A gambler’s den of the Vertical City’s greatest bettors, Club Vertica is a casino reserved for the wealthiest of Nar Shaddaa. Cardshark droids are used exclusively to deal hands to those willing to risk their credits at the sabacc tables. Cheating is rendered near impossible under the surveillance of the droid's six photoreceptors. That, of course, does not stop the downtrodden from accusing others of being a fraud, which can often happen before someone receives a blaster bolt between the eyes. The few that have been able to use skiffers undetected are counted as some of the best swindlers in the Galaxy.

Cerulean lights illuminate the tables, making concealment during a game difficult. Seated around most of the oval tables are a mix of gamblers from different species, succumbing to their addiction for the ultimate prize—the sabacc pot. Credits are tossed onto the tables forming mountains that draw in fierce competitors with deeper pockets and faster wit than the usual patrons.

Behind the games of sabacc, drinks are being served from the alcove of a small bar. Most of these are a shade of blue in color, expertly mixed to dull the senses of all but the hardiest individuals. Onstage, a local band sets the mood of the venue with an upbeat number that deafens out most conversations. The stakes are always high at Club Vertica.

On the upper floor in the VIP balcony, Creon stood across from Py’zah the Hutt who’s lackey placed a spilled bag of credits on a table.

“You have done well, Mandalorian. Take your credits and feel free to drink with us. I will consider you for future employment,” said the slug.

It took the AI in Creon’s helmet a moment to translate the words on a display screen within his visor. “Our terms of agreement was payment with information. If you recall, in exchange for this bounty you’d give me the codes and coordinates of the Ascendant Fleet.”

A figure in Sith Armor who stood behind the hutt’s podium unfolded his arms and stepped forward, “Any business you have with Plagueis goes through me.”

Creon felt the Dark Side gathering around the Sith and the chilling feeling of hostility. His fingers trickled near the pistol holstered at his thigh, “Then I’ll go through you.”

A striking blow from the Force pushed Creon off the balcony at the motion of the Sith’s hand gesture. He flew backwards until his back hit a large display screen that was attached to a pillar. Below the pillar was a ringed drink bar around the podium for which Creon fell on. His impact caused panic on the lower floor and laughter in the upper. As he struggled to pick himself up the Sith leapt down and approached slowly with a drawn lightsaber. Much to his surprise he was thrown by the Force too by a gesture from Creon. The Sith crashed into a table and then a lounge couch that slid into another on the other side of the dancefloor. By this time most of the guests and employees on the first floor had evacuated with only Py’zah and the rest of his affiliates watching from above.

“I didn’t expect another Force User,” Raiju muttered to himself. When he arose from the couch he could sense the Force being summoned near the Mandalorian.The Sith quickly applied the power within to enhance his movement speed and dashed forward. Although Creon’s mind was focused, his body had little time to react before Raiju’s lightsaber hissed at the surface of his personal energy shield. The shield brought a moment of hesitation but Raiju was quick to attack again. However, his movement was suddenly slowed and felt dense like the high pressures of deep waters. Creon jumped back with a boost from his jetpack and fired an array of bolts from his arm cannon. Bolts pelted against the plating of Raiju’s armor and tore pieces from the body glove. Though his body was slowed his mind was still aware and allotted the projection of a Force barrier to protect him. Creon continued his assault after landing on the other side of the club and kept concentration on holding his target in place. The barrier stood firm until a heavy duty plasma bolt fragmented its integrity upon impact. Once Raiju felt free to move he dropped his barrier and fired back at Creon with his vambraces. A few bolts bounced off his armor as the Mandalorian returned fire and ran for cover behind the surrounding furniture. Raiju rushed over to where he last saw his foe and slashed his saber through a couch. Expecting to find his target instead was nothing. The presence of his enemy was nearby and yet unseen. It was when the Sith turned his head to scan the area did Creon appear from his optical camouflage and sent streaks of lightning from his fingertips. The shock caused Raiju to lock in place from the current that traveled through his musculatory system. Pain flashed in his mind as he fell to the floor and escaped a helpless cry. After a few seconds the lightning stopped and the sound of a blaster locked and loaded was heard.

“Last chance, codes and coordinates,” Creon demanded. Suddenly a laser beam struck him in the back and made his jetpack malfunction. Creon accidentally dropped his pistol and helplessly flailed his body to get the jetpack off but couldn’t stop it until he hit a wall that caused it to break. Raiju’s drone continued to fire more beams while its master slowly started to rise from recovery. He put his vambraces together in a shielding fashion and crouched to cover the uncovered extremities as best he could. The lasers from the drone reflected off the pure beskar, but also slowly began to heat it under continual pressure. From behind Creon a drone of similar design crashed through the club window and returned fire. This forced Raiju’s drone to bob and weave from place and the two danced around the club’s air space firing at each other.

“Prepare yourself, Mandalorian,” Raiju hissed in anger and re-ignited his lightsaber.

The words seethed from the Sith Warlord.

It had only been mere weeks since the Nautolan had last seen the Epicanthix, as they together fought off the Children of Mortis strike against Kiast. They had been brothers in arms, though admittedly the arrangement was unwanted and forced by the nature of the circumstance. Yet, the situation had revealed how utterly destructive the pair could be when unleashed together; they were simply an undeniable force to be reckoned with.

As the wreckage within Club Vertica could attest.

So why then has fate set us against each other? Raiju took a moment to ponder. With so much rebuilding to be done on Kiast, the Brotherhood amassing a counterstrike, and no doubt that the Vatali Empire would be holding Odan-Urr accountable for the destruction brought to their planet. Why move on Plagueis right now? Unless it had to do with my transfer between the clans…

This fight felt personal to the Nautolan. The force, or more likely, the leaders of their clans pitting the combatants against one another as a show of force. Raiju knew he couldn’t fail the Dread Lord’s test…

Across the bar from the Nautolan, the herculean figure rose to his feet. Entirely clad in beskar armour and standing over eight feet tall, the Epicanthix was an imposing sight even before Raiju noticed the rally master design of the armour and the large yellow spider-like fang symbol on the brute’s left shoulder.

“That’s the mark of the Okami Clan!” The Nautolan’s bellow could easily be heard by the crowd gathering in the upper tier of the bar, even over the buzzing of the two ascendent droids caught in combat in the club’s rafters. An explosion caused by Creon’s droid created an opening for the other to flee into Nar Shaddaa’s skies, while the silver and gold plated droid followed in hot pursuit. Glass and steel rained down on the ground between the Nautolan and Epicanthix, as both waited patiently on the final debris to fall. A heavy clang rang out from a durasteel beam striking the central bar and a silence fell on the club before Raiju continued. “The Okami were once great warriors -”

“Still are!” The heavy tone of the Epicanthix cut off the Nautolan.

“Are you? Can a subjugated people really claim that?” Raiju emphasized his point with a snort. Then he thrust the tip of his lightsaber in the air and held it pointed at the Mandolarian. “Did you or the other Okami choose your fight against the Children? Were you even given a say when the Valati bowed to Odan-Urr and called upon your ‘contract’ to serve them? Can you even wipe your own arse without the Empress’ permission?”

The Epicanthix’s response came in the form of a heavy, black pistol being drawn. As soon as the weapon was aimed at the Nautolan, crimson etchings glowed upon the pistol right before a blaster bolt was snapped off at the retreating Sith. Raiju threw himself out of the way of the coming onslaught, gritted teeth displayed his strain as he batted away several bolts from the following spray, moving around the exterior of the ring of seating surrounding the now-crushed bar. When the creature was able to take refuge for a moment behind a tipped table, Creon’s weapon silenced long enough for the Sith to attempt another gambit.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what glory awaited you if only you could choose your own destiny?” Raiju’s words over the table’s edge were followed by the Nautolan’s big black eyes peering over. The big Mandalorian couldn’t be spotted in either direction around the circular counter, so Raiju raised his voice and stood up to ensure the Epicanthix could hear. “You wanted to know about Plagueis? So here’s your information. Come join me there, and set yourself free of your shackles!”

A whirling sound was all that answered the Nautolan, as Creon stepped into view again with a raised arm cannon powering up.