Built from the shell of an ancient foundation, the Arx Colosseum has undergone renovations to allow multiple new configurations for battle. Its spectator setup remains largely the same, with high walls, tall enough for even the most savvy Jedi to find unscalable that lead up to spectator chairs which are divided into nearly organized sections to accommodate several thousand people. At the center, an elongated platform “box” contains a central throne of stone with various seats of smaller scale lined beside it in both directions. Two large holo-projection screens are set up on each side of the Colosseum, offering different angles of the match bia holocam drones.

Today’s setup is known as The Shanty Town.

Hundreds of shipping containers line the arena floor, some stacked tall, others singular obstacles forming the walls of a complex maze. Each has been converted to function as housing, windows, doors, even furnishments added to further sell the illusion of it being a living town.

While the only real life contained within is today’s combatants, that is far from the only level of danger found within.

Dozens of armed and battle-ready droids hide in wait. Turrets and barricades line the narrow passageways of the town. Expertly hidden mines wait to trigger with every step. Make no mistake, the Shanty Town is ready to kill all who enter it. Embracing its chaos, and surviving is no easy feat.

The distant roar of applause echoed far above TuQ’uan’s head as he entered the dusty battlefield. He was glad for the shade provided by his hat as the oppressive heat of the noon time sun beat down relentlessly on the arena below. Cautiously he crept forward, further in towards the center of this ramshackle shanty town built to look like a frontier town on some backwater outer rim planet. Somewhere in this mess of improvised buildings was his opponent today, Marick Tyris, former VOICE and current Exarch of the Brotherhood. This was a man TuQ had an immense amount of respect for, and he certainly wouldn’t have been the Plagueian’s first choice of opponent, but this is what he signed up for apparently. All he had to do was make his way through the labyrinth of makeshift homes, survive the surprises hidden among them and then win a fight against a living legend. It sounded easy when he thought of it like that, but he was already starting to second guess his decision and the real fight hadn’t even started yet.

Blaster in hand, the Kel Dor stepped into what some would call an alley, but he thought of it more as a gap between two shipping containers that was barely wide enough for him to fit between. He slowly crept through, careful not to make too much noise and he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Approaching the opening at the opposite end of the alley, TuQ paused. The emptiness of this place was putting his nerves on edge.

A sudden sound rang out in the distance. Was that blaster fire? TuQ took off at a sprint towards the sound. Marick didn’t use a blaster, so that must mean he’s under attack! In a flash, the Plagueian had bound down the better part of the street.

This may be easier than I… The thought was cut short as he heard a click from the ground below. He threw himself to the side and into a roll as an explosion rocked the shanty town, sand and dust rained down on him as he landed with a thud, pushed forward from the force of the explosion. Landmines? Really?! TuQ grumbled inwardly as he pushed himself to his feet and continued on towards the blaster fire, a little more cautiously this time.

The sound of blaster fire grew louder and louder until TuQ rounded one last corner. Before him stood Marick himself in the center of an open square, a look of serenity painted across his face as he easily batted away the blaster fire raining down on him from a pair of droids. The lightsaber in his hand danced before him, seeming to deflect the light from its blade as much as the plasma bolts. It would be an impressive sight, if TuQ didn’t have to face it himself. Marick turned his head to the new arrival, his stunning blue eyes locked with the Kel Dor’s and a slight smirk broke the calm veneer. With a slight nod of his head a loose piece of metal broke from one of the shipping containers and swept the droids away.

“Ah, there you are.” the Exarch turned his full attention towards TuQ’uan, lightsaber gripped losely at his side.

Wait, frak! Was this a trap? TuQ’s mind raced, had Marick just used those droids to lure him here? “I’ve been here the whole time,” he replied with a shrug as he stalled for a moment. If Marick wanted to face him here, TuQ would have to make sure that didn’t happen. “Shall we begin?”

TuQ quickly snapped his arm straight and unloaded a volley of shots at the half-Hapan. Marick easily batted away the bolts as if they were merely an annoyance. The few bolts that made it past the blade whizzed by him, the only sign of Marick dodging the attacks was the slight bob of his ashen hair as he imperceptibly twisted out of the way leaving mere inches of space between the plasma and his flesh.

Marick pressed forward, swaying with every step. For every movement forward, TuQ took an equal one backwards, maintaining the distance between the two combatants. TuQ glanced over his shoulder to see he was approaching an intersection of crates. Dropping his hand to his waist, TuQ subtly fingered the sonic grenade hooked to his belt, slipping it from its loop. TuQ suddenly leapt backwards, igniting his jetpack and launching himself away from Marick.

The Kel Dor felt a tug on his leg. Looking back, he could see the Exarch finally showing frustration, hand extended before him as the Force extended out to wrap around TuQ’s leg and slow his escape. The rockets struggled against Marick’s pull, sweat began to form on the Force user’s face.

TuQ lobbed the sonic grenade towards his opponent, catching Marick off guard and forcing him to quickly switch from pulling his quarry towards himself to pushing with as much of the Force as he could muster. The sudden change launched TuQ forward, crashing into the side of a shipping container and onto the ground as the deafening shockwave of sound erupted from the sonic grenade. The Plagueian groaned and struggled to his hands and knees, his ears ringing and a headache forming.

“I’m really starting to hate this,” TuQ grumbled, looking around for any sign of his opponent.

One part of Marick’s mind respected TuQ’uan’s growth since their time working together for the Inquisitorius. He admired the Kel Dor’s adaptability and ability to ascend to a challenge without fear, all while availing himself to overcome the adversity of a powerful foe. If there was fear in Varick’s heart, he hid it well, showcasing just why he had been chosen as the Dread Lord’s Wraith.

The other part of the Exarch’s awareness was forced to reflexively reflect the incoming grenade away from his person. The saving throw would have usually created enough space to spare him from the effects of a conventional explosive like a thermal detonator. In this case, the di Plagia had thought one step ahead, and the Arconae was still caught in the radius of the deafening detonation of sonic airwaves.

Thunder without sound. A clap of displaced air. A pounding pressure.

Then, nothing but a dull, muted silence surrounding him like a heavy fog. The Elder Arcanist had never cared for the din of battle nor the shouts and cheers of a gladiatorial arena. The absence of ambience was a bit unnerving.

Marick had trained to fight on muscle memory in the absence of sight or sound, but this was something entirely different. There was a dull pain behind his eyes, but the half-Hapan could still see clearly. He could still smell the arid air of the colosseum and the scent of recently constructed sheet metal from the makeshift housing. He could still feel the ground beneath his boots, even if his balance seemed to waver slightly as he tried to take a step forward. He also realized he had dropped his lightsaber.

“Biddy?” Marick tried to call out to his BD-unit. He realized he could not tell if he was yelling or whispering the name. He frowned, then tried again."Biddy!” he yelled from his diaphragm. It was no different than his first try, and the odd sensation of not being able to know the result of his own vocal projection gave him pause.

The little droid peeked just its large, round photoreceptors around the corner of some metallic rubble nearby. Marick had to imagine the string of excited yet concerned beeps, but the BD-unit noted Marick’s discarded Radiant saber and clambered over to quickly scoop it up and stash it back in his hidden storage compartment. Biddy then, without needing to be told, made himself scarce, blending in ironically with multi-colored metal plating of the shanty town thanks to Kirra and Atyiru’s colorful paint job they had given the family droid.

Marick kept both hands free and to the sides for balance. He knew, with time, that he could repair whatever damage that had been rendered to his hearing. The half-Hapan had to choose what mattered more in that moment: the disorienting pain or his lack of auditory functions. He made a snap decision to push the pain away and regain his focus.

As his equilibrium returned, the rest of his senses adjusted in time to inform him that all the commotion had drawn attention to the two duelists. As the particles of sand and sediment settled, a trio of IG-100 MagnaGuard rounded the sharp corner of a stack of metal homes.

Great.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marick saw TuQ’uan dusting off his wide-brimmed hat and readjusting it atop his head. The Infiltrator idly twirled his heavy blaster in hand as he took note of the approaching droids and caught the Arcanist's glance. If he tried to say something in response, Marick could not tell, as the Kel Dor’s breathing mask made it impossible to even attempt to read lips. With the IG-100 droids closing in—electrostaves crackling and at the ready—the Arconae tried to quickly gesture for a truce with the di Plagia by pointing empathetically between them, then at the encroaching droids.

TuQ’uan got the message easily, then seemed to pause to consider and calculate the odds. A moment later, he nodded his head in agreement, likely piecing together that Marick could not hear him and realizing that whoever was orchestrating this battle had no intention of making it easy for either fighter to have a fair fight. Pride was a fickle thing, but if the Dread Lord’s Wrath was going to defeat the Grand Master’s newest Force Lord, he would not have a pack of droids take that from him.

The first two MagnaGuard droids circled Marick, twirling their staves in a synchronized dance. The third MagnaGuard droid darted towards TuQ’uan and used a fallen plated wall as a springboard to launch itself into the Kel Dor's guard.

Varick shuffled smoothly backwards, and even at close range was able to casually depress the hair trigger on his DL-44 without needing to look down its scope. The di Plagia peppered the droid with precision shots that forced the IG-100 to slow its aggressive assault. It also gave TuQ’uan enough separation to lift off with his jetpack. He landed atop a nearby shanty-house, established his high ground, and then rained down a wider spread of blaster fire to keep the droid at bay.

Meanwhile, Marick baited both his MagnaGuard droids into attacking what they assumed to be an unarmed man with no armor and a simple cloak. Tapping the Force for a burst of speed, the Elder Arcanist adroitly avoided the droids' asynchronous attacks.

Then, in the same fluid motion, he reached beneath the folds of his cloak and drew his Quantum Saber from its hidden sheath and slashed it through the center of the first MagnaGuard’s electrostaff. The weapon split into two awkward parts, leaving an opening for Marick to bury the tip of the silent saber into the droid's mechanical chest cavity. Sparks hissed as the droid's glowing crimson photoreceptors dimmed and its spindly limbs sagged.

Marick grabbed a hold of its slackened chassis, augmented his strength momentarily through the Force, and hurled the decommissioned droid into its partner. The remaining IG-100 dodged out of the way of the improvised projectile, but was forced backwards a few paces to give the Exarch some breathing room.

The Elder Arcanist used the momentary reprieve to check on his fellow fighter. He was actually pleased to catch the tail end of the Kel Dor’s clever application of a vibrodagger that had shattered the IG-100’s two glowing photoreceptors. TuQ finished the droid off by unloading what seemed to be an entire clip from his blaster into its face, causing it to topple over with a heavy plume of smoke trailing towards the sandy ground.

With his quarry quieted, Varick turned to check on Tyris. TuQ’an froze, and his whole body started to gesture wildly and point towards the Arcanist’s flank. Marick blinked, half studying the Kel Dor while half keeping an eye on his recovered IG-100 antagonist.

Marick pointed in frustration at his ears as he willed the Force to repair his hearing while his years of relentless discipline and training kept his saber working protectively against the remaining MagnaGuard droid’s electrostaff as it took up its onslaught once again.

—rick!

“—hat?!” Marick bellowed, frustration boiling over, only hearing the tail end of his own question as something popped inside his eardrum.

“MINE!” TuQ’uan shouted. The sudden urgency behind the word prevented Marick from confusing the homonym as some kind of possessive article rather than a portent. For just as the sound of the arena finally rushed back into his awareness, the Exarch’s foot grazed the edge of a planted mine that the di Plagia had spotted with his keen eyes.

If he had been a second slower, there likely would not have been much of the Exarch left to try and piece back together with cybernetics or bacta. Fortunately, preternatural precognition propelled his muscles into motion. At the last possible moment, Marick accelerated through the Force, just in time to throw himself clear of the mine's blast radius.

Fast enough. This time, at least.

An explosion erupted from the street as the second mine of the day sent out a destructive blast that seemed to rock the entire street. With no proper foundation to the makeshift city, the shipping containers near the detonation shifted, unfortunately that included the one TuQ stood upon. As the metal roof of the container shook, the di Plagia was caught off guard, his focus was on Marick escaping the blast. Standing precariously close to the edge, TuQ’s footing slipped and he began to tumble from his vantage point. With one foot still on the roof, he summoned what strength he could and pushed off, throwing himself as far out as he could.

TuQ landed on his side, rolling like a barrel down a loading ramp, before finally coming to a stop laying on his back. A piece of debris landed with a thud mere inches from where his head lay on the ground. Tilting his head back he found a chunk of metal embedded in the ground, the lightless photoreceptors of a MagnaGuard staring back at him.

Well, that takes care of the droids, TuQ thought as he pushed himself to his feet. Now it was just him and Marick, at least until more surprises showed up. Whoever organized this tournament really was a sadist.

The two opponents stood on opposite sides of a newly formed crater in the center of the street. Both covered in dust and dirt, both beginning to look more than a little annoyed. The Force Lord stood unarmed, he carefully knocked away the dust from his chest and straightened his robes. His left foot slid backwards before he locked eyes once more with his opponent and gave a slight nod as if to say “I’m ready”.

The Kel Dor ran towards the pit and leapt into the air and activated his jetpack, rocketing towards the awaiting Force user. TuQ quickly approached his quarry with his vibrodaggar in hand. In a blur of motion, Marick’s left hand came up, deflecting the blade from landing a fatal blow while planting his right hand into the di Plagia’s chest, throwing him off course and straight through a nearby window. TuQ was starting to get real tired of being thrown around like a rag doll.

A line of blood trickled down Marick’s arm, sliced by the dagger. The Aronae inspected the hole cut in the shoulder of his robes now beginning to stain with blood. The wound was deeper than he had expected, his left arm felt weak and his fingers refused to bend how he wanted. A quiet growl escaped his lips as he approached the door to the building now housing his tenacious opponent. Pressing his shoulder against the door, Marick carefully eased it open, wary of any traps awaiting him. Inside he found the approximation of bare living quarters. A table in the middle of the room, a thin wall separating this room from another, a set of rickety stairs leading to a second floor and broken glass littering the floor by the window. The level of detail put into this arena was astounding.

Laying on the ground near the window, the Exarch spotted a wide brimmed, black hat. A precious possession of his former colleague. The only times he had seen TuQ without it were when he was under great duress. Slowly Marick crouched down, careful not to disturb the shards of glass, and gingerly picked up the Kel Dor’s iconic headwear, giving it an amount of respect that would make TuQ proud. Marick closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the Force flow through him, guiding him.

He saw flashes of a dark room, TuQ’uan sitting on the ground, his back against a wall, arms resting on his knees as he gathered himself, blaster in hand and ready to unload a volley of plasma on any unsuspecting foe to wander in, he was breathing heavily. Carefully calculating every step, Marick soundlessly moved across the room as if a loth-wolf on the prowl towards the thin wall. Using his weakened hand to steady himself, Marick removed his lightdaggar from his cloak and pressed the tip to the wall about 2 feet from the floor.

“Sorry,” he whispered before thumbing the activation switch, the hum of the short blade filled the eerily silent room. After counting to ten, Marick deactivated the blade and entered the other room. Inside he found TuQ’uan slumped on the ground, a hole through his chest just below the shoulder.

“In…credible…” he coughed out, fighting to remain conscious. “Looks like…you won this round.”

With the battle seemingly concluded, Marick glanced down at his bleeding arm and blinked twice. Frowning, he willed the Force into closing up the open wound. It put a drain on his already dwindling reserves, but the Elder Arcanist channeled it right back from the very slipstreams he drew from. There was a balance to the give and take. Sure enough, the wound closed, leaving only the semi-dried trails of blood across his white shirtsleeve.

With the pain from the injury fading, the rest of the Force Lord’s senses returned to their usual sharp acuity. He looked around the makeshift shanty-house and noticed that no camera drones or droids had followed them into the metal construct.

Which meant that the Arconae was alone. With an unconscious and defenseless Dread Lord’s Wrath. An old distant part of his training as an assassin and as a weapon whispered whimsically about removing a crucial piece from a rival Clans dejarik board. The notion was quickly quieted by the weight and experience earned after years and years of conflict, strife, and bitter battlefields. Images of the Dark Crusades flashed across his memory. Great Jedi Wars. Vendettas.

What had all of it gotten him? Nothing but pain, regret, and loss. As Exarch, he had vowed to do what he’d failed to do as Voice—to help dispel the disparaging rivalries of old and to blaze a new path forward. That the Brotherhood could be stronger together than they were divided.

As a father, he had vowed to simply be better.

Life before death.

With his mind made up, Marick knelt beside the fallen Proconsul of Clan Plagueis. He shifted his shoulders slightly to reach back into his Envoy Messenger Bag, and felt around blindly until he found the spherical shape of one of the bacta canister kits he kept stashed in one of the compartments.

His hands worked with the practiced patience of a physician's assistant. There was a sink nearby but he doubted it actually produced water. Fortunately, bacta was a good stop-gap for fresh wounds, and the chance of infection from a lightdagger wound was low. The half-Hapan knew very little of Kel Dor physiology, but other than their need for a mask to breathe oxygen, Varick seemed to bleed just the same as a typical humanoid.

As he applied the bacta gel, Marick reflected on his educated guess as to where to activate his blade from the other side of the wall. For once, he was pleased to see that he had not fully lost his touch as an assassin. The wound was precise, neat, and had avoided rupturing any major arteries or organs. Now stabilized, all that was left was to wake the patient.

“Biddy?” Marick called out as he picked up TuQ’uan’s discarded hat and turned it over in his hands.

There was a rustling sound of scrap metal clanking and the pitter-patter of tiny droid feet, followed by a quizzical beep.

“Stim him,” Tyris said flatly.

The little droid narrowed his photoreceptors and tittered skeptically.

“Yes, I know he’s an opponent,” Marick replied to the BD-unit. “They will likely assume I cheated in some manner, however, and I’d rather the fight end out in the arena. So, would you apply the stim, please?”

Biddy beeped a long string of doubtful demerits to his master’s plan, but was already in motion to fulfill the task. If it was going to be done, it might as well be done correctly.

Marick took a half step back and watched as the droid dispensed the stim canister he carried, caught it mid-spin in the air, and then adroitly administered it into the prone Kel Dor.

TuQ’uan Varick shot up stark awake and looked around with wild, frantic eyes. Biddy retreated and darted for cover behind a makeshift trash can.

“THE GREATEST MAGIC OF ALL IS—HAT!?”

Marick carefully, and without a word, handed the hat over. The di Plagia snatched the hat from Arconae, pulled it down over his exposed head, and then seemed to calm down into his usual sense of self.

“I’m guessing you won,” TuQ’uan stated, looking up at the hovering half-Hapan. He patted his chest, suddenly remembering the instantly cauterized wound that had caused him to feint in the first place. It had been patched and bandaged.

Marick didn’t answer, merely shrugging a shoulder, and then offered the Kel Dor his hand.

“Why?” Varick asked as he took the offered hand and rose back to his feet.

“Because I believe that you are part of the future we are all striving toward in different ways. It will be difficult for you to one day become Dread Lord if you are defeated off-camera by...someone like me.” He let the implications of his choice of words linger for a moment before continuing. “So, we are going to finish the fight out there. Let there be no doubt or question as to how this match ends.”

TuQ’uan blinked. He had worked with Marick for years, and could not recall a single instance where the former Voice had spoken so much in such a short span of time. Perhaps TuQ’uan had lost more blood than he realized, or took one too many hits to the head. Who knew?

“Fair enough. So how do you want to do this?” the Proconsul asked, recovering his DL-44.

“I could run out the door, and you can trail blaster fire after me until we get back to the crater and the camera drones?”

“Boring,” Varick waved a hand dismissively. “Why don’t you cut a hole in the side panel with your lightsabers, then dramatically kick it out and we’ll jump out through it?”

Marick seemed to consider it a moment, then shook his head. “No, that seems excessive.”

“Alright, how about—”

As the two debated their next course of action, the makeshift shanty-house suddenly started to shake beneath their boots. The foundation must have been weakened from the earlier explosions from the mines. Biddy shrilled a warning, and scampered up Marick’s leg to hop onto the back of his cloak where he latched on.

Precognition preceded motion as Marick grabbed TuQ’uan by the jacket. The Elder Arcanist tapped the Force for speed, his muscles burning as he hauled Varick with him towards the exit before the building folded around them like a giant house of metallic cards.

While they were able to clear the initial collapse, Marick clipped his other shoulder on a falling piece of metal plating, causing pain to blossom up his entire arm and his vision to go white for a moment. Unfortunately for Varick, this prevented Tyris from yanking him away from another falling piece of debris that clocked him in the back of the head.

While the hat remained in place, his consciousness left him once again, as the di Plagia and Arconae landed unceremoniously on the sandy floor of the arena. The camera drones floated eagerly over to the two combatants, displaying the scene for all in attendance.

Marick slowly pushed himself back to his feet. He looked down to see that TuQ’uan remained motionless. The Exarch glanced at the cameras, then made a small, polite bow to the downed Proconsul. He made no gesture or emote of triumph, for this was only one of many fights to come.

At the very least, no one would be able to refute who had emerged victorious in the end.