First Reply The Gladiator Returns

[Miasmær]

Location: Loovria, Sith Order Space
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Miasmær had been preparing for this. Stepping through the durasteel hallways of the grand arena's underground complex shrouded in a black cloak which obscured her distinctive features. Down further still would be the slave pits; her destination. But it would not be easy to get to, many would stand in her way.

Her hand gently brushed up against and traced the cold durasteel of these familiar halls. Too many times she had walked through this region of the arena complex to the fighting pit above, too many times she had spilled blood. Yet here she was again, to spill blood one last time.

As she rounds the corner one of the brutish guards would notice her, leveling a blaster towards her. Yet before they would have a chance to issue protest Miasmær's hand would lazily lift up, forming a claw as the guard's eyes would widen and his throat would constrict. Slowly Miasmær would walk towards him, and slowly he would float towards her, until the two met in the center of the hallway. Miasmær's black eyes would only hint at the inferno of rage and hatred that burned inside of her, yet even that glimmer terrified the guard more than he had ever been in his life.

Slowly the life would leave his eyes, and Miasmær would watch every second of it.

Soon Miasmær passed the corpse in the hallway, the event punctuated only by the thud of plastoid armor concealing a heavy frame hitting the durasteel floor behind her.

It would only be two minutes before the alarms begin to blare, red lights filling the previously dimly lit hallways. Miasmær waited. She needed the pit-master's keycard to pass by the shields blocking her way. As a dozen guards would file into the hallway, leveling blasters towards Miasmær as she is haloed by the blue shimmering field of energy which blocked her path downwards.

Soon blue was joined by crimson.

A red beam of energy, crackling with hatred from a cracked kyber crystal, would eminate from the lightsaber which is in Miasmær's hand.

The slaughter began.

Moving forward Miasmær twirled the blade, several blaster shots deflecting into the walls of the structure. With one outstretched claw she would grab the nearest guard with the force, knocking them into two of their compatriots before excelerating herself down the hallway with supernatural speed. Red blade met plastoid armor, barely a match, and two guards fell to her blade. Another would attempt to lash out with a knife, a futile attempt that Miasmær would sidestep and elbow him in the face before twirling around and seperating their head from their shoulders.

As the head would roll past the rest of the shocked guards, already brought down to half their number, they'd all stare in shock.

"Run."
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Her only word had its effect. They would scatter, and she would pursue as a subtle smile would come to dominate her features.

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

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She was gettin' good at gettin' up to no good. That was the only explanation for the backwater broad finding herself in Sith Space in an arena built for death. The other reason was yet another dead end because she was either too late or too wrong. Her mission had been twofold. One — find Kyric. Break him out. Two — if not Kyric, others (that part she didn't math out. She never mathed these things out). The first had failed, the second she was mathing out when a low, thrumming growl rolled through the walls like the building itself had teeth. Then the alarms kicked in, a horrible keening loop. Red light bled into the corridors, strobed against rusted beams and reinforced cages. Pressure doors hissed shut two levels up. Inmates started yelling. Somewhere metal clanged—something locking or failing, she couldn't tell which.

"Not good," she muttered. "Real not good." Tansu grimaced and checked the schematics on her vambrace's screen, which was visible beneath her oversized jacket. What was the fastest way out?

She looked past the holding cells. None of them bore the face of her cousin, or anyone she knew. But somehow, they all seemed to have eyes like hers. Tired, twitchy, looking for a way out.

"Alright," she muttered on her sigh. "One good deed per infiltration. That's the deal."

She dropped to a knee at the nearest control panel, slid a vibroshiv under the casing, and peeled it back with a pop. Sparks fizzed out. The screen flickered. Static. Locked tight.

"Come on, baby, be dumber than you look..."

She tapped in an override. The lights above the cages blinked yellow—then shut off completely. Nothing opened.

"Kriff." She banged the console with her palm. "Cheap Sith junk."

Behind her, the inmates had gone dead silent. No screaming now. Just waiting.

"I'll come back," she said, loud enough for all of them to hear. "I swear it. I just gotta make you worth the trouble first." None of them saw the charm in her wink.

She rechecked her vambrace. There was a route to the security override on the next tier. But that corridor was also where all the guards seemed to be flooding in. Tansu took off running, boots pounding the metal floor. As she turned the corner, blaster muzzles and shouting voices met her in a flash of light and heat. Dozens of guards. Riot-ready. Maybe more. And they were all running.

In the wrong direction?

"Where you goin'? I mean, good but —"

The hallway stank of ozone and pride. The kind of pride that dripped off people who thought power was something worn like a cape and swung around in crowded rooms.

"Run."

Or in this case, a cloak and a red lightsaber. Tansu skidded to a halt.

"Oh, chit."

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Miasmær
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[Miasmær]

Location: Loovria, Sith Order Space
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A light tug with the force on a fleeing guard's ankle sent her collapsing forward, knocking herself and another guard down as she desperately clawed for anything to balance herself. The two, a mess of interlocked limbs, clambered over each other in a desperate attempt to escape as their doom approached. Too late did they begin to get to their feet. With a simple twirl of the crackling red saber the light left each of them, and Miasmær stepped over their bisected bodies as rage radiated from her like heat from a star.

She had waited for this day for years, ever since her old master had bought her from this place. To finally show the legion of fools who enslaved her what kind of monster she had become. They did not make her like this, they had only started her on the path. And Miasmær had arrived to show them where her path would cross with theirs for the final bloody time.

As they ran they fired wildly behind them, a few taking what few seconds they had to turn and fight Miasmær as she encroached ever closer towards the main security room where the majority of their forces would congregate and where the security override would be. She needed guides, this part of the installation being unfamiliar to her now as she carved her way through a bulkhead security door in a matter of seconds.

As the circular hunk of metal, burning at the edges, collapsed inwards and Miasmær stepped inside she noticed something; someone who did not belong. A human, not in any uniform used by the installation or Sith Order, stood at the far end of the hallway. Her steady approach did not falter even though the surprise added new unknowns and possibly more danger than she had ever wanted.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice bubbling with spite. Miasmær's void black eyes would lock with Tansu's as she approached, raising the saber in challenge to the stranger.

"And what are you doing here?" Perhaps she'd be a technician? One Miasmær could use to override securities for her. It would be less showy, less final, leave less of an impact. But Miasmær had a feeling her new master would prefer a concise strike over Miasmær's desire for the dramatic.

Tansu Treicolt

 

[Tansu Treicolt]

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"L'il 'ol me?

Uh, don't fret about it. Just a girl tryna do a good deed in a place that ain't seem to have any sense of the word."

A brow arched and she looked pointedly at the bisected guards, then to the void-black gaze locked on hers and exhaled through her nose.

The impulse to step back was powerful, but she stood her ground. This was not a howdy-dee-do she wanted. And it'd be a lie to say she felt totally in control and not scared at all. Still—she had to fake it. If not to convince the scary red Sith lady, then to convince herself. She kept her hands low, stance easy, eyes sharp on Miasmær, cataloguing the rage like a storm brewing on the horizon. One that could either blow past, or destroy her.

"I ain't here for you," she went on, stepping just slightly to the side, like she might ghost past if the Sith let her.

She'd be remiss to ignore the warning thrum at the base of her neck, The Force's whisper that there were layers at play here — something more than wan murder and violence. Sure, Sith were evil and loved to kill but their normal M-O was destroying the innocents, right? The workforce for a brutal gladiatorial arena didn't exactly meet the roster of entirely innocent, which suggested there may be an angle Tansu could appeal to. Sith liked to hurt. To prove.

Keeping her eyes on the Sith's, she dared a step forward. Not quite enough to turn her back. Not quite enough to invite a swing.

"You uh..seem to have… somethin' goin' on with the folks runnin' this place." She gestured vaguely at the smoldering carnage behind Miasmær. "So what's your next move? Keep carvin' 'til the walls are drippin'? Or you actually here to do somethin' that might leave a real mark?" Her drawl stayed light, but the edge in her words sharpened.

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Miasmær
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