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She shuddered at the thought of the rest of that memory. "So, what's rule number two?"
The medical droid turned to her. "Your liver is damaged. A temporary implant can offset it." The one downside of having an artificial liver was that no amount of bacta could fix the problem.
He didn't really have a rule number two off the top of his head, and formulating one stuttered to a halt as the scope of her injury and treatment unfolded. Organ damage, feth - and a new implant seemed so routine to her.
"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.'"
A specialized implant was inserted into a device that would effectively 'shoot' the implant into her skin. The implant itself was rather small, the size of a large human thumb, but not small enough for it to be a painless experience. The particular issue was the subdermal armor.
One medical droid applied a local anesthetic before cutting through both skin and armor. Arris squeezed the side of the bed and winced at the sudden pain, dulled as it was. The downside of getting used to pain dampers and stimulants was that you never got used to actually having pain to that degree.
She listened to Tilon, if not intently, then at least as a way to distract herself from the procedure.
Figure out who I want to be? The question haunted her thoughts. Thanks, Tilon. She was glad to have found some amusement in the moment. Nearly forgot she was being worked on, even if it was for a split second. Finally, the implant was buried deep into the muscle, and the droids quickly began to apply healing to the tissue and welded a small plate over the hole in her armor.
She wanted to ask what he drew on, but instead, she passed out.
“Heeeello, my dearest blood-sports enthusiasts. I hope you’ve enjoyed the first round of the FIRST ANNUAL GALACTIC KAGGATH!
“And what a first round it was! Delsin Shaw
managed to split the tree in half, creating a lot of unhappy Ithorians in the process. We saw several great displays of power and combat ingenuity that left plenty duelists in critical condition.
“And did you see that Hutt’s head explode? I can’t believe he’s still moving after that one!
Razmir gave a bright laugh, then settled into a small pause. He smiled, knowingly, at the holo-cameras. His eyes gleamed with a roguish satisfaction rooted in knowing something the audience did not.
“But, dear audience, I know why you’re really tuning in right now. The dust has settled, the blood has dried, round one is over.
“You, dear audience, want to know:
Who
Won?
“Well, let’s not keep you waiting. The winners are:
“We congratulate those who still stand, and hope you’ll enjoy that vacation to Mustafar.
“A big thank you to those we leave behind at this juncture. Without the blood you spilled in this arena all this wouldn’t be possible. Thank you, from the heart.
“But don’t leave your seats, audience! We have exclusive interviews coming up with our winners as they prepare for round 2, right after this ad break!”
The broadcast switched to an ad break. An action filled scene of two great warriors battling each other with small rectangular cards played out with the Galactic Illusionary Gaming logo displayed in big letters at all times.
Then a sudden cut, and Razmir appeared once more.
“We have a situation developing currently, dear audience. It appears that The Madclaw
has stormed out of the arena yelling repeatedly ‘none of you are worthy!”
“It is unclear how the tournament is to proceed in this situ—
A small note was passed to Razmir bearing the Black Sun symbol on its back. He read it, a sheepish look on his face.
Madclaw is out. Antar is in.
“Well, would you look at that. It seems the dream of becoming Champion isn’t quite over for one lucky duelist. Fate is on your side, Antar
, you'll be taking The Madclaw's place in the next round! If I were you I’d go to the Club Vertica Casino after this and bet all on black.”
He slithered from the arena like a monolith dragged from myth, steaming, broken, alive.
The world blurred. His vision swam with blood loss, one eye crushed and gone, the other fogged with pain. Every movement of his massive form left smears of glistening green-black Huttblood streaked behind him like a trail for carrion beasts. The crowd's roar had faded into white noise, or perhaps he had gone partially deaf. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t hear the crowd. He didn’t see the faces. He saw only the flickering remnants of what had just passed.
The taste.
The burn.
The blade.
The struggle.
Reaching the edge of the coliseum tunnel, Whottoomuzz paused. The servos of Shyran Dol stuttered beneath his bulk, still rattling from the ion detonation. With a grunt, he raised one thick arm and reached for the clasp of his ruined helm.
It did not want to come free.
He tore it loose anyway.
The air hit his face like fire. Crusted blood peeled as the helm came away. His jaw hung crooked. Glistening tissue lined the interior of his mouth where a radula had once spun in frenzy. No words came. Only breath.
Ragged. Wet.
He looked down at himself.
At the smear of blackish ichor and acid-slick gore that painted his armor. Lirka’s blood. His blood. Some of it cooked. Some of it still warm.
One eye.
A fractured helm.
Dozens of wounds.
Glory.
His gaze was unreadable. Blank. Detached.
Then, slowly—
—his fist closed.
Clenched.
The corner of his ruined mouth twitched upward. A crooked, monstrous smile curled from the cracked lip to the torn cheek. There was no music. No ovation. No speech.
But something deep within him hummed. A hunger that hadn’t been fed in decades had awoken, and it whispered now behind his thoughts:
Again.
More.
Again.
He slithered forward. Not to a throne. Not to rest.
To heal.
To wait.
To bleed again.
For battle, not luxury, had reminded Whottoomuzz Chantin who he truly was beneath the gold.
The announcement came from the judges and Lily felt a sharp, bitter intake of breath. Everything she had given and it just wasn't enough. It was a painful sting to be told she was not good enough to move forward, she gave as much as she could into the fight but the decision had been made and she would not fight it. There was nothing she could do to fight it if she wanted. Instead, she accepted the loss with a head held high and a slow exhale. Twirling the Echani ritual brand in her mind, it was all that she brought into this duel so it was all that she could offer to her opponent outside her own respect and well wishes.
Walking over to Phaelissia, Lily gave a deep, respectful bow to her competitor. "Congratulations on the win. You gave your all and that was clearly seen by the judges. Please accept this, it is all that I brought to this fight and may it bring you better luck in your matches ahead than it brought me." Lily gave a soft chuckle and then winced slightly.
The pain and soreness of her body finally kicking in now that the adrenaline had faded. Lily knew she was going to need a bacta tank when she got home as well as some expected harsh comments from her Master about running off to join a kaggath. "Hopefully you go ahead and win this so I can tell people that I stood no chance after having to fight the champion in round 1." Lily smirked, holding good spirits in the face of defeat. It would have been easier to break down or storm off but that wasn't Lily.
She wasn't going to sour someone else's achievements with her own bitterness. Reflect, improve and return next time better than ever. That was the best and only way she could approach this.
Antar's eyes are closed in meditation and he sits, cross-legged and slick from being doused with bacta just moments ago. The weight of the viscous fluid comforts him and mends his superficial wounds. Bruises lose their sting. The pinch and burning in his shoulder is slightly alleviated.
He opens his eyes as the ad break is interrupted with a sudden announcement.
Antar only laughs.
"I'll skip the casino," he muses aloud, "But I'd wager some credits that Mauve
is fuming right about now."
His features harden. A second chance.
He won't let this opportunity slip from his grasp.
The sound rang out calling the end of the round. Vyn let go. No protest. No final squeeze around Mercy
's neck. He let his legs go lax like slacked rope. Head slamming into the floor with a grunt. Ribs cracked. His shoulder and fingers burnt to a char, Vyn's wrist felt dislocated but he wasn't sure. His HUD was giving him other errors. Like his ankle. Which had not only dislocated but had torn ligaments. Bacta was in order. Lots of it.
He was on the ground taking deep raged breaths. Then his shoulders came up, propping himself up unceremoniously. And looking to the massive monitor. He sat there and waited for the announcement.
Winner. Mercy.
Vyn looked over to her, he didn't make a sound. Just reached one hand to his thighs unlatching the harness, and the other around his back to disengage the screws of the J.A.M.R. from his spine. Then his gauntlet hissed. He put them on the floor between her and he. "You'll need surgery to wear the gauntlet, The shield and the singularity absorb energy, but without the correct implants the most it can do is that, and the repulsor function. The boost rig should work with just the climbing harness. Though I'd recommend surgery for that one too." There was no bitterness to it. Like someone handing over a tool. He just gave the bare requirements. Besides he wouldn't be effective if these were the only ones in existence. In fact the one's he'd given mercy had been a back up pair. Christened during their fight. Not only were they functional, but they were practically factory fresh.
In a technicality he should have won off of points, or they would have been close. He'd driven her to the edge, broke beasts, forced counters, and changed the tempo.
But Vyn figured he knew what this was. A Kaggath yes, a show that respected the ability to press on even when injured. To commit violence when faced with violence. But one ran by Black Sun. One where spectacle outweighed survival. Vyn was a clinch fighter in a tournament where they were running a betting ring. Even with flying knee's, flashy knife work, and unorthodox combat. It didn't matter. Not when force users like her could topple a Wroshyr.
"Congrats, most people don't make it past the knife."
He pushed himself to his feet and walked off with a limp. He wasn't upset he lost. He was a bit angry he didn't have the chance to choke her out, or more accurately see the fight to it's end.
Later
Vyn clambered into the stands with the rest of the crowd. Dragging himself and his gear. But not his pride. That flew like a flag. He had bacta patches applied to his ribs, shoulder, and ankle. Vyn found a seat. Then he decided to take a nap until the next round started, determined to watch even if he wasn't in it.
As the announcer called out CT-312's victory, Kudau finally let himself breathe deeply. Just as he did, the adrenaline from the fight subsided, causing the pain from his gash to come back with a vengeance. He grabbed the bleeding wound as he stumbled to the ground. As medical crew came to take him to get patched up, he held onto his lightsaber, for now at least.
(If I give my saber over now, there will be no reason to stay. I do not wish to leave before talking to her. After all, my previous conflict in the galaxy ended in positive conversation. Why not keep with the trend...)
He looked forward to giving his congratulations to his former opponent, but for now, he needed to heal...
A Syndicate IG droid holding two crates stomped into Antar’s field of view and set the crates down in front of him. The droid pushed the locks on the first crate open, revealing a suit of old armor, the color of obsidian, fashioned from overlapping scales of some beast.
The droid moved on to the second case, opening it up as well. Cradled in foam were four items: a pair of shock boxing electro mitts - heavily modified, a long, needle-tipped dagger, a pistol, and a belt with a device the size of a small datapad.
The droid gestured to the crate of weapons.
“Devaronian blood-poison dagger, one thrust and the fight should be over,” it said in a monotone, “Shockboxing mitts, capable of producing localized electromagnetic pulses. A personal shield generator. A VT disruptor pistol that will penetrate through beskar. And armor from akk-wolf scales.”
The droid’s red photoreceptor glared at Antar as it handed him a flimsy note before stomping away, job done.
Scrawled in flowing lines, it read: Don’t expect a third chance, my rugged pugilist. You’re an investment I would hate to lose.
The note promptly caught fire in Antar’s fingers and burnt itself all up to ash.
"I watch your fight," said the blue protocol droid smoking a cigarra a few seats over. She spoke Basic with a thick Chiss accent. "What is word...swagger? Very arrogant the pair of you. Big show. Maybe get in your way in the real fight. But good value the tickets."
As the fights were ended, a buzzer went off. Declairing the end of the fights. Drones came down and separated all of us from one another. Looking over to Taregh Garon
my breath heavy and panting hard. In honest, I wanted to reach out and give the man a damn good handshake. Just because the fight was well done. He was able to survive just as much as I did. Instead, I said some parting words.
"Gotta say, I enjoyed this. Next time we meet, hope it will be in more... relaxed circumstances."
A bright smile on my face with blood trailing down my nose. My fingers coming up to rub it away and leave marks on my fingers. Sniffling a little to clear the nose of whatever clotting from the blood. Flicking my hand to the side in pain slightly. A reflexive action to relax my body as we were being ushered back to the lockers and allow the judges to confirm who won, who lost, and who died.
Once in there, I grabbed one of the towels and started to clean myself off. Drying the water that had been left and removing any of the tree bark shrapnel that had stuck to my skin. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I could feel my head throbbing and my body aching all over. I maybe hoped to see if Quinn Varanin
had shown up for support. Since she was one of my sponsors. Inside I did notice a Mandalorian standing there to "guard" me. He had not been there earlier.
"Why are you here?" "During your fight, you destroyed the tree. So someone put a bounty on your head. The Mandalor requested for a detail be attached so that in between games you are not hindered." "Yeah, but out there, I'm on my own." "Kind of yeah. Sponsors can still help."
"Understood. Thank you."
A small nod and grunt was thrown my direction as I changed out of my clothes. Dressing down all the way and putting on some clean ones that weren't completely soaked with sweat, water and blood. As I did so, the announcements came out. I will be advancing to the next round. A soft sigh escaped my lips and I just felt pressure relax on my chest. First round was done. And honestly, that is all that I was worried about. Did I put on a good show and did I carry that Mandalorian patronage with pride. Did Aether Verd
approve of what I was doing?
"Well, guess I will have to see who I fight next."
There were only two words that could adequately explain the Mand'alor's silence thus far:
Locked. In.
He was a statue, leaned in with hands folded, watching as Delsin Shaw
squared off against his opponent. And when his victory was proclaimed, Aether clapped once - satisfied - before saying proudly:
"As if there was any doubt. LET'S GO DELSIN!"
Decorum be damned, he even threw his champion a thumbs up before settling back into his seat appropriately.
"Ahem, that was a thrilling first round! Especially to Delsin Shaw and, my sleeper pick, Drystan Creed
for proceeding to the next round!"
Victory. As if there could have been any other result for Jacen Breska.
The officials declared him victorious, and on the broken and burning Wroshyr tree, his arm was raised triumphantly. His opponent, Maestus, had given him the fight of his life. Had given him his first real taste of combat against the Sith. And he'd won. They were beatable. This was winnable. There was a chance, more then a chance.
It would take some calculated effort and more blood sweat and tears then Jacen had ever given any cause before in his life, but victory was possible. He was exhausted, but he was the winner, and he wasn't going to stop.
As he cheered and was cheered in turn, the droids went to work securing the arena. There was damage to be repaired, fire to be put out, and wounded to be cared for.
And a small fleet of droids gathered around Jacen, their cameras focused on him.
He still had one more thing to do.
One more obligation.
He took off his helmet, and looked dead ahead, forcing a wide smile, as wide as one his face could support.
"If you're not first. Yooooou're last! Beeeeespin Gas!"
Ashin Cardé Varanin
spoke to her fellow commentators, and Darth Kentarch waited for a moment before speaking.
"I don't know if I'd call it genre." The cloaked Sith stated. "But I agree on the overcommittment. Likely, they want to put everything into the first round to make a good impression on our judges. It's a marathon, not a sprint."
He waited for the matches to end before answering the last question. "Am I impressed? Who stands out? I'm glad you asked."
"Because it's time for the Holonet SportZone POWER RANKINGS! Proudly brought to you by McYoda's! Now serving the all-new Kyber-Crunch Wrap! Not legally edible in all systems."
Kentarch got up and walked over to a large Holo-Board.
"First up is the number five pick... My dark horse pick for winning the tournament... It's Darth Virelia
. I said before it's a marathon, not a sprint. She's fresh, she's got talent. From what I've seen, she has the dedication to go the distance." He said, gauging the other commentator's reactions.
"Next Up is the number four pick... The Galactic Slam! Whottoomuzz Chantin
! He is big, mean, and intimidating. And most of all, confident. Size matters. And frankly, I don't even know what I would do against this guy. How do you fight an armored force using Hutt anyways? And that's why the Hutt comes in at number four." He said, moving Chatin's avatar onto the list on the holo-board.
"Next is the number three pick... The Safe Bet! Delsin Shaw
. Delsin is a top pick among other commentators. He is good at being proactive and reactive to his opponent. I also think he has the endurance to finish. But I like how in a fight he has good 'defend and attack', and 'attack and defend' tempos." He moved Delsin into the three spot.
"Second Place... Ranked and Ruthless. Allyson Locke
! The use of the Dopplegänger is not something you see every day. Allyson is a formidable force user, and she is most likely to have some more rare force powers up her sleeve." He looked at the commentator's table and shrugged.
"Finally, the number one pick... The End Credits! Darth Malum of House Marr
! I feel bad for the opponents who get matched up with him early. Malum is an incredible duelist and a force to be reckoned with. You're going to need to be top tier in all force powers and weapons skills to stand a chance against this Sith Lord." Kentarch said, finishing the list.
"Well, it's going to get interesting in the second week, But remember, high-stakes, no-rules, Force-fueled duel to the death is made possible by our friends at McYoda's, now featuring limited-edition 'Dark Side Dippers' with real Bacta sauce!"
Drystan reflected on the events of the previous match, immersed in a bacta tank to allow his wounds to mend and his body to recuperate. Behind the breathing mask, a faint smile formed.
I must thank you, Antar
. Not only for being a worthy opponent. I've also grown stronger because of you.
There was no surge in his physical power after the match, nor any boost to his Force potency. Rather, what he gained was growth as a fighter—through understanding, through learning.
The Dragon Kata.
At once, the long, coiling form of a black dragon surfaced in his mind. Its blazing eye pierced into his thoughts, letting out an ear-splitting roar. Its ever-twisting body hinted at a hidden power—and through the use of just one of its techniques, Skybreaker, Drystan had been granted a glimpse into that deeper truth.
Explosiveness. Power. Just like the dragon in his mind, the strength of this kata lay in motion and muscle—how the body twisted, coiled, and struck.
Even though he had declined to take his opponent's weapon, he had not emerged from the fight with the Black Sun Champion empty-handed.
His thoughts replayed the moment Antar's spinning elbow cracked into his temple—a strike that used Drystan's own momentum to amplify its force. And then later, using the Force to redirect energy and return his power, had been equally brilliant.
How interesting...
It was the kind of move that would take a master years—perhaps a decade—to perfect. And to Antar's credit, he had executed it flawlessly.
But therein lay the problem.
With his gift—the ability to perfectly duplicate any physical movement he witnessed—the secret of that move would not remain secret for long. Drystan estimated it would take only as long as his stay in this tank to figure it out.
From beyond the cameras, the applause. His aloof appearance had made the post-fight commentary stale, and then- he ditched his armor, to be polished, cleaned, and repaired where need be.
So, there stood a regular man, save for the heavy warpaint around his eyes that remained. He stood victorious, though rather unassuming. But the looming figure stood near Jacen Breska
in the viewing area. The Super Commando was heads and shoulders taller than most, and his unsettling appearance stared at the boisterous display.
A low whistle and a golf clap followed the IG droid's departure. "Ay, great fight out there, champ."
The spacer didn't look like much -- a worn spacesuit, and a half-open vac-helmet inside was certainly a fashion choice -- but he had that businessman's tilt, like any smuggler worth their salt, and Captain Rak knew salt. How he got to Antar's room, he left for the fighter to wonder.
He sauntered over to the weapons box and took a peek inside. Another low whistle. "Whew, they must be pissed, ay. Investments, investments. Mm mm. I'm glad I bet on you moving to the next round, not winning the fight."
A wry smile. He circled, vaguely towards one of the benches splitting the room.
"This is nice, nice, but, ah- I saw you fight, mm. And I'll be the first to say, I respect it. That's an honest fight. No crap, no tricks -- you surprised me. You love to see it." He plopped himself down, eyeing the delivery. "Guess that's wrapping up this time, huh."
He drew a stimstick, lit up -- and offered, if it caught Antar's eye.
"Good enforcers -- tough to come by. Underrated area of expertise. More than just the muscles, not that you're lackin'. But, ah- well. The Sun wants wins, ay. So-" he produced a small, pill-sized package, and placed it on the bench beside him. "-I come with a proposition. Wins. Loot. Glory. Everyone happy."
I'll turn the question to the table. Is there anyone doing work today that impresses you — within the scope of their capabilities, of course? Who stands out?"
"Well, it's going to get interesting in the second week, But remember, high-stakes, no-rules, Force-fueled duel to the death is made possible by our friends at McYoda's, now featuring limited-edition 'Dark Side Dippers' with real Bacta sauce!"
"Thank you for the sponsored rankings," Mauve nodded, making a mental note to discuss back charging the food chain for the air time with Raz, "Speaking of sponsors. We have a surprise panelist joining us. Please welcome Darth Adekos
to the table."
Space was swiftly made for the one time Emperor of the Sith, which made for quite the group of past and future rulers.
"We will turn it back to the announcer for our brackets while our reporters check in with the contestants," the holocameras panned away, "Adekos - welcome. Is this your first time on Ruusan?"
* * *
"AND NOW, FOR THE ROUND 2 PAIRINGS," the suspiciously Marka Ragnos looking announcer roared into his microphone as he floated around the arena on a mobile platform.
Smoke rose in billows from the now utterly engulfed stump of the wroshyr tree. Panicked people in the stands ran from chunks of the tree that had fallen in among them. Droids busily rolled up, trying to clean up the debris.
The arena floor, though, was on fire. The ground glowed as the fire raced through the tree's immense root system, creating a heat so intense that it could be felt without even touching the ground. The grass smoked, caught fire, burned.
"ARE. YOU. READY?"
A droid rolled onto the arena field trying to clean up some debris closer to the wroshyr's stump, which blazed like a massive torch. The droid's plasteel parts began to melt and it fell over, arms swinging at the air like a flipped beetle.
"Everything is on the line. Whatever they bring with them? Forfeit. Their lives? Forfeit. Their dignity? Potentially forfeit. Anything could happen tonight in the RUMBLE OOOON RUUSAAAAAN.
First to die gets One POINT ONE MIIIIIILLIOOOON CREDITS to their closest relative or sponsors, suicide by Sith may just be the option at this Kaggathathon. And for the runner up in death? Well, fear not. Reincarnation into the species of their choice is an option offered by panelist Ashin Cardé Varanin
!
BUT let's not forget what is on the line here.
TWO
MILLION
CREDITS
And the title of GALACTIC Kaggath Champion.
Not to mention a literal pile of artifacts, weapons, and equipment bestowed by our generous sponsors.
So. Are you ready? Are you ready for round two? I caaaan't heeaaaar yooooouuuu."
Two gigantic freighters loomed on the horizon, carrying what looked like enormous bells. They crossed over the top of the arena, the bells tipping as they passed, and great slews of bright orange magma poured from them and onto the arena floor, covering the already inferno of an arena in a layer of lava. The heat was palpable, even from the stands. Through the shimmering air, platforms reminiscent of Mustafarian mining platforms whooshed down to settle at various places just above the magma's surface, all while the wroshyr tree's stump continued to burn in the middle.
"CHALLENGERS PREPARE YOURSELVES. THE NEXT ROUND STARTS IN THIRTY MINUTES!"
OOC: Fights go up Friday. Accounts are open for bribery in preparation.
Come the conclusion of Kyric's battle with Kesh Hevro, the kiffar offered his opponent a smile and a hand.
"Well fought, partner."
It wasn't much. He suspected it did little to ease the sting of defeat, but the Jedi meant it with his heart and soul. Their battle provided Kyric the clarity he needed to discover answers he'd chased since the death of his father well-over a decade ago. He wanted to share it; to celebrate what felt like a bond forged in the heat of battle. But the Hellion struck the Son of the Sword as the type of man who spoke best with his fists.
"Keep yer gear. And when yer ready, we can have a rematch. I look forward to conversatin' again when we both got more tales to tell, yeah?"
Satisfied with what little he could offer his opponent, Kyric turned and made for the arena exit.
The sudden blare of noise, followed by the match-ups for Round 2 put a bit more pep in the kiffar's step.
"C'mon, Tansu! We gotta go take a bacta bath." Kyric whistled and broke into an even-paced jog, the vornskr hot on his heels. "Maybe we'll get lucky and finally meet that Malum feller between matches, too!"
And with that, Kyric found himself a cozy little tank for him and another for his little buddy.
The glow of a cigarra lit up in the dimly illumined tunnel, cast a glow across a scarred and bearded face. A pistol sat easy on his hip, an old, old leather duster hung around his frame. Slowly, the man pulled out his cigarra and looked the brutalized Hutt up and down.
"Hell of a show. Know me?"
Another intake of breath, the cigarra glow. A cloud of smoke.
No smile. No quirk of the lips. Nothing but the cold eyes of a hunter.
"Nah. Call me nobody. Just a messenger." His voice was a sandpaper rasp, vocal chords tight and raw. "Heard you got family, Hutt. That right?"
