Abandoned and forgotten, the ruins of the Dark Temple have slowly succumbed to the erosion of time. In the central chamber the walls have crumbled, the ceiling has caved in, and the jungle now flourishes within the once pristine halls.

Green light filters through the temple, mixing eerily with the dark, violet hue of Dromund Kaas’ sky. Lightning flickers overhead, the raw energy of the Force clashing high above. The floor is overgrown with large plants and grasses that have swallowed the old stone. Wild creatures roam freely, skittering away from the presence of intruders while vicious predators hide just out of sight.

The main hall is lined on both sides by towering statues, heads bowed in supplication. They stand in deference to the sculpture of a pure-blooded Sith, which towers over the chamber with outstretched arms. The sculpture has been split diagonally down the middle, as if cleaved in two by a rusted blade, but the majesty in the stone still echoes to the past.

On either side of the main hall, remnants of branches to inaccessible parts of the temple remain. One might tilt their head to take in what is left of the mezzanine—the balcony overlooking the chamber—still held aloft by the great pillars standing behind the statues. Several of the pillars have fallen, providing a pathway up to the mezzanine for those willing to take the risk for higher ground. Spirits of the Sith are rumored to still haunt the grounds—waiting for poor, misguided fools to walk blindly into their domain.

Tendrils of lightning cracked the sky above the dilapidated temple like luminous fingers reaching into the nether.

A cloaked figure stood on what was once a road that was used long ago to feed the temple an endless flow of imports and made prosperous by a bottomless wealth of exports.

The being had at some point sunk low to a kneel as tan colored fingers, visible only with each flash of light, traced the broken stones.

Wind stirred the black cloak shielding the being from the elements and strands of dreadlocks escaped from the confines of the hood as imagery flashed in the phantom's mind.

"A place of such darkness." there was a whisper followed by a turmoil that tugged at his heart. "So much death."

Another flash of light washed over the features of a Kiffar. The qukuuf made that obvious as a golden line intermingled with red below marvelous emerald colored eyes. He raised his left hand and studied the soil caked to his fingertips, sampling the grit as he rubbed them together and peered into the dark.

A flash of light and the twinkle of it striking a metallic surface held his concentration hostage. He could recognize the glint of a droid from a hundred meters away, even in lowlight conditions. He could practically smell the gear oil.

He reached out through the Force and could sense the processor was operating at peak capacity. It was searching for something. The scanner engaged and the Kiffar smirked to himself.

"What brings you here, friend?" He softly spoke to himself while bringing his commlink to bear. "Harnessing these electrical anomalies are gonna have to wait, Barry. I need to check something out." whistles of discontent and incessant chattering flooded through the comm as Gui Sol tucked it deep into his robes.

Slowly rising to a stand, he moved towards the light he saw moments earlier but as he reached the location, he heard droid chatter echoing from further ahead. It was coming from inside the temple. Yet this time it was accompanied by a voice. Unable to make out what was being discussed, he followed the muffled echo until it got clearer.

"We have company, Biddy."

Gui froze in place as he had yet to even enter the chamber before the being inside picked up on his presence. He couldn't help but to marvel at the perception of the individual as he rounded the corner to see the back of a man cataloging writing on the temple wall.

The man was slender but fit and his hair was shoulder length, still holding onto its darker color even as shades of silver dominated the thin strands of his perfectly kempt mane.

He didn't turn to acknowledge Sol, instead he continued with his work. Deliberately maintaining an air of nonchalance.

"What are you doing here?" Gui broke his silence and stepped forward. The flashes of light revealed more and more of the figure as Gui got closer. The darkness was thick even with the tiny backpack droid providing backlighting. "Hello?" the Kiffar continued, another step forward.

The response he got was a sigh that he was quite sure he wasn't supposed to hear. The figure turned and the briefly exposed wrist revealed a tattoo that Gui had recognized even before locking eyes with "Marick?"

It was strange that these two individuals would be brought to the same location, on the same planet, at the same temple, so far from Brotherhood space.

"What are you doing out here?"

Marick didn't say a word, his face was emotionless, his eyes pierced the void and whether it could be seen or not. Gui could feel that he was annoyed.

"I'm talking to you, you gonna answer me?"

Biddy chirped and whistled as Gui became impatient and felt slightly insulted.

"Playing with fire?" Sol responded to the droid. "I know all about your master here." He grinned.

Quickly, Gui remembered that time when he was a kid. He was playing with a knife and his father told him to stop playing with it or he would cut himself. He assured his father that he would be ok, just before slicing his hand wide open. It was foolish, why would he do such a thing? surely he had learned from it. No, he didn't. He couldn't stop himself even now, it was too late as his index finger jabbed Marick in the chest. It was the knife all over again as the Arconae gracefully snatched the finger of Gui and wrenched it in such a way that he was nearly brought to a knee. Marick's face never changed. It remained eerily calm.

Gui yelped and embarrassment assaulted his psyche as he tried to jerk his hand back but Marick kept his grip, only adjusting slightly to twist Gui's wrist. The Odanite immediately recognized the form but could do little to combat it. While he too was a practitioner of the Sliding Hands technique, Marick was smooth and able to create more leverage as Gui awkwardly failed with his hand pinned to the side of his neck.

A growl of frustration erupted from within and Gui allowed his anger to get the better of him as he rolled to uncoil himself and drew the hilt of his lightsaber. Patience was something he always struggled with, rash decision making was another as he ignited it.

A ferocious orange blade crackled to life possessing an electrical essence. The blade swept high, held into an overhead position as Gui rooted himself with Djem So.

"You've got quick hands, bud." Gui smirked. "What can you do with a blade?"

Marick looked at Gui from head to toe, weighing his options, assessing everything about him. Analyzing him. From the firm yet still sloppy stance, he was nearly there, but not quite a master. To the eagerness to strike that would undoubtedly lead to his downfall if he were unable to reign in his emotion.

Marick was deliberate, that was certain. Skills with a blade?

He would wait.

The dry, stale air was the perfect kindling for the licks of lightning in the distance. While the inside of the Dark Temple was bathed in dim, ochre torchlight, the flashes cast both men standing at its entrance in silhouette. As dusk had settled, Marick had to lean into the Force to subtly augment his vision. Just enough to make out the face of his new guest.

Kiffar. Red and gold bar tattooing. Clan...Sol. Gui?

Marick’s hands remained flat like knives out in front of him. His left hand hovered slightly behind the right as the Elder distributed the rest of his weight evenly across his defensive stance. In stark contrast, Gui’s body was coiled and ready to strike like a viper. His fiery blade crackled with righteous energy and intent that clashed with his narrowed, emerald eyes.

Is this some kind of test from Dacien? Marick continued to wonder. He had served on the Council alongside the new Grand Master, and in the past, Victae had never been one to worry about Marick’s loyalty. At least when it came to the Brotherhood.

And yet, an Arconae had just struck the Proconsul of Clan Odan-Urr. Who had been sent to the very same temple at the very same coordinates as the Exarch had been tasked with. He could hardly be blamed for acting on years of survival instinct and reflex to defend himself, surely.

Hmm.

The Exarch’s face was an impassive mask as his mind continued to work through the social and political ramifications of any action he took next.

“I’m not here to fight, Sol,” Marick stated calmly in an attempt to buy himself more time to think.

“Good. So you know who I am,” Gui replied.

“Yes.”

“And now you want to talk? While I’m flattered, it’s too late for that!”

“I mean it, this isn’t what you think—”

“—and I’m the Princess of Naboo,” Gui retorted as he made a show of rolling his eyes. His typically laid-back demeanor shifted, however, as he locked eyes with the Elder.

“But I know your history, Marick. They say you turned the Inquisitorius away from their purge while Voice. But you were still a part of it. I remember burying the dead children that we weren’t able to save.”

“That was a long time ago...” Marick started to explain, but he had a sinking feeling that the time for talk was coming to an end. He wanted to say that there was no other way to earn Pravus’ trust, to get into the position of power that let him ultimately affect the change he wanted. He wanted to share what he had sacrificed, what he’d given up, to achieve that goal and put an end to that purge. That his own children would have been taken.

But there was never enough time to explain.

“Not long enough,” the Kiffar echoed as he lunged forward and swung his saber in a wide-angle towards the unarmed Hapan’s hip.

Marick slipped away from the attack, dodging on reflex alone, but was driven backwards into the temple. As he sidestepped the aggressive onslaught of stabs and slashes, he summoned his Radiant lightsaber from his belt to his open palm. As soon as his fingers closed around the molded hilt, he ignited the blade and brought it to bear in a cross-block. The black-cored blade’s ghostly shroud hissed as it collided with Gui’s citrine saber.

So be it.

Before the two blades could lock, Marick spun away with a sudden surge of speed through the Force. It allowed him to backpedal further into the temple ruins and gave him a moment of separation. The Exarch used the respite to toggle the dual-phase emitter to its non-lethal setting. There was enough blood on his hands already.

Life before death...

Gui was on him a moment later, feinting for Marick’s feet with a backhanded sweep. The Hapan parried low, but Gui used the rebounding force to recoil and switch to a two-handed grip. Setting his feet, the Warden rained down a flurry of blows from alternating angles, a tempest testing the rocky cliffs of stormwall.

There was a real weight to the Kiffar's chained series of strikes that had nothing to do with his dominant technique. Typically, Marick preferred to fight in open space, where he could take advantage of his speed against a more powerful saberist.

Here, however, with their techniques similarly matched, the Hapan simply focused on deflecting and redirecting each strike away from his body while maintaining his footwork. His boots wove smoothly across the solid stone floor, and, as they continued to trade blows, the Elder began to grow more and more comfortable. The complications of his position, his station, faded. All that was left was the familiar din of combat.

This was where Marick had been born. Not in an office chair, or a Serpentine Throne. Here, in ruined temples or landscapes, battling against the Brotherhood’s strongest warriors across the various planets it had warred across.

Gui Sol did not tire as he continued his assault. For all his aggression, he was in control and deliberate. There were just some things, however, that simply came with experience. And few had faced and survived what Marick Tyris Arconae had over the course of his career.

There was a beat, a moment, where Gui’s guard was exposed. Marick pinpointed it instantly, tapped the Force for added alacrity, and snaked his saber around Sol’s stabbing thrust. The black-cored blade bit into the Kiffar’s hand, causing him to yelp and stagger back a few paces.

To his credit, Gui kept one hand on his saber—the cybernetic one— but began to shake the still-organic hand that had been struck. He tried to flex feeling back into the tingling digits as realization dawned across his face.

“A stun setting? Are you kidding me?” the Proconsul shouted.

Marick did not smirk or smile. He simply shrugged one shoulder, ever so slightly, while remaining stoically calm and poised to continue.

Gui responded by stalking in once again, this time with a kinetic barrage of one-handed swipes. Marick was able to dodge or parry them with relative ease, until suddenly, he watched as the glowing plasma of his lightsaber started to flicker. Almost as if the blade's power was being siphoned away by something. He realized what was happening in an instant, as he’d used the same tactics fighting the Children of Mortis’ Purified Ascendent Troopers.

The Exarch was left gripping only the hilt of his lightsaber, the plasma blade's energy drained away and into Gui’s. While Marick’s expression remained devoid of any hint of emotional reaction, he did blink a few times as he processed this development.

“Never underestimate an Odanite’s will,” Gui grinned, as he lunged one final time with a cross-cut for the now-weaponless Hapan’s chest.

Groaning with furious vengeance, the blade fell diagonally. For what it was worth, Gui loathed killing. But deep inside, he knew that this attack wasn't going to land; he almost didn't want it to. There had been enough bloodshed in the Brotherhood. Still, there it was, the blade of a Jedi moving to strike.

Marick tucked his dominant arm behind his back, still gripping the weary hilt, and reached out to catch the encroaching threat with his left hand. His fingers clenched and a single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as Gui's blade froze in place a mere inches from Marick's palm.

Gui felt the muscles of his left arm harden as he pressed into the attack. He reached out with the Force and in his mind could see the currents tracing throughout the temple as if he were looking at a wiring schematic. Tapping into the power that coursed around his center, he drew the energy in and with a simple flick downward, released it. A surge of energy jolted Marick and caused him to relinquish his hold. While it may not have been enough to send Marick flying into the crumbling foundation. It was enough to liberate Gui's weapon.

Marick spun and locked eyes with Gui who had developed a smirk before eloquently brushing specks of dust from his shoulder with his fingertips.

"Not bad." Marick spoke with a seemingly dry tone. Still devoid of any tells or emotion.

"How could you be involved with it-" Gui started. "My friends, destroyed. For what?!"

"I told you. I didn't kill anyone. I was merely playing dejarik-"

Gui roared, clearly letting anger get the better of him as he swung to the right and left. Marick ducked and stepped away from both strikes.

"I have to end you. End all of this!"

"I'm not your final chapter." Marick spoke plainly as if to say that killing him would not put an end to the war-machine. The Jedi had been, like it or not, marked for extermination.

Still, even when the opportunity had presented itself. Marick showed tremendous restraint and had no desire to kill Gui even though he could have, at least four times already.

Marick evaded each followup strike as he dumped his own energy into the components of his hilt. He could feel the kyber waking and as it metaphorically yawned, he ignited it. It hissed with reluctance but whipped from behind Marick's back in a high arching strike that had two intended purposes. One was to parry, the other was to strike Gui's cybernetics.

The Arconae didn't want to maim the Proconsul and striking at limbs that had already been replaced was the least evil solution he could conjure while still proving a point. Marick didn't care if Gui believed in his innocence or motives. But he could bring Gui to his knees and perhaps understand.

Gui roared as the tip of Marick's blade melted through his cybernetic right hand. Connected to nerve endings, while it wasn't the same pain he experienced when he first lost his arm, it was still agonizing.

Temporarily losing focus, Gui took his eyes off of his self-proclaimed enemy. It was a sliver of time but that's all that Marick needed as he rotated on his heels and rolled his blade, the tip slicing a nice sized gash through one of Gui's cybernetic legs.

Howling in pain, the Kiffar dropped to one knee and wildly swung his lightsaber like a hurt animal backed into a corner. Marick blocked the strike and countered with another dissecting slice. Then another. Gui tried fighting back. Another strike carved through machinery. Followed by one more. Gui's limbs began smoking as he crumpled to one side. He could use the Force to stop the sparking appendages from wreaking more havoc. But he was unable to heal them. Here. On the floor, is where he felt more helpless than he had since that day on Harakoa.

Marick looked down at him and it was as if Gui had conceded. There was no fight left in him. The layers of anger had been peeled away and all that was left was that helpless child. The impulsive child that led him to where he knelt.

"Here and now, like then, I am walking away from this. If you don't let go. It will consume you." was all the Elder advice Marick had to offer as he disengaged his lightsaber. "Let it go." He laid a single hand on Gui's shoulder briefly before motioning to Biddy with a flick of his head, vanishing into the dark as lightning lit up the tears flowing down Gui's cheeks.

Marick frowned down at his lightsaber hilt. As he sidestepped Sol's slash, Tyris stashed the spent saber with one hand while pulling free a small pouch with the other. In the same fluid motion, the Hapan threw the bag of blinding dust directly into Kiffar’s face. As the crystalline compound powder exploded into Gui’s eyes, he was forced to wince through a flash of pain and a sudden loss of vision. His attack skidded to a halt and left an opening for Marick to exploit.

The Exarch wasted no time in slipping free from the corner he’d been backed into, circling around and behind the Odanite Proconsul. As he drew a pair of lightdaggers, he fought back the urge to go for the kill. Years of training, conditioning, and survival told him to strike fast without mercy. But those same years carried the weight of experience, and even in the heat of combat, Marick’s mind, not his body, was in control. The Arcanist reached into the slipstreams of the Living Force and instead used the moment to top off his energy reserves.

So against the logic of a career assassin, Marick waited for Gui to turn and face him, emerald eyes tinted red with a mixture of irritation and burning anger.

“That was a cheap shot—”

The moment had passed, so Marick didn’t wait for Gui to finish. A flick of his wrists sent one, then the second lightdagger zipping towards the Kiffar’s pectorals. While it might have seemed a strange target to strike, it was one of the hardest places to defend with a standard-length lightsaber. The lightdaggers, unlike regular throwing knives, had tips made of plasma instead of steel.

Sol sneered as the Force allowed him to anticipate the attack, each shoulder shifting and turning just enough to let the deadly projectiles pass him harmlessly. “Come on, fight me like a ma—”

His words were cut off as the Force screamed a warning again, this time from behind. Instead of crashing into the temple's ancient walls, Marick’s lightdaggers arrested their momentum midair, turned, and darted back in towards Gui’s shoulder blades. Sol twisted, spun, and danced away from the two small blades of glowing plasma, swarming and striking like a pair of angry wasps.

As a part of his mind controlled the lightdaggers telekinetically, Marick reached back down to his belt and pulled his Ghostblade Lightsaber free from its shadowsheath. Like its sibling saber, the blade was black-cored with a white shroud. But instead of the typical snap-hiss and ambient hum, this lightsaber was nearly silent.

“Enough!” Gui shouted, augmenting his speed through the Force to line up a set of flourishes that struck each of Marick’s telekinetically controlled lightdaggers at their hilts and disabled them.

Calm and collected, Marick settled into a familiar stance that any Jedi who studied lightsaber combat knew from the histories. A stance that had defeated Darth Maul and countless others.

Marick chambered the Ghostblade Lightsaber up over one shoulder and leveled it straight. His free hand extended and Tyris pointed with two fingers at Sol. An invitation. The Kiffar was happy to oblige, and rushed in to take his anger out on the infuriatingly stoic Hapan.

Blades clashed once again—aggression and precision pressing and probing against perfect parries and practiced patience. Yet no matter how hard Gui tried, he was unable to find a gap in the Hapan’s defenses. In the same vein, however, Marick struggled to land any kind of counterstrike as his focus remained locked on dodging and minimizing contact between blades so as not to end up with a second drained lightsaber.

He needed his last remaining saber that had similar abilities to Sol’s. Marick’s eyes searched and quickly found his BD-unit droid, who was watching the fight from the safety of the shadows and rubble. Marick didn’t need to speak the command but nodded to the little droid.

Biddy beeped excitedly and immediately realized his error in doing so. Gui’s eyes snapped towards the sound and his awareness clocked the little droid as Biddy opened the hidden compartment in his chassis.

“I don’t think so,” the Techweaver sneered as he extended a hand and with a surge of energy through the Force, shorted the BD-unit’s circuitry. Biddy made a pained noise as his legs locked up and he toppled over, crashing down the pile of rocks he had perched on.

Marick did not cry out in anger, or call out the droid's name with an unspoken promise with the subtext of revenge. The usually vibrant glow of his bright blue eyes, however, did darken and go flat and hard as flint. It would be hard to tell with the lingering aura of darkness that seemed to be tied to Dromund Kaas’ past, but the Arcanist’s aura in the Force had changed from its neutral gray tone to a burning, crimson red.

Ten throwing daggers were hurled toward Gui. The Sentinel managed to deflect two and weave through the remaining eight, avoiding their stinging tips. But they came back at him, like a swarm of insects, once again guided and directed by Marick’s mind alone. Telekinetic mastery over matter had become second nature to the Elder Arcanist.

One dagger drew a thin line of blood across Sol’s left cheek. Another sliced across his rib cage, another at the tendons behind his elbows, and then at his ankles. Nothing debilitating, of course. More like repeated papercuts. But it was enough to keep him distracted while...

...a broken boulder from the rubble where Biddy had fallen hurtled towards the Kiffar. He managed to dodge, but the attack was followed almost immediately by a slender slab of stone. This projectile fully clipped his shoulder, causing him to drop his lightsaber as bones popped and sinew strained and blood spewed thanks to the slabs' blunt weight and jagged edge.

Marick stood with one hand now extended, his face an expressionless mask as cold as the stones that bent to his mind's will. More rubble answered his call, piece after piece throwing itself into the Kiffar’s guard, battering and hammering into his body as he cried out in pain.

Gui fought through the pain and refused to give up the fight. In a last-ditch effort to break Marick’s concentration, the Proconsul reached out with the Force and tried to freeze the Exarch in place with the Force. The slowing effect coiled around Marick like a serpentine vice.

The Gray Fang’s focus would not be broken, however. With a surge of raw power through the Force, Marick shrugged off Gui’s effort and answered by darting forward and burying his lightsaber into Sol’s side.

As the two men stood face to face, eyes meeting one another's, Marick spoke with a detached monotone devoid of emotion. “You fight well. I did not hit anything vital, and I will ensure you’re returned safely to Kiast.”

He pulled his blade free and watched dispassionately as Gui slouched over and collapsed on the temple floor.

“Don't hex my droid ever again,” he added, as he padded over to Biddy, lifted the small droid up, and cradled him in his arms.