Elevated over a ravine, the Massassi Arena has withstood the tests of time. It is arranged in a circular formation and made by a slab of stone that connects the opposite slopes of the ravine. On its eastern side, the floating arena leads to a staircase and into a near-vertical cliff face. Because of its nearly unsupported vantage that overlooks a several hundred-meter fall, even the smallest creatures can feel the occasional motion the platform makes as the breeze brushes across its cold surface.

Adding to the adrenaline rush of standing within the slab’s concentric patterns carved into the rock, barriers and obstacles echo the Massassi’s commitment to taking every advantage over their opponents. Pillars ring the outer edge without guardrails linking them, some remaining intact and others having toppled into the arena or over the perilous heights to the ground far below. Weeds and other flora cover each surface as nature seeks to reclaim the ravine and eventually send the arena itself to the depths.

A creaky rope-bridge leads away towards another ancient suspended platform with the same weathered, upturned stones. Mossy footing, and uneven ground make each of these platforms unique in small subtle ways. While there is no seating for formal spectators, the ancient stones of the Massassi Arena hold an omniscient, aged wisdom that speak to the things they have seen and the battles fought through history.

A third rope-bridge leads to yet another platform, completing the triad of battlegrounds that make up the Massassi Arena.

A plume of smoke blanketed the ghoulish face of Vizsla’s Zabraki Proconsul and the burning ember at the tip of the cigar clutched in his teeth cast an eerie glow. A glow that bathed Juda Graves’ features in an ominous light, particularly around his red eyes. The corner of his mouth puffed at the Iridonian tobacco as he wriggled his fingers, finding comfort inside of the shock-boxing gloves that had become as much a part of him as the metal spikes which adorned his bald cranium. A crown of brutality was what he acquired after the kung of Kessel tried to strip him of his pride but failed.

“Welcome to Massassssi.” Words slithered from the darkened chamber at the top of a stone staircase, words that had a unique hiss to them.

Juda turned his attention upward and stepping out from the shadow was a Trandoshan. He didn’t appear to be much different than the other lizards Juda had met over the years, save for the bone that had been seemingly jammed through his septum and the pierced lips.

The Zabrak gripped the snub of his cigar and stepped forward, flicking it in Grot’s direction. As it hit the steps in front of him, the tip exploded into a flash of sparks that spattered across his clawed toes.

The behemoth’s lips curled in anger as he leapt down the last couple of steps with a growl and drew a sword that seemingly flashed into existence from a secured darkness around his waist. The blade glistened as the Trandoshan flourished, the weapon’s true flexibility on display as with the press of a button the glistening steel whipped around and became pliable like the tentacles of a vapaad.

The Vizslan crime boss swayed with his hips and slumped his arms down to the side as the whip rotated and crashed down with every intention to do harm. Luckily, k’thri allowed the bulky Zabrak to evade and twist away from the blow as the tip of the weapon created a scar in the stone before redirecting into an overhead windmill.

Grot hissed in displeasure as his opening gambit had yet to pay off, the Zabrak was far more flexible than he appeared as the whip passed within inches of his face.

Momentum was a glorious thing and like many of Juda’s encounters, he was able to take advantage of the situation. The whip had passed but time felt as though it had not. A counterstrike was the optimal action to take and with a balled fist, Graves leaned all of his weight into the blow and drove the knuckles of his right hand into an ablative coating. Grot slightly folded at the sight of impact, not necessarily out of pain, but because of the force applied to his midsection. Had it not been for his armor, his ribs would have been knocked out of alignment by the blast of energy that erupted behind the force of the strike.

To mix it up with the pugilist was never a good idea as Grot finished his rotation and threw a wild left hook that tripped Juda’s senses. The strike sailed past as it was ducked and as Juda popped back up, he gripped Grot’s left shoulder, temporarily blocking any chance of an immediate follow-up with the whip and slammed his cranial horns into scaly flesh to deliver a keldabe kiss.

Grot stumbled back where your average opponent would have crumpled. A sneer crossed his face as he used the back of his hand to wipe blood from his lip and like any true Hunter worth his weight in jagganath points, read Juda’s next movements carefully. The Zabrak had gotten lucky once, Grot was not going to let that happen again. As Juda slid forward with the grace of a Mon-Calamari dancer, Grot engaged his jetpack and in a firy spectacle, burst forward, managed to snare Juda around the neck with his whip, and accelerated upward with Juda dangling from his back.

Juda grunted and groaned as he helplessly clawed at the weapon, dangling at the mercy of the angered Trandoshan and desperate to keep his legs away from the heat of the rapidly burning fuel.

Thinking quickly, Juda scrambled to draw the kukri sheathed at his waist. The amethyst blade shined for a brief moment as he flipped it on into a reverse grip, shortly before he jammed the weapon into one of the jetpack's nozzles. There was a shower of sparks as the blade struck something vital, and immediately Grot began to wobble and lose control.

Spinning wildly as the jetpack ran rampant, Grot cursed and released his whip, letting both it and Juda fall away to the arena just below. The Zabrak landed on the hard stones with a thud, his momentum sending him rolling a few meters away from the impact. Grot didn't fare much better as he hit the emergency shutdown on his jetpack, falling out of the air like a stone and colliding with one of the arena's crumbling pillars shoulder-first. Bits and pieces of crumbling masonry showered the Trandoshan.

Juda slowly struggled to his feet, his body aching. Nothing broken, he thought, though I'm going to feel this tomorrow! Slightly limping as he made for the edge of the arena, he spared only a glance at his downed opponent at the other end. Dazed, not moving. If he could get back to his ship he could have a contract on this wannabe assassin within the hour.

"You're dead! You hear me, you karking lizard?! Dead! There won't be a bounty hunter in the Outer Rim that doesn't know your face after this!" he taunted, smiling as he contemplated his revenge. He'd have him brought in alive, just to watch him squirm. The treeline was only a few meters away now

CRACK!

A loud bang nearly deafened him as a bullet sailed past his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks. Turning around slowly, hands shooting up into the air, he saw Grot up on his feet, leaning to one side, a bit of blood dribbling from his snout, and the smoking barrel of his slugthrower pointed directly at Juda's head. His jetpack lay discarded behind him, the kukri still sticking out of its delicate internals.

"Alright! Alright! Kark! Let's not be hasty now!" Juda pleaded, all the while trying to back up towards the tree-line. "What are they paying you, huh? I'll double it, triple it even-"

CRACK!

"On your knees. Stop moving," Grot growled as he sent another warning shot just above Juda's head.

"Fine! Just cool it, buddy, I ain't resisting," Juda grumbled, falling to his knees and glaring in anger. "Who the frak hired you anyhow? My offer still stands, whatever the contract is, I'll buy it out."

"Don't know. Don't care. The contract was anonymous, sent through third party channels. Only stipulation was they preferred to take you in alive." Grot stumbled forward, taking a shock collar from one of his pouches but keeping his pistol trained on the Zabrak the entire time. "I would prefer to keep my bonus, but I'm not too picky if you want to force the issue. Let's make this easy and come quiet, yes? On your belly."

Juda growled at this, his mind racing. Anonymous contract? Alive? And able to afford such skilled, well-armed help. Not good. Not good in the slightest. He crawled forward onto his belly as commanded, rage barely contained at the humiliation. His suit was ripped, burned, and barely hanging on as it was, and now it'd be filthy to top everything. He kept himself raised up on his knees and elbows, ready to lash out the moment Grot came close.

"Hands behind your back. All the way down," the Trandoshan demanded with a growl

"No can do, boss," Juda said, scrambling for a lie, "think I popped it out of its socket on landing, don't think I can stretch it that far."

"Fine. Don't move."

Grot stalked closer, leaning down to affix the shock collar to Juda's neck. In that moment, Juda struck, rotating his whole body into a sweeping kick aimed at the Trandoshan's ankles. The slugthrower cracked as it went off right next to Juda's ear, missing him by mere centimeters and making his head throb in pain as it deafened him. With a loud grunt his kick connected, sending Grot sprawling.

With a lunge, Juda jumped on top of Grot, immediately grabbing for the gun in his hand. The two of them struggled for control, clearly evenly matched, grunting in pain as they wrestled for their lives. With a shout Juda drove a fist into Grot's side, the shock and pain driving the wind from him and making him surrender the slugthrower. Juda cried out in triumph, desperately bringing the gun to bear on Grot's head.

A snarl crossed Juda’s lips and his emblazoned eyes burned holes in the Trandoshan’s face. His hand clenched the grip of the slugthrower with such intensity that he felt his knuckles crack inside of his glove. While he was never much of a shot and didn’t bother training with what he considered to be a cowardly weapon, had he wanted to, it would’ve been easy enough to plug a slug into that ugly mug pinned beneath him.

“Let's finish this, huh?” Juda bit his lip as anger bubbled up from his belly and he firmly pressed the barrel into the Trando’s forehead. Grot's hands slid up.

“You’re right. Let's talk about thisss.”

"Nah, nah, nah.” Juda’s finger quivered on the trigger as he began squeezing it. Anxiety washed over both combatants. The hammer was eager, but before it could strike the primer, Grot squeezed his hand which caused the vibroblade hidden within his vambrace to eject. The Zabrak growled as he felt the steel slide into his shoulder, punching through muscle and scraping bone. He was like a skewered animal, unable to get away as the Arconan rolled to his side to avoid the instinctual shot that followed and pinned Juda against the crumbled stone from the crash.

Juda growled and lashed out with a series of kicks but nothing could penetrate the Trandoshan’s second skin.

“I guesss, bringing you in dead is worth the pay cut.” Grot hissed as he pulled out the blade. Juda winced and hocked up a wad of spit so large that when he launched it at the Trandoshan’s face, it not only splattered, it carried with it the weight of every insult that the Zabrak could have mustered in that moment.

Grot roared and plunged his blade back into the soft-skinned humanoid as disrespect rattled his thought process. This time it sank into Juda's stomach. The criminal's arms fell to his side, palms up. His eyes were wide as he gasped for air. Blood trailed down his chin from his lips. The sanguine liquid against his pale flesh seemed to be redder than he remembered. Wha? he thought to himself as he felt a wetness beneath his left hand. The Trandoshan dug the blade in deeper, it was only centimeters from the Proconsul’s spine. But even in that moment of agony, strangely enough, Juda's mind was more focused on the puddle his hand was laying in than the vibro-blade pulsating within his core. His eyes followed it to the source and as if the Force had smiled on him. He could see that fuel had been emptying out of Grot’s jetpack.

Juda started to wheeze out a laugh that caused the sneer on Grot’s face to transform into confusion as he pulled out the blade and stood upright. He looked down on his prey and wiped the spit from his eyes.

“Fool, even in death, you laugh?”

“Nah, boyo.”

Grot readied his blade.

“I ain’t gonna die today.” He added, and with the last bit of energy he could muster, he drove the sole of his shoe into the Trandoshan’s chest with enough force to send him stumbling back towards the leaking jetpack. Grot stopped and as quickly as he had been pushed back, Juda clenched his fist creating tendrils of electricity that would begin to ripple across his knuckles. Instantaneously the combustible liquid became a roaring flame that rushed towards the jetpack. Grot’s eyes widened just as what was left in the tank imploded, sending shrapnel and burning slag onto his body. Like napalm, as it hit, it spread across his scaly epidermis creating a scream of agony and scorching whatever it touched.

Grot panicked and swatted at his body trying to snuff the flames, but it only got worse as his metal armor began to heat. He twisted and spun, arms flailing as he staggered towards the edge of the platform and lost his footing. Like a burning meteor, he fell from the platform and plummeted to whatever hell awaited him on the surface of Massassi.

Juda coughed up more blood as he pulled a data pad from his blood-stained coat. Laboring to punch in the number to one of his contacts, he was relieved when he finally heard the voice of one of his henchmen on the other line.

“Gorm,” he continued to cough and wheeze, “get me outta here... bring- med- medical droid. Call Doc-doctor Crepitus.”

“You sure you want me to do that, boss?” The Gamorrean squealed, "He's insa-"

"Just do it!"

Juda hung up from the call and applied pressure to his wounds the best that he could while waiting for his much-needed extraction.

There was only a split second to react as the Trandoshan watched the gun barrel approaching. With a sudden burst of panicked energy, he thrust his head upward, making solid contact with Juda's nose. There was a sickening crunch as it broke. Juda reared back in shock, accidentally squeezing the trigger of the gun and throwing up a cloud of dirt as the slug buried itself into the ground just beside Grot. The unexpectedly harsh recoil sent it tumbling from his hand. Juda growled in frustration, rearing his fist back for a haymaker.

"I'll beat you to a bloody pulp you little–!" The Zabraks taunt was cut short by a solid thunk and a wet gurgling sound from his throat as something struck him hard and painfully in the side. Juda looked down to see a small, hidden wrist blade jutting out from Grot's vambrace, jammed as deep as it would go into his ribs.

"You… you… you dirty… no good, snake-eyed frakker! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Foaming at the mouth with rage, Juda aimed punch after punch at Grot's head, determined to flatten it into the ground. The weight of his wounds were clearly adding up as Grot nimbly ducked and weaved out of the way of every blow. Judas' movements grew slower and less powerful, even as the blaster knuckles on his shock gloves left deep divots everywhere that he struck. With a twist of his body Grot threw the Zabrak off of him, rolling away and up to his feet as Juda cursed and struggled on the ground behind him.

"Get… get back here… Force-damned schutta." The Zabrak coughed, blood tainting the spit that it brought up. He struggled up to his knees, clenching his fists and ready to fight even as blood began to slowly pool at his feet. It was getting harder to breathe.

"Stop moving, and put some damn pressure on that wound. I punctured one of your lungs— struggle too much and I might lose my bonus." Grot stumbled over to the discarded shock collar on the ground nearby, snatching it before making his way over to Juda. "Now hold still. If we get you back to my ship in time you might live through this"

Juda grinned, blood trickling down his nose as he looked up at the Trandoshan. He raised his fists in defiance. "Come any closer with that, and I'll knock your karking block off."

Grot sighed in frustration, squatting in front of the now slightly swaying Juda so they could be at eye level. "Look, Juda, whether or not you live or die, I will still get paid. I will still go home, take a nap on my warming rock, and forget all about this cluster-frak of a bounty. The choice before you is whether to die here and get delivered to my client in a bodybag, or live and go in chains. Frankly, I respect your choice either way. You deserve a warrior's death."

Juda's glare softened, his vision starting to swim as he lowered his fists to put pressure on his wound. There was a long pause as he considered, then he said, "damn right I do… but not right now. Right now, I want to find out who that anonymous client of yours is and break his frakking skull open. Get me to your ship."

Grot grinned.