have your target."

Arris was lucky to have a steadfast ally in her fights, but his support alone would not make her a winner. The cyborg stood out of her roll, regained her fighter's stance, and -- Again!? For a split of a split-second, she saw two of him. Her eyes were not damaged, they did not play tricks, they were karkin' Athakam's for kark's sake. She saw the doppelganger fast approaching, ready to tackle, and naturally postured to face her opponent head-on, largely unaware of the trick, though she suspected something was up.

Then, there was a chill, and the hairs stood on the back of her neck. It was as if an invisible hand reached down and gently tilted her head towards the truth. He was right there, but then... What!? In her periphery, she saw the bend of light--thanks to Seeva's algorithm. That same gut instinct that came down like an act of God rushed through her. Don't commit to what's obvious, but there was very little time to act.

She grabbed both holstered weapons and braced as much as possible. The scoundrel felt the powerful kneekick crush against her torso, and cracked a series of subdermal plates beneath, and even tore muscular tissue below that. Arris grimaced as she ate the pain--pain that struck faster than her system could dose her with countermeasures. Were it not for the persistent pain damper, she would have let out a blood-curdling cry.

Arris wrapped her powerful cybernetic legs around his waist to pull him down with her and crush with hydraulic force. A trick that helped her out against Vagabond to some effect last round. However, unlike last time, she was armed to the karkin' teeth.

The blonde never once let go of her guns during the fall. She could not draw them, no, but did it matter? She bent the holsters up'n'inward, square at Drystan's chest, and pulled each trigger at point-blank.

Maybe Arris really was a heartbreaker.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

Drystan was quick to partially resist the vice grip of her legs, raising one knee and swinging it out to widen the hold and reduce the pressure. It still hurt—he could feel his bones creak under the strain, gritting his teeth to bear the pain.

With most of his attention focused on keeping that grip from locking shut, he had little time to fully react to the guns aimed at his center mass. He brought his prosthetic arm up, clamping a cortosis plated hand over the barrel of one holstered weapon. Immediately he felt his shoulder dislocate from the sheet impact of the shot. The other, he couldn't stop in time—only shift his body enough to avoid a fatal shot.

At that range, dodging wasn't an option. He had to brace for impact.

BANG!

It was numb at first—adrenaline surged through his system, heart racing like lightning, senses sharpened to a blade's edge. He felt it— the bullet, lodged deep in his chest. Muscle-deep, thanks only to a last-second use of the Force, reinforcing the impact site just enough. Without it, the round would have shredded through him and blown out his back, a fatal shot by every measure.

Even so, the fractures in his ribcage and a cracked sternum were nothing to shrug off. Blood vessels ruptured. Crimson now spilled from his mouth.

No more of that.

With his right hand, he summoned the Force—attempting to freeze the trigger and hammer of the weapon in place. Another wave trying to force the barrel downward, stiffening it to prevent a follow-up shot.

When the average person gets shot—how do they react? Fear? Pain? Panic? A cold sweat and a pale face, watching life drain from their body?

But Drystan showed none of that.

Looming above Arris, his face wore something unmistakable.

A smile.

Was he heartbroken? Perhaps—closer to the literal sense of that word.

But no. In truth, he was the opposite. He was elated.

It was a secret he kept buried—a vice wrapped in duty and tragedy. One he had been allowed to indulge as a Shadow. He no longer remembered how the feeling first started. But since that moment, he had never been able to shake it.

To put his life on the line. To stare death in the face. To fight someone trying to kill him. To wear a target on his back. To struggle.

It excited him.

And with two gun barrels aimed at him point-blank, he was as close to that feeling as he could possibly get.

That exhilaration had always been there, buried beneath his stoic professionalism. But this time—he couldn't hide it.

The smile widened into a bloodstained grin. And that grin drew closer. Was he going to kiss her?

No.

Instead he slammed the thickest part of his skull down toward her face—like a Force-fueled sledgehammer.

Whether it struck or not, the force of the blow would be enough to rupture the ground beneath them, forming a crater from the sheer impact.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

Her eyes went wide.

Yes, she shot him, but he managed to resist more of the damage than she could imagine anyone avoiding. Truly, was this the power of the Force? It was that very question that rang through her the whole fight. No--before that, even. The conversation she had with Tilon between rounds, but before that, the conversation with him in the belly of a sarlacc.

Ever since that day, she has been aware of something.

She couldn't squeeze the trigger again, no matter how hard she tried.

More than that, Drystan was not only alive, but he looked thrilled to be as bloodied as he was. She's seen a similar psychotic beat in opponents before. But those were shockbox fights and the like. This was different. He was different.

The ambiance of the battlefield cut out like a fuse had blown in the sound system. The heat... Replaced by cold. She felt her heart thump, pounding in her chest as if it were made of flesh again.

Then. His head came crashing down. One of her eyes was completely shattered, and another was badly damaged. The reinforced plating around her skull saved her from an instant death, as did something else she wasn't entirely aware of. Arris rolled away, but her back smashed against the debris of the platform, which now cracked at the center.

Lava spewed up around them--the whole thing was slowly on its way down.

"Rule number two," he said at last, watching the droid work and wishing he had Jedi healing powers, "is that the Force gives you back the state of mind that you put into it. If you approach it through focus, discipline, inner peace, mental and emotional clarity, drawing on the Force will amplify that in a feedback loop. Same if you draw on the Force through anger, hatred, and suffering. Connecting with the Force can very easily change your personality over time. So rule number two is really 'figure out who you want to be.'"

Unlike the previous times she thought about his words, she remembered this one verbatim. In fact, it was his fethin' voice--that was the only sound she heard. Not the chaos as the very arena came down around them, not the lava bubbling up and hissing as it melted metal.

'Figure out who you want to be.'

"Sorry..." She muttered.

It boiled inside of her. That scream. She felt it again. Did Vagabond somehow curse her? The rage.

She kicked one gun up into her hand, then did the same with the other. She fired the one remaining round from her left, then dropped it. Both hands squeezed around the remaining weapon with a killer's instinct.

Arris pulled the trigger. Then again. And again. Each time she felt her heart fire back at her louder, until the anger consumed her, until her jaw parted on the final round, and she let out that scream.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

Drystan barely had enough time to stand as Arris rolled away, mildly concussed himself after smashing his forehead into her subdermal plates. Blood seeped through his already red headband, dripping into his eyes.

He was exhausted beyond measure—moving now only through instinct and reflex. With gritted teeth, he reset his dislocated shoulder and brought his prosthetic arm up to shield himself from the oncoming gunfire. A move only a master of unarmed combat could manage in such a state.

The arm held—its plates strong enough to withstand the barrage. But that wasn't the problem.

Fragments of the bullets spalled on impact, shattering and scattering across the floor—bypassing his guard. Shards of metal slashed and tore through him. Shoulder, thigh, leg, bicep—gashed open, dripping with ichor. Each hit reverberated through his arm and into his body like a dump truck ramming him over and over, finally driving him down to a bloodied knee.

And then, the scream came.

He barely managed to cover his ears with his forearms, hands clasped behind his neck to keep it steady as the force flung him backward, tumbling him across the platform's edge. Lava lapping at the shores, eager to consume him in a fiery grave.

His body went still.

There had been only a few moments in his life when Drystan had come this close to death. With this many injuries.

MANDIBLE: FRACTURED
CERVICAL VERTEBRAE: BRUISED
STERNUM: FRACTURED
RIBS: 4 FRACTURES
LEFT FEMUR: BRUISED
LEFT TIBIA: BRUISED
SUBCUTANEOUS BLEEDING: SYSTEMIC
VULNUS SCLÓPETARIUM: GUNSHOT WOUND, RIGHT CHEST, DIAMETER: 10.9MM
MUSCULAR HEMATOMA THROUGHOUT BODY, MAJOR ONE: BENEATH RIGHT PECTORALIS MAJOR

By every measurable standard, Drystan had suffered injuries that would kill an average man ten times over.

And yet—

"Tell me..." A strained breath called out.

"Am I... a bad person?" The voice was hoarse, but it came from Drystan.

"Is that why you're so angry? Are you... angry at me?"

He rolled onto his stomach, knees trembling as they fought to prop him up.

"Is it so bad... that I'm enjoying myself?"

THE SHADOW GOT BACK UP.

Bloodied. Bruised. Beaten. Broken.

But still alive.

There was one thing Drystan had carried with him his entire life. Through every battle. Through every trial. The one thing that kept him rising again and again, no matter how torn, no matter how loud his very DNA screamed at him to stay down.

That one thing was—

Conviction.

"Conviction" means tenacity...

And those who have conviction—Are those who have STRENGTH.

"You have anymore ammo left? Or can we get back to dancing?"

A weary and exhausted smirk.

The Shadow forms a fist once more. A fighting stance.

Arris Windrun

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris rose from the metal debris and stood firm as the platform continued to sink around them. Her artificial heart was overburdened by the sudden influx of stimulants and other chemical cocktails flooding her bloodstream; all of it only furthered the unquenchable anger she felt.

With the damage to her eyes, the cyborg had to rely on the cameras floating around them to spy her opponent.

The snarky blonde people had come to know in the interviews was long gone, replaced by a singular, domineering impulse: Kill to survive.

She marched forward, even as lava spewed up around them, even as her opponent appeared down for good. Only to stop--hesitate as he spoke. To her, his words were not something to make sense of, but the proof that she remained in danger so long as he lived. She no longer hesitated when he began to stir and stand. The woman stepped forward, then again, until her stride picked up speed, but she did not jog or run.

"You have anymore ammo left? Or can we get back to dancing?"

The cyborg stowed the gun short of its twin, which stayed behind to be consumed by fire. She reached into her jacket and pulled out one of her mystery packages. Her left hand ignited with electrical energy, and she punched it, then tossed it between them, where it sparked a brilliant blue and replaced the dry haze that surrounded them with a potent cloud.

Yes, it made it difficult for the cameras to track them, but that no longer seemed to matter to her.

Arris leapt into the fog of war, delivering a series of rapid punches meant to force Drystan into sudden movement. Test how well he could stand, how well he could fight. Each one she threw was faster and stronger than the last, but caused the damaged armor in her torso to crack and splinter, sinking toxic materials deeper into the soft tissue beneath.

Drystan Creed

 

[Drystan Creed]

ROUND 2

The smoke was unexpected.

Inhaling it seemed to bring a strange clarity to the blur that shimmered across his vision. Some kind of inhaled substance? It obscured what he could see—but not to the point of complete blindness.

The punches came fast. The first rocked him, even through his guard. His adrenaline—and his connection to the Force—were running low. Countering immediately after a hit was no longer feasible, and neither was dodging to retaliate. Any direct hit would knock him out cold at this point. Between the smoke and the speed of the strikes, all he could do was shell up.

What could he do?

Each fist brought him closer to collapsing. There was no weathering of the storm. Even with his technically sound defense, his endurance was nearly gone.

Then suddenly, a vision—Not from the Force, but from somewhere deeper. The back of his mind.

A vision of Antar —the blow Drystan had delivered, the one that had been redirected by the Black Sun Champion.

The next strike came. Drystan closed his eyes.

The essence of this technique was flow. To yield against oncoming force, and guide it—redirect it—into something of use.

Go limp. Relax. Let the power flow...Shift the feet. Find the angle. Prepare the transfer...

And then—STRIKE!

He let the next punch land against his relaxed frame, shoulder rolling with the power of the blow. His rightoot shifted back while his left foot shifted forward, swinging with the motion, his body spinning along the momentum.

And then—he struck.

Drystan's elbow, bent and blackened like a metal fang, rose sharply—his hips rotating back with the release, driving the phrik prosthetic toward Arris's jaw. It wasn't just the force of the spinning elbow—it carried her momentum too.

Reversal. Redirection. A strike born not from defiance, but from yielding.

FLOW KATA: TIDE REVERSAL

Arris Windrun