Lava is mined as a precious natural resource on this volatile and volcanic world. The opposing gravitational forces of the twin gas giants closest to Mustafar tear apart the planet’s surface to reveal the mineral-rich lava flows underneath. Once serving as the capital world for the Confederacy of Independent Systems, remnants of their past influence still linger. Massive mining facilities—originally constructed by the Techno Union—are still maintained by the native Mustafarians, an egocentric people who would like nothing more than to squeeze minerals for the purposes of trade and commerce from their volcanic planet.

Other than in the pursuit of business interests, few arrive on Mustafar save for those needing to incinerate evidence in its vast expanses of magma. What little curiosity is given to the volcanic planet is thwarted by a natural scanning interference caused by intense geological activity. Pirates, smugglers, criminals and scum all value this world’s ability to dump bodies, tracked cargo shipments and other unwanted articles—the singular reason for the Black Sun’s interest in the Outer Rim world.

Droids, machines and conveyor belts create the workings of an efficient system to extract the minerals and have it prepared for refinement and transportation. Lacking a suitable surface, metal walkways are shielded against the heat to allow workers passage throughout the facilities. Even with the worst of the heat being shielded against, Mustafar’s temperature remains less than comfortable to most species lacking exoskeletons.

Beyond the blistering heat of the volcanic world, Mustafar served as the battlefield for the fabled final duel between Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.

Gummy eyes blinked as he roused, the feeling of something tugging on his tail frantically helping to drag him out of his stupor. He lifted a hand to his face and tapped himself with a half-empty bottle. Grunting in surprise and possibly joy, he took a swig, whiskey dribbling into his drool-soaked beard. Using his other hand to wipe himself clean, or at least try, he blinked and stared at the set of brass knucklers that were there.

“Huh,” he mumbled and looked over to see his somewhat faithful companion, Skitters, tugging on his tail and beeping rapidly, though quietly. “What is it, boyo?”

The ID9 droid’s red eye focused on him, dropping his tail and seeming to sag in relief, before gesturing with a pincer. Kordath Bleu sat up, looking around and yawning. He was on a metal platform, surrounded by barrels and crates, on the edge of what looked like a shuttle deck. Vacant, from his quick visual inspection. He rose to a crouch, uncertain why he felt nervous but taking his droid’s behavior as a sign of trouble. The Ryn felt hot, and as he looked around, he realized why.

“That bloody lava? Where tha hell am I?” he grumbled, scratching at his hindquarters through his boxers. “And where’s me pants?”

He reached out with the Force, fighting the wave of nausea that accompanied the burgeoning hangover, and felt very little. Another life sign was nearby, unmoving and with a sense of focus. There were catwalks as far as the eyes could see and some buildings above at the top of what looked to be a ravine with lava running through the center.

“Bet there’s a comm station up there. Call home, get a ride out o’ here.” He looked over when Skitters clambered up to the top of a crate beside him, dome-like body turning to scan the area. “What has you so worked up, Skitts? Someone out—” The droid let out a high pitched shriek and leaped at its master, causing Kord to instinctually crouch. “What tha frak!?” he growled at his droid, before noticing the scorch mark on a barrel next to him. “Oh kark, oh no, did nae even hear that,” he muttered.

He leaned over and patted the droid on the top of its dome while reaching out anew with his mind’s eye. Finding the shooter through the Force was easy; whoever they were, they were at least on par with him when it came to raw strength, and their murderous intent was clear. He peeked his head over the crate, focusing on where he felt their presence. A glance towards the nearest stairs heading up the side of the ravine and the space between….he didn’t like his odds. The shooter had a rifle with range and nary a sound made when it fired; he had a bottle.

He took a deep breath and scoped a possible path again, mentally mapping cover and turns. The best he could hope for was to move fast and erratically. The distance was a factor he disliked, since his usual method of predicting injury wouldn’t work. He could think of a few tricks as he took another breath, letting it out slowly and throwing himself over the crate he’d been hiding behind. The Ryn fell into a low crouch, hand slapping against the platform to the sound of sizzling plasteel as a sniper shot hit the crate where his chest would have been if he’d not landed parallel to the deck. He used his position to break into a sprint, tail trailing behind him and aiding his balance as he randomly rolled and jumped to throw off the aim of his shooter before reaching the next set of cargo containers.

Kordath looked back the way he'd come, seeing spots of catwalk and deck that smoldered. He wasn’t sure if the distance between them was due to his dodging or a restriction to rate of fire, and he didn’t know enough about the kind of weapon that could be in play to figure it out.

Sweat dripped down Granta Prackx’s face. She ignored it, focused on the rangefinder on her pulse cannon. The furry little target down below was quick on his feet, but she was certain he’d run out of luck before she did patience. Her finger laid lightly on the firing stud of the rifle, eye squinting downrange at the cargo container she’d watched the Ryn reach. She exhaled, keeping her calm while she waited. The HUD in her helmet fed information from her Eyes, the droid hovering and working to get a line of sight on the Ryn.

Suddenly there was movement below, and for a split second, she hesitated. The layout of the maze of catwalks was known to her, at least from above. Two Ryns left the safety of cover at once, and she gritted her teeth. One was headed towards the ravine wall, where the above facility’s foundation and superstructure would impede her view. The other was making a desperate run for a small structure near the lava, which likely held equipment. Either way, it meant losing the advantage she currently held. Her rifle twitched left, firing a charged bolt at the one heading for the shed. Prackx blinked as the Ryn kept moving.

Certain I hit him, she thought with annoyance, charging another shot and aiming for the center mass. The bolt clearly passed through her target, the Arconan’s chest rippling. She ground her teeth anew and swung her rifle over to find the other runner, letting a shot fly in her haste. It hit the catwalk before the nearly naked Consul, and he threw himself to the side to avoid a follow-up shot. Illusions then, annoying. She glowered and fired again, the scrambling Ryn making an erratic target as he made it behind cover. A distant shriek reached her, one that suggested maybe she had landed a shot.

Granta Prackx had certainly not been expecting to run into anybody on Mustafar, least of all an almost naked, drunken Ryn. The fact he was also Force sensitive left the Juggernaut with little doubt. She’d met this particular Ryn before.

It’s him. Bleu. She didn’t know Kordath very well; they had met only briefly when she had been working with Dassac, but Andrelious had filled in most of the gaps with a tale of a drunken, lazy, even cowardly thief who had somehow conned his way into leadership. What he was doing on Mustafar was anyone’s guess, but the Juggernaut suspected he had reasons similar to her own: the lava was the perfect way to destroy evidence of one’s misdeeds.

Kordath remained where he was, safe from the sniper’s fire. Their last shot had just about managed to skim along his back, leaving a stripe of burnt fur.

That was too close, the Shadow Lord thought as he peeped out to try and spot his would-be assailant. He didn’t know who was inside the rather heavy dark armour, or why they seemed to have a problem with him, but the Ryn wasn’t about to stick around to find out.

Prackx prowled about, trying in vain to get a clear path to her target’s hiding place. Her droid scanned the area with its enhanced sensors, also looking for a way for its master to attack. The female cursed when her ‘Eyes’ beeped negatively. Kordath seemed to have found perfect cover.

“Fine. If you want to hide like the pathetic coward I was told you are, I’ll just have to come to you,” Granta said. She certainly didn’t want to move from her position; she was already finding Mustafar incredibly uncomfortable and her thick armour wasn’t helping matters.

“Find me a way down to that overgrown sewer rat,” Prackx ordered. Her seeker droid beeped once and obediently headed downwards to plot the Sith’s route. As the ID9 carried out its task, Granta kept a close eye on Kordath’s hiding place, waiting for even the slightest movement.

Kordath didn’t move a muscle. He was safe, but completely pinned down. He was fast enough to evade Prackx’s shots, even as accurate as they were, but the journey upward was a long one and the Shadow Lord did not have limitless stamina.

“Looks like she’s got one of yer siblings,” the Ryn said to his droid as Prackx’s ‘Eyes’ continued its task. “Go an’ see what ‘e’s doin’,”

Prackx started to move as soon as the information from her droid reached her HUD. It informed her in great detail as to which catwalks led where, allowing the Juggernaut to close in on Kordath as he continued to stay hidden.

The information stopped. Granta looked down to see her droid locked in conversation with another ID9.

I wonder where he stole that from.

Neither Kordath nor Prackx could hear the two droids, but they could both see a lot of frantic arm swinging, eye flashing, and pincer movements. The pair of automatons almost appeared to be having a proxy battle for their respective masters.

Prackx wasn’t about to wait to see who won. She turned her rifle away from Kordath’s location, aiming for Skitters instead. As she fired, both droids screamed and dived well out of the way, but the momentary change of target was exactly what the Ryn needed. He bolted from cover, sprinting along the nearest catwalk so fast that he’d already covered the first hundred yards before Granta even realised he’d moved.

Where’s he going? the Sith wondered.

The Arconan continued running at full speed, even calling upon the Force to give him an extra yard of pace. He darted along catwalks, jumping about almost randomly whenever Prackx was able to get a clear shot off. Skitters did its best to keep its counterpart too busy to help the Sith, but the two bickering droids were little more than a sideshow as Juggernaut chased Arcanist.

Kordath was beginning to slow down as fatigue caught up with him. Prackx didn’t seem to notice and simply continued firing, her shots getting ever closer to their target.

The Ryn rounded a corner and scrambled up some steps. He was getting closer to his goal, but, as he looked upwards to see just how far he had left, ‘Eyes’ slammed into him at full speed. The droid wasn’t heavy enough to knock him over, but, as Kordath stumbled, Prackx saw her chance. Swapping sniper rifle for lightsaber, she started to close on the Shadow Lord.

“Good work, Eyes,” the Sith stated coolly as she jumped down towards Kordath. She focused carefully as she landed, the Force assisting her knees in taking the brunt of the impact.

“And now, Bleu, it is time for you to die,” Prackx declared.

“Eh?” shouted the Ryn from across the maze of catwalks, unable to make out what had been said from so far. “What’d ya say? Why ya tryin’ ta shoot me!?”

The armored figure shook their head and began moving methodically towards him, taking turns without hesitation. Bleu threw the hovering ID9 a glare, understanding how his enemy was managing. They were drawing closer, and Kordath could sense a clear intent to do him great and grievous harm.

“Who tha frack are ya!?” he shouted again, eyeing the nearby stairs. The hostile droid was watching him. Closing his eyes, he sank into the currents of the Force, feeling it wash over his mental fatigue, re-energizing him. Sensing the ethereal strength flowing through his body, he focused and redirected it, trying to soothe his tired muscles and slow his breathing. He rolled his head on his shoulders, stretching the tendons and letting out a long breath. The Consul’s talents with manipulating his own person were limited at best, but he felt more capable than he had a few minutes prior.

His killer was closer, of course, and with a snap-hiss came a blade from the saber hilt. Violet was too strong a word, and he wondered if it wasn’t the stark scenery around them that made it look neon pink. Despite a cautioning voice in his head, the Ryn knew what he was going to do next.

“Oi, mate, yer wife know ya took her saber ta work today?”

“Excuse me?” came the muffled voice from behind the helmet. “I was already going to take your tail for a trophy for my beloved, but I guess I can make you suffer too.”

“Do we know each other, mate? Feels personal.” Voice ain’t familiar, hard ta tell with all tha armor but it sounds like a woman.

“Stop calling me ‘mate!’” she shouted. Bleu licked his lips and watched her close in. “My dear Andrelious was right, you are so annoying.”

Kord’s lips quirked into a grin. If this was who he thought it was, he might still talk his way out of this.

“Alright, yeah, not his favorite person, I know. But come on, Kooki, we never had no real iss—” he yelped as the Force screamed in warning. He threw himself backward ahead of the saber that lashed out at him, sensing nothing but murder from the figure before him.

Somethin’ I said?

Whoever this woman was, she was pissed. The saber strikes were powerful and deliberate, yet fueled with rage. Her movements sped, Kordath sensing the Force rising in the Juggernaut. The vibrant blade made sweeping attacks, narrowly missing the retreating Ryn. Kordath wasn't even bothering trying to fight back against the towering, armored schutta that was trying to bisect him. He heard a muffled command come from her helmet and was forced to dodge on two fronts when her droid responded to it and charged.

Blast it, this is gonna end bad, he thought, mind racing. He hopped over another horizontal slash and smashed the bottle — and what remained of its contents — over the droid’s dome-like body. In the corner of his eye, he saw the woman pulling back for a thrust, yet felt no impending danger. Uh oh. He shivered, blood running cold when he realized his connection to the Force was being cut off.

Even as the droid fell sparking to the catwalk, the Ryn landed and tried his best to dodge the incoming stab. He heard the woman grunt in annoyance as his own Skitters unit leaped up to cling to her right arm, throwing her thrust off target and narrowly saving its master from being skewered. Kordath didn’t hesitate to scramble away from the armored woman, moving towards the next platform. A shriek filled his ears, drawing him to turn and watch his ID9 get ripped from the Juggernaut’s arm and thrown into the air. With an almost casual flick of the wrist, a burst of lightning arced from Granta’s hand to the droid, causing Skitters to wail and spark. The droid’s red eye went dark, and he plummeted into the ash and darkness below.

“Ah hell, ya did yer best, lad,” sighed Kord, wincing. “Stay ahead of her and I’ll be fine. She’ll tire herself out, yeah. She’s slower than me, covered in that bleedin’ armor, just gotta outrun her!” he muttered to himself, clambering atop some cargo crates in hopes of finding a catwalk within jumping distance.

“Gotta get...tha high ground..,” he grunted, cresting the top box and looking back.

He got the impression that there was a glare behind that helmet as she deactivated her saber and clipped it to her waist.

“Do nae suppose this means we’re talkin’, eh?”

She didn’t respond, instead moving to the other side of her belt and pulling her WESTAR up to her shoulder. Bleu reached out with the Force and was relieved when a field of energy formed before him this time. He set himself in preparation for the barrage. Something felt off though when the blaster rose higher than it needed and he saw the under barrel tube.

Oh, no, he had time to think before the first ‘thoomp’ filled his ears. The grenade impacted with the pile of cargo he was standing atop, blasting apart crates and sending him sprawling. Everything below Bleu shifted as he tried to regain his footing, another grenade smashing apart more containers. One final explosion sent the Ryn flying off what was left and down, screaming as he plummeted into the lava below.

Granta stomped up to the edge, leveling her blaster and peering down into the flowing river of molten rock. She could no longer feel him through the Force and smiled under her helmet before it froze into a rictus.

“No! No trophy to take home to him. Sithspit! What a waste of time!”

She turned from the edge and screamed in annoyance, lacking any proof of her kill to show her beloved Andrelious.

The intensity of the situation was getting to Kordath even more than the heat. He could sense the murderous intent of the gigantic woman, even if he could not see her eyes through the cover of her helmet.

“I’ve gotten out of worse, Missy,” the Ryn stated as he looked for a way past Prackx. If he could just evade her grasp, she’d have a very hard time of catching him again., but the formidable female had the way forward covered.

The Arconan peered downwards. Although he was only about halfway to his goal, there was already a labyrinth of catwalks criss-crossing their way below. Without further hesitation Kordath jumped off the edge, somersaulting as he landed to allow himself to immediately resume running.

“Afraid to fight like a man?” Prackx called out, not bothering to move. The few brief moments that they had shared a catwalk had been enough to allow her to sense the Shadow Lord was starting to tire. All she needed to do was make sure that Kordath couldn’t get to wherever he was trying to get, to keep him running, and he would run out of steam and be easy pickings.

The Arconan sprinted around catwalks almost randomly. The route Skitters had shown him was now blocked, and with his enemy also possessing an ID9 droid, any new route would probably be exposed, too.

“Why’s she not shootin’ me?” Kordath asked as he spotted his droid flying beside him. Skitters made a shrugging gesture with two of its arms; it was busy keeping its counterpart from attempting to stop the Ryn again.

Prackx simply stood and watched the show unfold. The Shadow Lord continued his seemingly aimless running, whilst the two ID9s almost appeared to be dancing with each other. The entire thing was almost comedic, but the Juggernaut wasn’t laughing. She was going to rid the galaxy of a particularly notorious Ryn.

Kordath climbed up a staircase and made his way along the catwalk at the top. His fatigue had forced him to abandon a full-on sprint in favour of a brisk walk. He could feel Prackx was nearby, but as he glanced around the area, he realised just how close.

Skitters shot into view, screaming a warning, but its owner had already seen that he was on the same level as the Juggernaut, whose catwalk was separated from his by no more than twelve feet.

Granta turned around, smiling under her helmet. “Enough of this running, rat boy!” she hissed, raising her right hand.

The Arcanist felt himself moving towards the edge of the catwalk and hit the deck in an effort to dampen Prackx’s hold. The tactic appeared to haved worked; Kordath seemed to have found yet another way to avoid his impending doom.

Nothing ever stopped Granta Prackx when she put her mind to the kill. She re-focused her efforts not on the Shadow Lord himself, but his catwalk. At first, she could manage little more than a slight tremor, but, as she willed the Force to give her the power to pull the entire catwalk apart, the sound of twisting metal started to fill the area.

Kordath had no choice but to move again. As his section of catwalk started to shear off from the rest, he rose to his feet and jumped towards Prackx, making the most of her distraction to dart past. The Juggernaut cursed and released her hold on the damaged walkway, turning her head to keep an eye on the fleeing Arconan.

I must get back to my girls! Kordath thought between heavy breaths. Only the fear of leaving his daughter without her father was keeping him going as he willed his tired legs to keep on moving.

Prackx had grown bored with waiting for her opponent to show himself. She now actively gave chase and was soon closing in on the hapless Arconan, who, sensing Granta’s approach, turned to face her, wielding a broken bottle.

“Is that the best you can do? Pathetic! This isn’t a barfight!” the Juggernaut sneered.

“For Shay!” Kordath puffed, running in as he found a brief second wind. Prackx stood still and allowed the Ryn to approach, sure that his bottle would do nothing against her armour, but Kordath jumped upwards, jamming the bottle’s jagged edge into the small join between his enemy’s helmet and body armour.

Granta roared with pain, swinging her lightsaber through the air. Its crimson blade cut straight through Kordath’s knees as the Arconan flew past, causing him to land in a helpless heap nearby.

“Not the kind of legless you’re used to,” Prackx quipped, trying to ignore her bleeding neck.

“You got me, Miss. Would killin’ me really make yer happy?” Kordath replied, realising he’d finally played his entire hand.

“Only one way to find out,” the Juggernaut responded, grabbing the Consul by a clump of fur. Without further ceremony, she hurled Kordath over the edge, leaving the Ryn to plunge towards the lava below.

Prackx dusted her hands and headed back to Polarising Personality, clutching her neck. She didn't even bother to wait for the splash.

Kordath Bleu dangled from a catwalk just feet away from the lava, his tail wrapped desperately around a guard rail. He watched as a Ghtroc 720 Freighter took off and disappeared into the thick plumes of smoke far above his head.

Hanging in the balance had never made more sense to him.