She Who Has No Name
Blasters rang in her mind. The tens of soldier's corpses littered the ground around her, a figure battling a jedi with extreme ease. All of these flashed in her mind as she swung her lightsabers around, blocking training bolts from some fast paced Marksman-H training remote droids. She had taken seven of them and set them to fire at fast rates with only the sting function active. She knew the risks of being exposed to multiple hits, that's why she wore her repaired armour. The white Duraplast and Armorweave suit allowed her fast movements with a fair amount of protection. Each droid shot missed by her lightsabers just struck the armour, leaving her safe. A small console was linked to the droids, showing the amount of bolts fired, tracking the amount she dodged and deflected compared with the ones that hit.
Kinhaes had been training for over five hours straight so far. A usual sight for the padawan. Masterless, she had only her first master's teachings and advice to shape her training. Her reformed lightsabers even held some resemblance to his. Whilst the yellow crystal was the defining difference to his own, her use was vastly different. Her old master was precise, careful in his strikes and movements. Hers were erratic, fast and devastating. A far cry from herself when in his care.
The console chirped and beeped rapidly a few times to call off the droids. With a sigh as she stood up and glanced at the console, Kinhaes felt frustration in her stomach. '89% of targets deflected. 5% avoided. 6% hit = 94% accuracy. 5% margin for error.' Kinhaes glared at the screen. She had been practising none stop. She had to be ready. Ready for the battles. The pain. And that Sith. The one she can't avoid.
Taking a breather, the young padawan sat on a bench, the sphere droids landing on the ground gently, ready for the next bout of training.