Boost THE FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH - RUMBLE ON RUUSAN

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

The haze of blood had not yet lifted. Not from the eye. Not from the mind.

Whottoomuzz's breath steamed through ragged wounds, filtered through cauterized ruin and meat that twitched with phantom pain. His eye—the good one—settled on the silhouette down the tunnel.

Cigarra glow. Dusty duster. Drawl like rust off a hull.

His gait slowed. The hiss of armor servos barely audible beneath the ringing in his head. Shyran Dol groaned with every inch. He slithered forward a meter more. Then stopped.

Family.

The word cut deeper than the saber.

The glare said everything. His ruined mouth moved—tried to shape words. Only a ragged wheeze escaped. A sound like steam through bone.

His eye never left the stranger.

If this was a warning –

Then let the galaxy listen close:
If this nobody threatened Xoff, or Jobbi, or anyone that bore the Chantin name—

—he would not stop at one blood-greased crater in the arena floor.
He would make a new one on here in this arena, more on whatever future graveworld this man called home.

Whottoomuzz's massive hand, still wet with battle, still closed into a fist, trembled with the aftershocks of bloodlust.

A low, bubbling snarl behind the shattered T-Visor was the audible response. Half-drowned in gore. A message returned albeit not in words.

Threaten the Hutt’s kin and you won’t walk back out the tunnel.​

Sal Katarn​

 

[Phaelissia]

Location: Relief Area, Arena, Valley of the Jedi - Ruusan
Dialogue Legend: <<Ghoul-Speak>> │ “Galactic Basic”
Tag: Lily Decoria

The end of the fight came quickly, with Phaelissia declared victorious. For her part, the Aetharian narrowed her eyes as she processed the results and the replays from the other fights. Her duel with Lily had not been nearly as bloody or draining as some of the other bouts, many of which seemed to have come down to which combatant seemed more recognizably themselves by the end of the fight.

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.

Phaelissia’s ears twitched as she turned towards Lily, before regarding her with a cocked head and startled expression. She glanced at the double-bladed ritual brand that was offered, synthetic gaze poring over its sleek, graceful length and the Echani engravings on the hilt.

Without a word, the Aetharian reached out and took the weapon, testing its weight and balance in her grasp. Although the weight wasn’t a problem given her notably enhanced strength, Phaelissia felt immediately that the weapon was off. It was sized for a fighter much taller and more physically robust than her, making it a perfect fit in Lily’s hands and an imperfect one in her own.

Still, Phaelissia did not feel it right to simply refuse the weapon.

Glancing at the hilt, Phaelissia’s gaze lit up when she spotted the seam in the middle of the hilt. All it took was the press of a hidden stud, followed by a forceful squeeze to unscrew and separate the brand’s two blades from each other.

Then, the ritual brand became ritual swords.

“One for me as a keepsake,” Phaelissia took one of the swords in her left hand. “The other for you, as a reminder.” She offered it back to Lily with her right hand, her features lighting up in something that might have resembled a smile.

“A bout well-fought. You were formidable.” Phaelissia continued. “Take your blade, melt it down, and forge something stronger with it.” She added. "I must now depart, to prepare for my next engagement."

With that, the Aetharian offered a bow in turn, before making her way into the healing and recovery area. Bacta was needed, for recovery and for her knee.

 

[Sal Katarn]

“Oh right,” rasped Nobody, with a snort, one hand gesturing up to his face.

“Sith got your tongue.”

A shrug. The man reached into a duster pocket, pulled out a datapad. He held the pad up and showed an image to the Hutt.

“This them?”

A Zeltron and a huttling floated on the pad. No. The Zeltron and the huttling.

“Xoff and Jobbi? Easy - easy now,” the man said around his cigarra, holding up a placating, empty hand, and put the pad back in his pocket with the other.

“Like I said, I ain’t nothin’ but a messenger. Tryin’ to confirm who gets the money if your ticket gets punched.”

And Xoff had apparently stormed toward the exit of the arena.

“Is that what you want? Just nod.”

Whottoomuzz Chantin

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

The datapad’s glow cut through the haze like a scalpel. The sight of them sent a fresh pulse through the ruined nerves of his charred body.

Xoff, as bold and beautiful as the day they’d struck their pact.
Jobbi, still young. Still wide-eyed. Still believing all things good and pure.
The Hutt’s good eye twitched. Jaw flexed beneath the meat. One massive fist tightened near his side, but didn’t rise.

He stared long and hard. Long enough for the silence to grow thick.

And then...

A nod. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

Once.

His only answer.

Yes.

Let it be written.

If his body fell beneath the magma or fists of a stronger beast—

Let the winnings, the weapons, the war spoils, all go to them.
To his mate.
To his daughter.
To all that remains of his clan.

A legacy. Maybe the only thing he could leave behind.

He blinked once. Then turned from the stranger, dragging Shyran Dol forward on screaming joints.
The blood trail thickened behind him.
But he did not stop.

Bacta tanks. Half an hour before he had to crush another. Perhaps the next one would be a mere human, a chance for respite against a more mortal foe than she who was Imperator.

Sal Katarn​

 

[Jacen Breska]

K A G G A T H ​

WEARING:: Halcyon Armour | Contact Lenses | Wrist Mounted APG | Ancile Shield | Aredian Amulet
EQUIPMENT: MAIN WEAPONRY: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LK-Sweeper Shotgun | Sunshot Pistol | Shiva Knife |
ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 3x Ravenous Grenades | 1x Kushute Grenades | 1x Ion Grenade | 0x Flash Grenade | 0x Incendiary Grenade
LOCATION: :: Ruusan - Arena ::
TAG: Tai Corde Lucette CT-312 | @OPEN

Jacen made his way back to the locker room and sat down on the bench.

The weight of the match hit him, finally, and he doubled over on the bench. Tired hands pulled at his helmet and lifted it up off his head. The inside of the helmet was damp with sweat. Jacen it down next to him before the covered his face and let the sweat drip from his forehead.

He'd won. Didn't take much damage in the fight, but it stressed him out. Maestus was a clever opponent that made him earn his victory, it wasn't something that came easily.
That's one down, he thought to himself as he exhaled slowly through his mouth, the hard one. First one's always hardest. Now they know what I can do but now it's time to show it wasn't a fluke. The other fighters, the winners, had also started trickling back from the arena. The winners, survivors, Jacen didn't care to look at any of them. Nothing but the next fight was in his mind. That win wasn't the smackdown he'd wanted. It wasn't the glorious victory. It was simply a win. Jacen had to be okay with that, but he wasn't. All it meant is he had to fight even harder in this next one. He had to show the galaxy he was worth that win. But right now he was grasping at every single second he could to rest, to think. Reflect on that fight, what he could do differently. The equipment provided by John Locke kept him alive and undoubtedly won him the fight. It also saved him from getting seriously injured, and the grenades worked to keep his opponent distracted. He hadn't needed to use the Ravenous, but perhaps this next fight would offer him the opportunity.

One down, he repeated in his mind. He ran a hand through his hair and inhaled deeply before he pushed off the bench and approached his locker.

"What are the chances they put us in another tree?" he asked himself, clicking his tongue as he opened the locker. He grabbed another Kushute grenade and attached it to his belt, then instead of grabbing another flash, the memory of his own flash being thrown back at him made him sneer. He shook his head, "...Nope," and grabbed two Incendiary grenades instead. Chances of another tree fight are low. But never zero. Chances of him blinding himself with his grenade? Much higher.

Satisfied with his refreshed collection of grenades, he closed the locker and turned to the holoscreen as a musical sting played.

Part of him was a little miffed he wasn't mentioned in Darth Kentarch 's power rankings, but he supposed he couldn't really argue with the reasoning. Why would any of them bet on Jacen against these creatures? Hell, he didn't know if he would have either. Still. He won. Against a Sith. That had to be worth some credit.

"A mention maybe?" he muttered. "Did they even watch?"

He scoffed, "...I was on fire out there. I was crushing it. Probably the best they'd ever seen. Musta not been watching..." he muttered to himself, "yeah...yeah that's it."

Then, the moment he was waiting for. Who he was fighting next.

The next rounds seemed exciting, people he was eager to fight paired together. Then he saw it, CT-312 vs Darth Virelia . He smiled and nodded. Good, she'd won. He was sure she'd win this next one. No stress, no worry.

Then...

A THREE WAY BATTLLLLEEEE ROYAAAAAALE - (you thought you were getting a BYE?): [/USER] Mercy vs Jacen Breska vs 5-WCH (Switchblade)

...And a thirty minute break.

Jacen stared blankly at the screen.

​

 

[Lynch]

Jerec Asyr | Wedge Draav | OPEN
​

• A THREE WAY BATTLLLLEEEE ROYAAAAAALE - (you thought you were getting a BYE?): Mercy vs Jacen Breska vs 5-WCH (Switchblade)

Shit.

"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."

Lynch got up from his seat and quickly tried to make his way down to the locker room. He watched 5-WCH (Switchblade) but up a damn good fight, but the droid still took a little bit of a beating. They only had thirty minutes before the competition started again, and if the Bounty Hunters' Guild wanted any shot of their champion winning, then some repairs needed to be made.

Running along the pathways, he passed by a woman ( Corazona von Ascania ) ugly crying while mentioning Lysander von Ascania 's name. Lynch could not help but chuckle a little. At least it looked like the droid didn't kill the kid, but only time would tell. Should have been more careful.

Eventually, the man found his way to the competitors. Switchblade was sitting there on the bench, two of his Tanuki droids licking their wounds nearby.

"Hey droid, how'd things go out there?"

Switchblade was busy at work patching up his right shoulder with offcuts of Durasteel.

"I won, didn't I?"

Not much the man could say to that.

"You got a point. Now listen, you got two opponents this next round. A trooper and a Sith. I've got the upmost faith in you. Just in case though, I called up some friends to get you some additional help out there."

Two droids pushing medium-sized hovercarts walked into the room, stopping about a foot from the pair. They began to unload the boxes and crates. Various tech and weapons were laid out on the table, all ready for Switchblade to use for the next round.

"Let's get to work."

 

[Mercy]

Mercy was back in her locker room.

It was spacious. She guessed courtesy of Spencer Varanin 's endorsement.

She sighed and leaned back as the professional masseuses began to attack her shoulders. She had accepted a light bacta dip, but refused to be immersed in a full tank for the next fight. Only the deepest and most serious wounds would be healed. The superficial, the annoying, the general results of the last scrap remained.

Mercy did that on purpose.

She wanted to feel the pain lacing right under her skin.

A THREE WAY BATTLLLLEEEE ROYAAAAAALE - (you thought you were getting a BYE?): Mercy Mercy vs Jacen Breska Jacen Breska vs 5-WCH (Switchblade) 5-WCH (Switchblade)

It came out on the monitors and it raised her eyebrows. "Two, huh? That sounds exciting." Her opponent was a trooper and a droid. "But when am I actually gonna get to fight a Sith?" She wondered if someone was putting their thumbs on the scale for one reason or the other.

Did they not think she could handle a Sith? Did they want her a breezy way up? If it was the latter they sorely miscalculated, because her first opponent had been a major pain in her arse.

And now two...

The idea that someone was purposefully either weakening her chances or boosting them equally annoyed her.

But then again, this was the Black Sun, she should have expected some foul play. At least some of the nonsense in the previous round hadn't happened to her. It might be exciting, but she wanted straightforward fights. Places she could just measure her strength without any of the silliness. That was probably too much to ask.

 

[Antar]

Enki Rak​

---

The droid’s red photoreceptor glared at Antar as it handed him a flimsy note before stomping away, job done.

"Thanks, Bolts," Antar eyes the crates for a moment until an unannounced guest puts him on alert. He whirls his head towards the voice. Antar curls his fingers over the burning note without any indication that the flame bothered him. But he did press his palm into the bacta pooled up on the bench. Sweet relief.

Then the stranger starts to talk. And talk. And talk. Antar prepares himself to summon his lightsaber from the pile of clothes next to him.

He drew a stimstick, lit up -- and offered, if it caught Antar's eye.

Antar raises a skeptical brow but takes the offering between his fingers. He brings it to his lips and pulls long and deep. Antar knows his way around a cigarette.

He exhales away from the spacer then nods to himself. Sweeter relief. He lets the guy finish building up to the point without a word in response. He looks long and hard at the packet next to him.

Then Antar says, "Appreciate the visit, pal."

His attention remains fixed on the "proposition".

"Everyone, huh?" Antar looks up, "There's no such thing as making everyone happy. Anyone says otherwise, they're just spilling bantha shit. So, tell me. And keep it concise."

Antar drags from the stim. Exhales.

"What's the catch?"

 

[Gida Luroon]

Despite her loss and the injuries she’d sustained, Gida Luroon was in a surprisingly chipper mood. She had every right to be, having held her own against Lord Malum for the entire length of the first round. There was no shame in defeat by a superior foe, only in using it as an excuse to look weak in the aftermath.

She’d lost her gear of course, just standard issue weapons and equipment she had replaced rather quickly. Though her current uniform was not the full ensemble but a physical training version that had her arms and legs exposed, normally for heat regulation, though right now that feature was being used for a pair of bacta casts, one on her left arm where less than a hour ago a medic had been picked grenade shrapnel and the blade of a thin obsidian knife out of her. The other was on her right ankle, Gida had unknowingly rolled it when she jumped from the tree into the stands and the adrenaline had covered up the pain until it was all over.

The image was completed by a sword belt looking very out of place on her hips, and a pair of Darth Morta’s Crimson Oath trailing shortly behind Gida. They appeared to be there as an honour guard, but a closer look revealed their true purpose, extra medical equipment hanging from their equipment belts gave their reason for being there as first aid in case the General’s wounds were worse than they appeared.

She finally spotted the person she was looking for, Allyson Locke, seated in a rare quiet spot in the area. Gida felt no shame in approaching to break her peace, she had no doubts that if Miss Locke wanted to not be found, the next time a living being saw her it would be when she stepped out to her next fight.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” Gida started to address Allyson, as the two troopers with her stepped away to not so subtly keep the meeting from being interrupted “If you have a moment I’d like to speak with you.”

Tag: Allyson Locke

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

Now serving the all-new Kyber-Crunch Wrap! Not legally edible in all systems."

"I too can attest to the risk and the power of a Kyber Crunch. As strategic concerns develop around both Thyferra and Verkuyl, I recommend a double order with the Dark Side Dippers. While supplies last, your access to the bacta sauce must be secured."

 

[Darth Adekos]

RUUSAN​

Darth Adekos was conveyed by mechno-chair, its pointed feet clicking noisily across the floor. The old Sith looked indolent with age, garbed in a smartly tailored dark tunic and trousers, wielding with apparent expertise a glass of red wine.

His hair had grown long and unkempt again. There was little reason to trim it - his pursuit of the True Science was becoming an increasingly solitary endeavor. The clone attended the senate meetings for him (and had for some time) and the droid was now a force unto itself, requiring (and desiring) less and less of his input. They grow up so fast.

The mechno-chair lowered itself in the space allocated to him.

"Adekos - welcome. Is this your first time on Ruusan?"

"I visit every year to pay my respects," he said, matter-of-fact, "It's where all my friends and dreams and I died, after all."

They just happened to be hosting this... Thing when he came by. What a thrill. Now he could watch some other people die instead - or their hopes and dreams, at least. He took a sip of his wine and waited for the sponsorships to tire themselves out.

Mauve Ashin Cardé Varanin Darth Kentarch Aether Verd Gat Tambor​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora wasn't exactly convinced that Isar was not an incredibly detailed illusion. A vivid recollection kicked up by her own traumatic memories? A stress response. Yes, that could be it.

Her body still responded as if he were real, though. Tension stiffened the limbs beneath her cloak. Her throat tightened, and the frayed threads of her mind bound against each other so tightly that even he wouldn't find her easy to probe.

Had she not been caught up in the revelation that her dear brother was not only Sith, but one near death, she might've noticed Isar's listlessness.

To his apology, Cora exhaled sharply through her nose. It was almost a snort.

“He’s walking the tightrope now.”

"Not if I can help it."

She turned sharply, on her heel, and rushed off in the direction where she'd seen them drag Lysander’s body.

Cora wouldn't find him in the end. But she would have the solace that he was alive. Taken off world.

But not here. Not within her reach.

Isar Lysander von Ascania

 

[Isar]

She turned sharply, on her heel, and rushed off in the direction where she'd seen them drag Lysander body.

A heliotropic stare watched her go, leaving the smoke and the stadium and the smell of lavender behind. The man began to fade away from reality, blurred like a bad dream, but a voice followed her out, somehow right beside her ear. No more than a murmured mutter.

“Be seein’ you, love.”

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

The tunnel to the recovery wing stank of cauterized blood and melted durasteel. He slithered alone. A trail of Hutt gore marked every slow push of muscle under Shyran Dol's immense weight.

Droids flitted past, carrying spare plating, repulsor scaffolds, graft-pads. They spoke to one another in chirps and directives—none dared approach him.

Whottoomuzz dragged his battered bulk into the repair alcove. A utility unit was already working on his armor. The shoulder pauldron was folded like a cheap can, the visor spidered and seeping fluid from shattered impact gels. One droid reached for a patch kit with mechanical cheer.

He backhanded it with a sickening clang. The droid flew across the bay, screeched against the wall. Still moving. Good.

Whottoomuzz followed. Blood drooled in thick rivulets from the slack ruin of his mouth, soaking the trophy electrowhip looped across his chest like a sash. His hands seized the droid by the torso, pried open plating like ripping shell from seafood. Wires snapped. Joints shrieked.

And then—metal met meat.

He took a piece of the droid’s own chest panel and lined it with thick fingers against the loose, dangling remains of his lower jaw, scooping what hung limp into the makeshift prosthetic. Then the drill.
No sedative. No scream.
Only a hiss through blood-soaked breath as he bored the screws into place—through flesh, into cartilage. The plating seated against bone with a wet crunch, blood soaking the servos of the tool.

One eye narrowed. The other, imploded from the Imperator's thumb. . He tore a length of black tarp from a crate, wound it around his ruined head like a war priest’s blindfold. A patch. A shroud. A cover from dust getting in. It'd regenerate in a year or so.

No bacta yet. Not yet. Not until the armor was tended, not until the pain had sunk deeper than the nerves.

The droids buzzed warily, resuming their work on Shyran Dol. Plates unbent. Armorweave sewn. The electrum borders re-soldered in silence.

He left the battlefield with no trophies but one. No songsteel. No armor. Only the whip, the blood, and the memories. Lirka’s electrowhip. A Common enough model. Brutal, though, and fitting of his ancestry. Before they had grown soft.

He slithered toward the Bacta tanks. His armor was tended to. His jaw would at least have the scrap metal to graft to. He did not look back.

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

x

During the precious few moments the winners had to prepare for their next round Razmir approached them with a small crew of floating camera droids in tow. He held microphone and clipboard, and was dressed in the finest suit which remained subtle enough to not completely outshine the winners as he stood next to them--though it nonetheless did.

He came to them, one after the other, with a list of questions prepared.

"Welcome, dear audience, to our winner interviews. As we move into the next round of the FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH TOURNAMENT, we have a few things we are dying to know about you:

" Kyric ,

"Your opponent, Kesh Hevro, made use of an aggressive style backed by technology. Was there a point in the fight when you sensed the momentum shift in your favor?

"You ended up suffering some serious injuries in that bout. Where did the resilience to push through it all come from? Instinct, training, or something we’re not aware of?

"What an electric finisher--forgive the pun. At that point, was it personal, tactical, or simply the spirit of this competition that drove you to make the call to use such a technique?

"Looking ahead, this win puts you in the next round, facing Phaelissia. Can you share with the audience your assessment of your upcoming fight? Anything we should get excited for?"

- - -​

" Phaelissia ,

"The demeanour you had at the beginning of the fight was composed, almost clinical. Was this type of unnatural cool part of a psychological strategy against Lily?

"In your approach to the fight you made good use of the environment and your technological advantages. How much of this did you strategize beforehand versus improvise in the moment?

"You showed no hesitation when you went in for that ruthless blow at the end. That makes us think: do you think mercy is a liability in this tournament?

"With this victory, you’ve established yourself as a serious contender. Are you concerned you may find yourself being the target of sabotage or interference in the coming round? What is your assessment of your opponent, Kyric?"

- - -​

" Allyson Locke ,

"Thalia Senn came out exploding with raw power. How did you adapt to her rhythm and tactics so quickly?

"From observation, brute strength isn’t your weapon of choice. You favour precision, timing, and misdirection. Is this a conscious strategy or instincts kicking when the pressure’s on?

"You’ve worn many titles in your past, but now you fight as the Champion of the Sith Order. Does the experience you have and the pressure of being a faction’s champion change the way you approach this fight?

"You’re an excellent survivalist, but by the end you were in control. Did this victory reinforce your confidence heading into the next round, or did you find weaknesses you saw that concern you, especially now that you’ll be facing Darth Malum?"

- - -​

" 5-WCH (Switchblade) ,

"Lysander Von Ascania as a duelist exudes refinement, but you managed to dismantle his composure over the course of the fight. Did you employ a tactical analysis of him going into this match?"

"Your efficiency and lack of hesitation make you a ruthless fighter. Was it all the programming inherent to your circuits, or were are there secret operator directives we don’t know about?"

"You made excellent use of both the brute mechanical force of your frame and strategic restraint of cold logic. How do you balance those functions in high-risk engagements like this?"

"With organic combatants, emotion often drives mistakes. Do you see your emotionless execution as a major edge in this kind of tournament? How do you believe it will help you in your upcoming three-way fight?"

- - -​

" Delsin Shaw ,

"You snapped a wroshyr tree in half mid-fight! What you displayed there just brute strength, but sheer battlefield dominance. What drove you to put on such a show for us?"

"Taregh Garon came in with Mandalorian tenacity backed by Imperial discipline. What was your read on him going in, and how did you find gaps to exploit?"

"Your style of fighting leverages overwhelming physicality. cough rain incident cough. Are you concerned that your next opponent might come prepared to neutralize that?"

"Your victory showed us all what you are capable of. But you have the eyes of an entire nation on you, the Mandalorian Empire. Does the weight of that rest heavy on your shoulders? How does their backing change your approach to the tournament?"

- - -​

" CT-312 ,

"Kudau came into this bout with unpredictability and speed. Were you trained against this kind of enemy? Any part of your training that came in particularly clutch this round?"

"You fought with discipline, even in a pit fight. How did you transition from the chaos of a warzone to arena single-combat?"

"Our background on you tells us you’re a product of military engineering and conditioning. Do you think that structured background gives you an edge against fighters fueled more by instinct and emotion?"

"What’s your operational mindset as you move forward into the next round, especially now that you’ll be facing a full-blown Sith? Stick-to-protocol, or adapt-and-evolve?"

"Any words to the other duelists representing Bespin Gas? We hear Jacen and Arris moved on to the next round."

- - -​

The Madclaw couldn't be reached for comment.

- - -​

" Darth Virelia ,

"You managed to stay in control even against the sheer intensity and physicality that Wymar brought to this duel. What was your read on him, and how what plan did you put into motion to counter it?"

"Your precision under pressure was remarkable. Is that kind of discipline a result of training, experience, or pure instinct?"

"This fight had the trappings of an endurance match, but there’s often a critical piece that ekes out victory. Did any of the decisions you made during the fight stand out as a critical turning point?"

"You’ve proven you can handle brute force. How do you anticipate you’ll fare against a more tactically minded opponent with a military mindset?"

- - -​

" Drystan Creed ,

"From your fight it became clear you're one to make use of calculated pressure. What was your primary objective in dismantling Antar's defense?"

"Your martial arts and control of tempo showed off impressive mastery. How much of that was drilled technique, and how much reading your opponent on the fly?"

"You didn't let up even when Antar started to lose ground. Was that a conscious strategy to bring the fight to a decisive end, or did the momentum take over?"

"With the bracket tightening, are you looking to refine your tactics, or do you believe raw execution will carry you through? How do you think your spirit of battle will measure up against someone with the heart of a machine?"

- - -​

" Antar ,

"Drystan came at you with everything he had. What was your initial strategy going in, and when did it began to unravel?"

"You stayed in there, fighting until your last even when the tide turned. What kept you locked in despite the overwhelming power you faced?"

"With your return due to another duelist's withdrawal, does this feel like redemption story waiting to happen or are you feeling the pressure building?"

"What changes do you intend to make with this unexpected second chance? How do intend to rise to the challenge of the mechanical monster awaiting you?"

- - -​

" Mercy ,

"Vyn brought calculated aggression and strong defense to bear against you, but you managed to break through both. What was your assessment of him going in?"

"You maintained an intimidating, almost predatory control throughout. Was that your natural combat rhythm, or tailored specifically to throw him off?"

"The way you fight walks a fine line between discipline and brutality. Do you draw a line between domination and overkill, or do you use a “all bets are off” mindset in this arena?"

"With this kind of victory you're now a visible threat going into the next round. Are you ready for opponents to start preparing for you specifically? What are your thoughts going into a three-way bout?"

- - -​

" Arris Windrun ,

"You were pitted against the ferocity of Vagabond. What allowed you to maintain composure under that kind of pressure?"

"There was a moment at the end where the fight could have gone either way. What gave you the edge when you were put under pressure like that?"

"You made use of very unconventional tactics during your fight. Was that a planned element of your approach going in or something you’ve learned to exploit during battle?"

"Every fight in this tournament strips something away, whether it’s energy, focus, sometimes it’s something more. Do you feel this duel took something out of you? Did it give anything back? What ripple effects will it have in your fight against the Jedi Shadow?"

"Finally, any words to the other Bespin Gas backed contenders still in the tournament?"

- - -​

" Fenn Stag ,

"You entered the fight lazer-focused on the execution, no theatrics. What mindset do you adopt when stepping into a fight when death is on the line?

"There was a point where you let Balun come to you, almost like you were baiting him. Do you find greater control in letting your opponent feel in charge before you take it away from them?"

"In your approach to these fights, are you refining a core style you adhere to, or do you see each round requiring a fresh approach with new tactics?"

"Following up, how are you preparing for your fight against the Mandalorian Champion in your next round? What can we look forward to?"

- - -​

" Whottoomuzz Chantin ,

"You endured truly catastrophic injuries in your fight against Lirka. What kept you fighting when you had every reason to surrender or collapse?"

"Your opponent pushed you to the brink. How did you adapt mid-fight to turn the tables despite the odds?"

"The Kaggath draws fighters from across the galaxy. After facing someone like Lirka, has your perspective on the kinds of threats in this bracket evolved?"

"With injuries this severe, how do you plan to recover and prepare for the next round? What do you expect from your opponent, who’s still in this tournament through luck alone?"

- - -​

" Jacen Breska ,

"Was there a moment you seriously doubted you’d make it through? If so, what snapped you back into the fight?"

"You were swift and decisive in the final moments of the fight. Were you following a strategy or plan from the start, or did you spot an opening during the fight and adapt on the fly?"

"Some fighters thrive on spectacle, but you kept efficiency looped into your performance. Was that discipline rooted in a broader strategy or simply risk management?"

"You faced an opponent who showed great power within the Force. Many thought you the underdog in this fight. Do you think there’s an advantage in being underestimated because of that? Will you be able to leverage that advantage in your upcoming three-way bout?"

"Do you have any words for the others from Bespin Gas who are still in the fight?"

- - -​

" Darth Malum of House Marr ,

"Gida Luroon was a skilled opponent who distinguished herself with unpredictable tactics. What surprised you about fighting her?"

"You wield the Dark Side with ruthlessness and grandeur. How much of your power relies on psychological warfare? How much on raw strength?"

"Your moves in this battle were decisive and left little room for doubt as to your power. Was that meant as a message to the rest of the field during the opening round?"

"With your reputation preceding you, how do you intend on handling your next opponent? We understand the two of you have something of a rivalry about Championing the Sith during this Kaggath?"

 

[Fenn Stag]

Fenn stared at Razmir Tezhyn for a moment.

“What Mandalorian?” He said entirely in reply.

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

Razmir kept smiling at the camera but he knew he would not be recovering from the coldness of the reply which Fenn Stag had given him.

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

A crude durasteel prosthetic jaw gleamed against the bacta-slick skin, its seams riveted into cartilege and Hutt-bone. One bloodshot eye peered out beside a tightly knotted black eyepatch. The voice that rasped out of him was gurgled, grim, and low. The partially healed mouth made his words crawl through the air like sludge.

"You endured truly catastrophic injuries in your fight against Lirka. What kept you fighting when you had every reason to surrender or collapse?"

A bubbling sound. The metal jaw whined as it moved. Thick, red-tinged mist poured from between ruined cheeks and scar tissue as he spoke.

"Nopa nee choo yetta"

Whottoomuzz his chest once with a thick, clawed finger. The worst was the loss of his tongue. The rest had redundant organs, would heal with time. The tongue would too, but in the meantime, without the radula-like chewing organ, he would have to stick to mash his food manually first. And taste none of it.

"Your opponent pushed you to the brink. How did you adapt mid-fight to turn the tables despite the odds?"

He leaned in. The lens adjusted as his scarred face filled the frame.

A few agonizing syllables in basic croaked out:

"Break-ing... every-thing."

Tackling the Lirka off of the Wroshyr tree had put them on more even footing, literally and figuratively. He smiled. It made the metal creak. Something red-green dripped.

"The Kaggath draws fighters from across the galaxy. After facing someone like Lirka, has your perspective on the kinds of threats in this bracket evolved?"

The Hutt tilted his head. His one eye narrowed. Disappointment tinged his posture.
"Cheekta doth da pawa grancha. Da odda mikiyuna gootu-poodoo. Morta. Nopa lik cheekta."

"With injuries this severe, how do you plan to recover and prepare for the next round? What do you expect from your opponent, who's still in this tournament through luck alone?"

He gestured to his body.
The scars.
The self-implant.
The burns still healing.
And then,

"Uba yafulkee Jee-jee poodoo-chobasa an pushee threen bokkanawaga een andoba ronda? Jee-jee banag."

Underneath the played-up indignation for the camera, there was something hungrier in his tone. This one... Sponsored by the Black sun itself, given a second chance. Whottomuzz suspected a trap. A chance to visibly execute a lingering symbol of the Hutt Cartel. One who sponsored himself twice-over to represent the cartels splintered before his time.

In truth, he welcomed the "leftovers" and whatever tricks the Black Sun may have set up. He would break them. Shame them in their own arena.

He had proven to himself what it means to be alive against the black blooded Imperator herself. Now he would remind the Galaxy why the Hutt grows fat, how the apex predator transcended the rules of nature.

Razmir Tezhyn​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris had finished her medical treatment and was now smoking a deathstick outside the bathroom when the reporter came around. Her face awash with gloom, now besieged by anxiety at the sudden attention. Earlier, before the first round, she would've taken this opportunity with much excitement.

After all, who doesn't want to be famous?

"You were pitted against the ferocity of Vagabond. What allowed you to maintain composure under that kind of pressure?"

She thought back to that scream again. Was it composure? Was she ever truly fine? The cyborg hadn't realized it was almost a full minute of her saying nothing. As soon as she parted her lips, the reporter moved on to the next question.

"There was a moment at the end where the fight could have gone either way. What gave you the edge when you were put under pressure like that?"

"I don't know," she mumbled. "I fought faster?"

She could tell from the reporter's face that this wasn't going well. Still, they kept the interview moving along. Arris felt a stimulant release into her system at the very moment of the next question.

"You made use of very unconventional tactics during your fight. Was that a planned element of your approach going in or something you’ve learned to exploit during battle?"

"A tree exploded, the rest was on fire, there were dangerous animals on the ground..." She listed off. "I had to respond to live."

"Every fight in this tournament strips something away, whether it’s energy, focus, sometimes it’s something more. Do you feel this duel took something out of you? Did it give anything back? What ripple effects will it have in your fight against the Jedi Shadow?"

The rush from the stim finally hit her, and she suddenly went from sullen Talusian back to something more jittery. That chemical ego had returned.

"It reminded me that I can die at any moment. This is a death fight. We all have the intention to kill our opponents, regardless of our personal feelings towards the fighters. Hate 'em, love 'em, don't think about 'em at all. I didn't know anything about my first opponent--I won. I don't know anything about my next. Take from that what you will."

"Finally, any words to the other Bespin Gas backed contenders still in the tournament?"

She grinned, then looked directly at the camera. "Hey Jacen Breska , enjoy your threesome!"

Then, the Cyborg began to walk away from the interview before turning back for one more message. "Oh yeah! This goes out to all the fans and haters. If you're not first, you're last!" She said while flipping both her middle fingers.

 

[Drystan Creed]

Drystan took a drag from a freshly lit cigarette before answering the questions:

"From your fight it became clear you're one to make use of calculated pressure. What was your primary objective in dismantling Antar's defense?"

"Dismantling his defense wasn't the objective. I simply chose to strike when it was down."

"Your martial arts and control of tempo showed off impressive mastery. How much of that was drilled technique, and how much reading your opponent on the fly?"

"Martial arts is equal parts execution and ingenuity. The ideal any martial artist should strive for is to use the right technique, at the right moment, in the right way."

"You didn't let up even when Antar started to lose ground. Was that a conscious strategy to bring the fight to a decisive end, or did the momentum take over?"

"Some fights test endurance. Others, a test of reflex. I simply moved along with the tempo of the fight. Anyone can do this—if they master the basics."

"With the bracket tightening, are you looking to refine your tactics, or do you believe raw execution will carry you through? How do you think your spirit of battle will measure up against someone with the heart of a machine?"

"I'm an eternal student. I am not at that point yet where I only need to make minor adjustments to my technique. I can't say how I'll fare against my next opponent until the match concludes... but I do hope to learn more about myself in the process."

Razmir Tezhyn