Private Wolf vs Cyborg

[Darth Virelia]

"Fight for me."

Tags - Lyssa Cluada , Darth Kharnaz



Beneath the shattered crust of Polis Massa, where stone became steel and silence became law, the dueling room breathed with tension.

It was a cathedral to violence, sanctified in echoes. The walls were sheer slabs of obsidian-veined duracrete, reinforced with humming resonance plates meant to absorb—and amplify—the Force. Overhead, a vaulted ceiling stretched into shadow, studded with dim lights like artificial stars, far too distant to offer comfort. At its center, the dueling floor lay cold and circular, surrounded by jagged observation tiers and pressure-lock gates. It reeked of antiseptic blood, of metal, of training sabers burned too long against armor. This place had seen many apprentices rise—and many more fall.

And now, it belonged to her.

Darth Virelia did not sit. She reigned.

Her throne—if one could call it such—was a brutal monolith of black alloy, forged not with artistry but inevitability. Spiked supports curved like vertebrae behind her, forming a silhouette that suggested wings long torn away. The armrests were sharp-edged, the seat high and narrow, forcing stillness as much as posture. She appeared carved from it—integrated, as if her armor had been magnetized to the metal and grown roots in it.

The six violet eyes in her helm blinked once. Slowly. Patiently.

She could already feel them drawing closer.

Two apprentices. Two truths waiting to be defined in the language of scars and screams. Their journey to this chamber had not been identical. Both were promising. Both were flawed. That was the point.

And Virelia had grown…curious.

She tilted her head slightly, fingers folding into a loose steeple beneath the monstrous jaws of her helm. The chamber vibrated with her anticipation, subtle currents of dark side energy trailing like smoke from her seated form. She had not given them instructions beyond this: fight until you are worthy of me.

No parameters. No safety protocols. Not even clarity on what "worthy" meant.

Because it didn't.

Worthy was not a finish line. It was a verdict—one she alone would deliver. And today, one of them would crawl from the floor gasping and broken, changed irrevocably… or not at all.

That was the true duel.

Her breath hissed once through her respirator as the chamber's outer doors rumbled open, sealing behind two approaching shadows.

She smiled. Though no one could see it.

Let them bleed for her attention. Let them claw for her recognition. Let them believe there is a throne waiting for the strongest.

She would see what grew from that belief.

The game was beginning.

 

[Darth Kharnaz]

Kharnaz had been summoned. His mistress called and he obeyed. To fight for her was always an honor. It was a task he would perform with relish.

He stood in the turbolift in silence. As he drew nearer he felt another presence. One that he despised.

Lyssa Clauda. Another apprentice. She thought herself so sophisticated, so far above everyone he could just tell. She dared to call herself a Sith when she was weak enough to allow her legs to be chopped off. He would show his mistress he was stronger than her. He would show her that Lyssa Claude was obsolete.

The turbolift stopped and the doors opened. He walked into the room, sniffing the faded scent of blood. He had arrived first, it seems. He knelt before her throne.

"My claws are yours, Mistress."

Darth Virelia Lyssa Cluada

 

[Lyssa Cluada]

Darth Kharnaz Darth Virelia

Her mistress called upon her to fight. To face the gladiator, to bleed for her entertainment. To dance the dance of senseless violence and sing the song of futile war, but for what?

For worthiness, of course.

A worthwhile prize.

Lyssa glided in only a second after Kharnaz, her accursed mechanical lower limbs limiting her speed. Bowing before her mistress's throne, she shot a glare her opponent's way.

The shistavanen was strong, there was no denying that. Lyssa had watched the old recordings of him in his time in the arena, where he had stained the sand red with blood. Kharnaz fought not like a warrior but like an animal, with clawed ferocity that Lyssa might have been able to respect were it not for the burning hatred in her heart.

Still, her mistress's new toy had his weaknesses. He was no great mind, seemingly ordered around his whole life and only just having learnt to fight back. The shistavanen had clearly never had to face the fires of a bitter rivalry before, never had to hone his cunning to defeat those who rose above him.

That would be his downfall.

Looking up as she knelt, Lyssa met her master's eyes, pouring all of her devotion and love into her gaze. She hated Kharnaz but his defeat would mean nothing if it wasn't done in the dark queen's name.

"You already know that all I do is for you, mistress," she spoke reverently, "Let this duel be no different."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Fight for me."

Tags - Lyssa Cluada , Darth Kharnaz



The six violet eyes in her helm shifted once between the kneeling forms—first to the beast, then to the blade. Her head inclined a fraction, a motion as deliberate as the pull of a trigger.

"Rise," she commanded, her voice a silken current wound through steel. It was not loud. It did not need to be. The dueling chamber's acoustics caught it and amplified it into something that seemed to come from everywhere at once—above, below, inside the mind.

Kharnaz's declaration had been as straightforward as his nature. The gladiator was as he had always been: claws, teeth, and obedience sharpened into a single edge. She could almost taste the violence simmering in his blood.

Lyssa's, however… her words curled around devotion like a serpent around a warm stone. Reverence masking rivalry, love entwined with hunger. The contrast between them was intoxicating.

Virelia leaned forward slightly, the segmented plates of the Tyrant's Embrace whispering over each other like the shifting of a predator's scales.

"How fortunate I am," she murmured, tone laced with velvet mockery, "to have gathered such… distinct specimens beneath my shadow."

Her gaze lingered on Kharnaz. "One whose loyalty is teeth and sinew, a storm of instinct chained only by my will." Then she turned, slow and deliberate, to Lyssa. "And one who wraps herself in precision and devotion, concealing venom in the folds of love."

Her voice cooled, sharpened. "And yet…" She rose from the throne, the movement unhurried, the sound of her boots striking the floor like the measured tolling of a bell. "…both of you stand here now, imagining the other's corpse on this floor."

She descended the steps of her dais, closing the space between them with the unrelenting pace of an executioner on a schedule. "I summoned you here not merely to fight… but to strip you bare. I want to see the truths you hide even from yourselves, torn into the open by the edge of survival."

She passed between them, her cape trailing in a slow, serpentine sweep, and stopped just behind their backs. Her talons hovered a hair's breadth from the nape of Kharnaz's neck. "Do not insult me with hesitation."

Then her presence shifted to Lyssa, close enough that the faint hum of the crystal at her sternum was audible. "And do not flatter me with half-measures."

She withdrew, returning to her throne with the same patient inevitability she had descended. Settling into it, she rested her chin on one clawed hand, the other draping over the armrest.

"When I say begin," she said, her tone bright with the promise of cruelty, "you will give me a spectacle worthy of my attention. There will be no mercy, no rules but the ones I invent in the moment. And know this—" the violet eyes burned, "—it is not the victor who will please me most… but the one who proves they deserve to stand before me at all."

A beat of silence. Then, softly, almost with delight:

"Begin."

 

[Darth Kharnaz]

Kharnaz needed no further encouragement. Hesitate was not a word in his vocabulary. With a howl he leapt towards Lyssa, activating his weapon in saberstaff configuration. The twin blades came to life, slicing through the air with malice. He used his mass to his advantage, seeking to overpower her. He was like a rockslide, strong and unyielding but unstoppable. He ttacked with two fast blows, a strike to her left arm followed by a strike to her right leg with the other blade. Feeding off the momentum he brought his blade up to her guard, seeking to push through her defences.

Kharnaz lived for battle. It was in his very DNA, the rush of combat pumping through his veins. His breath came in snarls and growls, every action a moment of aggression. It was close combat he was after, where he could look his opponent in the eye as they fought. His eyes burned with hatred, and his blade pushed hard, seeking to overcome her will.

"You should give in, weakling," he snarled, the threat crossing over their blades, "Why should I put down a half made opponent?"

Lyssa Cluada

 

[Lyssa Cluada]

Darth Kharnaz Darth Virelia

The wolf lept at Lyssa, fast and strong but ultimately predictable. Of course he would strike at her dominant hand and at her weaker legs. The mirialan elegantly sidestepped both strikes before meeting his blade with her own. Saberstaff spluttered against saberstaff in a viscous spray of sparks, forcing Lyssa to grit her teeth against the shistavanen's overwhelming strength. Still, the stability of her mechanical legs was unyielding, keeping her from losing any ground to the animal before her.

"Of course you would mistake the battle scars of a true warrior for weakness," Lyssa hissed in response to his childish taunt, "When it is clear you have never fought for a higher cause before."

The mirialan's eyes burned with hate, the red that stained the edges of them reflected in the glow of their weapons. Were this merely a test of strength, the gladiator would surely win - but her mistress had taught her better than to rely upon physicality alone.

The truest of the Sith wielded their intellect and cunning as surely as they wielded their blade.

Lyssa briefly turned off her staff, ducking under Kharnaz's weapon and letting his momentum carry him forward. Summoning lightning to her palm, she pushed her open hand into the core of his torso, channeling the electricity into him in an attempt to throw him back across the training room floor.

 

[Darth Kharnaz]

Kharnaz stumbled forward, his momentum forcing him into her waiting hand. He barely had time to brace before being hit with a concentrated burst of force lightning. He was sent flying back, but he managed to keep his footing. The smell of scorched armour filled his nostrils. He snarled, this time not out of disdain but out of fustration.

"Coward! Only a worm deactivates their weapon in battle!"

Fury radiates off Kharnaz. Fury at being tricked, at being used like a fool. His fingers twitch, eager to rip her throat out. But Kharnaz knows enough by now that instinct alone wont be enough.

He howls, taking his rage and hatred and chanelling it through his claws. A powerful burst of force lightning flew towards Lyssa. The air screamed with the hatred of his attack, and the bolts streaked towards her. Barely letting up, Kharnaz leapt towards her, spinning his saberstaff to create a wall of hatred as he launched towards her. His every move was forceful, his resentment fuelling his muscles. A terrific crash sounded through the arena as he landed, claws scratching his mark into the tiles.

It was impossible for an outside observer to see where his blades where. they were a whirl of hatred, spinning faster than the eye could track. Even through the blades Lyssa could see the burning glare of his yellow eyes, staring her down.

Lyssa Cluada

 

[Lyssa Cluada]

Darth Kharnaz Darth Virelia

Lyssa smirked as the wolf was thrown back, tasting the pain of a power wielded with both precision and grace. Frustration sang through his pathetic whimper, further broadening her smirk into a grin.

"Coward! Only a worm deactivates their weapon in battle!"

"So childish," Lyssa responded with a snort, dodging his force lightning attack and letting the crackling fury of the acolyte pass her by. "Even now your harness on your abilities is fragile, weak. Clearly, you are no where near close to my level - go back to the sands of scrambling outer rim orphans where you belong."

There would only ever be one acolyte worthy enough to be her mistress's hunting dog.

Kharnaz's next strike proved more difficult to dodge than his uncontrolled lightning. Perhaps there was something to be said for sheer brutality and strength after all. Lyssa could barely keep up with his swirling strikes, forcing her to break eye contact with the glaring shistavanen to match every forceful blow with her own blade. His speed was overwhelming, to the point that she couldn't help but allow one slash to slip through, cutting through the nano weave fabric covering her elbow.

The scratch had barely nicked her, slicing little more than the material itself and a thin layer of skin, barely enough to bring a small line of blood to the surface and mar her usual pale green complexion.

Even so...

It might as well have been a gaping wound for all the damage it did to her pride.

Screaming in fury, Lyssa summoned the explosive hatred of her heart and focused it on the spot at Kharnaz's feet. An explosion of flames and smoke burst forth, conjured out of the air, aiming to throw the gladiator back and off balance again. When the haze cleared, Lyssa waited, watching her opponent with narrowed eyes.

Six sets of narrowed eyes.

Each of the mirialan's identical doppelgängers readied themselves for the fight, the six women forming a semi circle around the brute. Each moved smoothly in sync with each other - flawless duplicity executed perfectly.

"How about a little game of guess who?" Multiple Lyssas mocked, each voice overlapping each other. "Should be child's play, if you are indeed even half the sith you claim to be."

 

[Darth Kharnaz]

Kharnaz watched her aim, and leapt as the explosion blew up right beneath him. He landed like a meteor, hos strength radiating out. He snarled as she seemed to multiply.

"I have no time for your games!" Kharnaz roared. With a roar of anger he threw his saberstaff, rotating it like a halicopters blades as it flew through the air. One after the other the illusions were sliced through, the crimson blades cutting through to reveal the truth. He grinned as only one failure stood before him. As his weapon returned he reached out, looking to choke her.

Lyssa Cluada Darth Virelia