Two towering, tinted, transparisteel doors slide open to grant you access to the central chamber of the Combat Training Halls. The main room is wide and open and as large as as a holoball field. Tall walls stretch towards a domed ceiling that is made up of rows of ambient lights that spread out and fill the room with soft even lighting that eliminates any shades or shadows. Those same walls are lined around the perimeter with racks and stacks of varied weaponry: everything from swords and polearms to rifles and flamethrowers.

There are two signs that hover over each weapon rack to create an alternating motif in the Combat Training Hall: “No Explosions” and “Accorded Neutral Territory”. While the first is fairly obvious, the second speaks to the single law of the Training Halls: all members of the Brotherhood are welcome, and no member is to be killed or maimed without incurring the wrath of the Grand Master and the Inquisitorius.

A trio of training dummies are statically set up and spread out in a line, each made out of a blend of alloys and padding that can withstand blows from any standard weaponry with the exception of lightsaber blades. To the side of the dummies, a large sparring mat has been stretched out to create a larger footprint than the typical shockboxing ring. The padding is good for helping teach new combat students how to take a fall without injury and offers firm footing, but the hard rubber mat is hardly forgiving.

Behind the sparring area is a door that leads to a small archives that combat students can use to view holorecordings of fights and duels from the past as well as relevant information on combat tactics, techniques, and forms. On the opposite side of the archives at the far end of central room is the locker room that members can safely store their equipment.

The final and probably most important element of the Combat Training Hall is the onsite Med Ward. The maglock door is sealed off and can only be opened by an attending Medic. The Medical facilities feature state of the art bacta tanks for recovery and aftercare. A combination of observation and waiting room rests adjacent to the recovery center and features two large monitors that display a live feed of the central room.

The Combat Halls are staffed around the clock, allowing combat students and mentors alike to come and go as they please at odd or regular hours. It also reserved for members looking to prove their worth to compete in the Antei Combat Center.

[Venue Note: Weapons incorporated into your match are allowed to be used, even if not listed on your Weapon Load Out for the match itself. Skill usage and all other ACC rules and guidelines still applies.]

Hiss. The doors of the training center opened to allow Blackhawk entry, closing almost silently behind him. The Clawdite saw his old master standing across the room, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Seemingly. Blackhawk new better. Wrathus had likely become aware of his former apprentice the instant the door opened.

“So, my old master still walks among us.” Blackhawk said with somewhat of a chuckle accenting his voice.

“And the apprentice, who I put a vast amount of effort into for knighthood, thinks himself equal?”

Wrathus apparently still felt himself superior to his Grey apprentice at the very least. Though Blackhawk had absolutely no doubt in his mind that this was true, he did not appreciate his master’s reasoning behind it. Blackhawk briefly recalled his time in training, during which the former Tarenti had made his disdain for the Clawdite’s choice of alignment obvious, holding back nothing. In those times, the Sith had used what were seemingly classic tactics such as lightning torture and making what Blackhawk believed to be serious attempts on his life. All this while berating him, calling him weak, pathetic, and ungrateful - among other things.

In the years since, Blackhawk had studied, trained, served, and become a well respected member of his clan. However, he felt the anger rising up within him as he recalled his time in training.

“Good, apprentice. Good. I can feel your anger. Your powers may have grown over the years, but you haven’t changed a bit.”

Blackhawk did not take this comment well.

“You’ve always underestimated me, Wrathus. Even your other apprentice had the wisdom to realize that. But, you’re right about one thing. My powers have definitely grown.”

With that, Blackhawk’s lightsabers cracked to life, the humming of the blades reflecting Blackhawk’s building anger. The Epicanthix responded in kind. They clashed blades for a while, Wrathus blocking Blackhawk’s blows only to have counterattacks met by his own weapons.

The two combatants were rather evenly matched, with lightsabers at least. The Force, on the other hand, was a different story. When the master and his apprentice locked blades again, Blackhawk struck. While locked with one blade, the Arconan dropped his red blade and unleashed a torrent of lightning from his right hand - under his opponent's defences.

“So, you have improved...even though it took some time. But you are no master yet,” Wrathus taunted after recovering from the blast several seconds later.

“We shall see...” Blackhawk replied as his crimson saber returned to his outstretched hand, springing to life again as it got there. In that moment, the combatants squared off, both waiting for the other to make a move.

Even now, he underestimates me, Blackhawk thought, his anger continuing to build.

For a minute, both men stood stoically waiting for the other to make a move. When Wrathus audibly took a breath Blackhawk jumped a little and took up a Shien ready stance with his weapons in a reverse grip. He watched Wrathus’ every move carefully, but was caught off guard when the Sith deactivated his weapon and hung it from his belt. At first he was completely at a loss as to what his Master was doing, but then he began to see the air around the man warp inward and darken.

Blackhawk braced for the assault that he knew was coming; lightning most likely, his master had a penchant for that particular attack. His eyes were wide open almost unblinking. And in a second they were filled with a searing white light. Causing him to stumble back with a howl of pain.

He was rubbing his eyes when he felt a powerful grip clamp onto his arm and suddenly he was flipping through the air, head over heels. His back slammed into the mat with a loud crack. Flowing with the motion of his throw, Wrathus quickly took the mount and began raining down forearm strikes and elbow smashes.

Despite his compromised vision, it wasn’t hard for Blackhawk to tell where the attacks were coming from and he quickly brought his arms up to guard his head. Keeping them close to his head, he began kicking and bucking his hips trying to throw Wrathus out of the mount. Only problem was despite his heavier weight, Blackhawk was dwarfed by the Epicanthix’s height, most of which was in his legs. When one particular elbow strike broke open his guard, Wrathus struck like a waiting cobra and latched onto the exposed limb and rolled into an armbar, that had he been able to lock it in tighter might have spelled the end for Blackhawk. But in an act of desperation, he discharged a quick bolt of lightning from his entrapped arm, which stunned Wrathus just enough for the Clawdite to wrench his arm free and roll away putting some distance between him and his Master. Panting as the both regained their feet, he was reminded of something his sister-student said when talking about fighting their Master; Wrathus was dangerous no matter the distance, but he was at his most dangerous when you were within arms reach of him. And with his wingspan, arms reach is a big distance.

However if he had any true range weakness, it was at long range, and that was what Blackhawk planned to exploit. The Arconan swiftly stowed his off-hand saber and drew a handful of throwing knives. Unleashing them at the masked Sith as he leapt back, he knew he could still reach him, but it was unlikely he would be able to kill him. He watched as his Master blocked two of the knives with his saber but the final one struck the top of his mask and went clattering to the floor. This may have been a mistake.

Rational thought was battling with growing pain and anger within his mind. The blows from Wrathus left Blackhawk in considerable pain. This pain, combined with the anger caused by past experience and this encounter were playing with the Clawdite’s mind.

However, rational thought was winning in the Arconan’s mind, at least for the moment.

With both droids quickly eliminated, the former Tarenti focused their attention back to each other. Blackhawk waved a hand, sending a dummy flying towards his opponent. The Plagean’s lightsaber sliced through the dummy, sending the split pieces on diverging paths towards the wall, then responding by sending a nearby weapons rack flying back towards his apprentice. Blackhawk responded by uppercutting the air in front of him, causing the rack to jump back a little before hitting the ground. Another object was thrown, this time dodged by the Epicanthix.

“Are we going to play dodgeball all day?” Wrathus taunted, motioning Blackhawk forward. The Clawdite began to advance when he heard it. Too late, the faint sound of an object cutting through the air hit his ears. Instinctively, Blackhawk tried to dodge, but with no time to react, the object smashed into the back of his head. The blow sent Blackhawk stumbling into the ground, pain exploding through his head. It took a moment for Blackhawk to stop fading in and out of consciousness. When he did, his master stepped close to him, looking down upon him.

“You are no better than you used to be, my apprentice. Always weak, always gullible, always blind. Never accepting of the superiority of the Sith. I leave here now, having confirmed what I always thought. You were never a worthy apprentice.”

That was the kick Blackhawk needed. Wrathus had always pushed him around, insulted him, and treated him as an inferior. The anger from past memories, the physical pain from this encounter, and the mental anguish from his past, capped off with that remark, all came to a head. The battle in the Clawdite's mind ended at that moment. Rational thought lost, shattering as his rage exploded through.

Blackhawk rose from the ground, blood roaring in his ears. His vision filled with a red tint. Thoughts of pain and revenge filled his mind. Had it been possible, Blackhawk would likely be embodied by fire.

“You. Will. Not. Leave,” Blackhawk shouted through gritted teeth. The Epicanthix turned, somewhat surprised. He was just in time to see the torrent of lightning snake into him. He collapsed to the ground, spasming and screaming with the sudden, intense pain. The Clawdite didn’t think this was enough for the man responsible for his anguish. He allowed his tormentor to rise, then reached out, tightening his grip on the air. The Epicanthix clawed at his neck, gasping for air. Seeming to realize this wouldn’t work, he stretched an arm out towards his former apprentice. Blackhawk saw this, and wouldn’t allow for whatever attempt at resistance his enemy was about to pull. Without hesitation, the Clawdite launched his victim into the far wall, practically flying after him.

With them both at the wall, Blackhawk began raining blows down on the Plagean. Wrathus was now experiencing a new side to his apprentice. One of pure anger and hatred. Somehow, he managed to dodge a blow. Blackhawk followed it, allowing gravity to bring him to the ground, elbow first. The Epicanthix managed to delay the raging Clawdite’s recovery with a quick bolt of lighting. They both got up at the same time, both opponents tiring.

Blackhawk’s blows were beginning to come slower and less frequent. Not so much so that all of them could be dodged, but slow enough to brace for them. When his former master began dodging the majority of his blows, the Arconan deployed his knuckle plate vibroblades, desperate to end him. It would be for not. Soon enough, his blows were so slow that he might as well have been dancing. Wrathus dodged another blow, sticking his foot out. The former apprentice tripped over it, landing on the ground. Blackhawk tried to get up but only fell to his knees, his arms only barely holding him there.

“So, you have finally learned to embrace your anger. Now you see how much more powerful you can be. Perhaps soon, you will embrace the dark side and become a worthy apprentice.” Wrathus walked away as chuckling.

As Blackhawk collapsed, Blackhawk realized with anguish that his former master was right. He had embraced his anger.

Wrathus slowly took a breath in through his nose, held it for a moment before letting it out his mouth. He stood stoically in place, his lack of reaction causing no small amount of concern in Blackhawk. He then reached out with his hand and casually lifted one of the throwing knives into the air and brought it to hover over his hand. Holding it there as he slowly curled his fingers inward causing the knife to warp and bend under the power of his Force grip.

“I hope that you are not as weak as this blade.” Wrathus spoke as he released his hold on the knife allowing it to fall to the ground. “Because then you will be even more of a disappointment.” He began to curl his fingers again.

“You never wanted me as your apprentice in the first pla-!” Blackhawk’s response was cut short as he felt an invisible hand close around his throat. He could see his Master extending his hand and curling his fingers tighter. He frantically began thinking of a way out of this when it struck him. Extending his own hand his focused his hatred and uncorked a torrent of lightning at his teacher. The stream arced straight to the Epicanthix’s outstretched hand and shot up his arm and delivered its power directly to the man’s chest causing him to scream in pain. His grip released the Clawdite and he dropped to his knees coughing as he filled his lungs.

Taking several deep breaths, Blackhawk knew that he had to get close if he wanted to finish this match. So with one last breath, he ignited his sabers and charged his recovering opponent. Leaping into the air he clashed blades with the Sith before agilely dodging out of the way of the return strike. He began fluidly dancing around his Master, peppering his guard trying to find an opening. He scored several tags but they were superficial at best. His attempts were getting him nowhere as the Battlemaster regained his feet and was soon towering over the younger opponent.

Wrathus smirked behind his mask. ‘The apprentice has gotten better, much better, but not better than the master.’ He brought his blade forward to block an attack from Blackhawk’s off-hand blade.

Blackhawk grunted into his attack, skill with the blade aside his Master held a pure strength advantage. But Wrathus’s style of combat held one key disadvantage; he couldn’t move as well as Blackhawk. And after one particular combo of strikes he saw an opening and pressed the advantage. He deftly flipped his primary saber around into a standard grip and thrust it forward. Wrathus turned to the side just in time so the blade only just pierced his garb and brushed his chest.

Blackhawk stumbled forward having given too much to the thrust and passed his opponent. Quickly recovering he spun to continue the attack when Wrathus spun and caught him clean in the temple with a spinning heel-kick. The impact rocked the Clawdite as the world went black.