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 Forge.

Inspired by the droid factories on Geonosis and the flowing lava rivers of Mustafar, the Forge is a collection of deadly heat and hard-slamming steel. In the center of the arena is a “peak” from which the lava flows downward through rivers and cliff-faces. Radiating outward is a series of tiered rings, each getting lower the further from the center you get.

Along the rivers of lava, various arteries suck out the super heated earth to melt metal. The loud clanking slamming of metal sheets heating and cooling, tempering and forging together ring clearly through the entire arena. Conveyor belts lead the metal sheets away from the arena to be used by ACE in the spaceship yards.

The crowd whooped in excitement and fell into a deafening silence as a Mandolarian clad in black and red and stunning silver chrome walked onto the balcony. He suddenly busted a few moves, his arms shot in the air as he hopped in place twice, looked to the right, and did a very slow and dramatic split as his head slowly turned to the camera droid. The man was working that camera as the light bounced off his visor perfectly.

The crowd roared with life.

Idris’s hand went up, pointing to the sky as sparklers went off behind him.

“Are you ready fooooorrrr–” He paused for dramatic effect as the crowd replied with a resounding cheer.

“ROUND TWO!” The entire audience got on their feet, clapping, and stomping as a profile of Evelyn appeared on the holoscreen. “Pilot Evelyn Wyvern against… DRUMROLL!” He then pointed to the lens of the camera droid as the speakers blared the sound of drums being beat for a few seconds.

“Exarch Marick Tyris!” The multitude of people yelled in excitement for what this could bring as the holoscreen faded and the camera droids that followed Evelyn and Marick were now activated and the pair was put on display.

CLANG.

Evelyn’s blood ran cold despite the smoldering heat from the new arena. Anyone but him, Evelyn softly begged to the stars. The galaxy must have needed a laugh as she was up against Marick. Her new boss, a powerful man, and a great mentor. Her jaw shifted as she chewed her cheek as she was struggling to keep her self-hatred and shame down. She believed she had not improved since their last training session. She had an incident when she met an old rival and froze on the spot. Her stomach was in knots.

Deep breaths. This is a physical combat. This is not the time to be emotional.

Venturing further into the arena, Evelyn was glad she had time to change her armor to something better suited for the heat as a bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face. She lifted her arm to wipe it away and glanced down at her BB unit. The sounds were loud and every time a clang echoed through the arena, it took everything she had not to cringe.

CLANG.

Evelyn squatted down so she could talk to Thirteen clearly, “Thirteen, this venue is too dangerous for you. Find an open space that has more than one exit from the lava and stay there. Move to avoid damage if you must.” Thirteen beeped once and obediently and rolled off, the gravel crunching underneath her as Evelyn stood back up.

She had started towards the forge, her eyes darting around. This was harder than she thought. There were so many distractions – her eyes shot up when she saw movement. Marick was looking down right at her. He tapped once at the side of his temples as Evelyn considered it for a moment.

CLANG.

Evelyn slightly jumped from the consistent noise as she nodded. There was no other way to communicate.

Remember, don’t tell me, show me who you are, Marick’s iridescent blue eyes laid on the woman as he watched her grimace at the message. There was a moment of pause she gave Marick a single nod which he returned, his ashen silver locks slid forward from the gesture. She hoped that her self-doubt was wrong and be able to give him a small amount of pride to see how much she had grown, if any. His hands went to his belt as he grabbed the pair of lightdaggers and tossed them as if he was going to throw them into the bubbling hot lava.

Marick watched her unsheathed her sword the moment the lightdaggers cracked to life and hovered into the air. He ignited his lightsaber and leapt down with a downwards strike in which Evelyn rose her Sith Sword to stop the incoming attack. The lightdaggers were sent flying towards her as she moved out of their trajectory. He watched her footing when she moved forward and slashed at him. He parried with his lightsaber while the lightdaggers returned to float threateningly over his shoulders.

The Force alerted him of an incoming kick, in which the Elder responded by freeing one hand from gripping the hilt, and his palm struck her leg as it came up to shove her leg back down while he danced back. He could tell with her sloppiness, she was unfocused.

CLANG.

The grip she had on her hilt had weakened for a split second and Marick took the chance, his hand returned to the hilt as he shoved the sword back— and paused. Evelyn froze along with him as he looked up first, followed by Evelyn. Lava was peeking over the cliff. Marick let go of his lightsaber as it hovered, his hand slid to Evelyn’s wrist as he used a technique he learned from Sliding Hands, flipping Evelyn onto her back behind him. He stepped back and moved away as the lava flowed down and met up with a slow-moving river of magma. Safely away from them.

CLANG.

Evelyn was panting, her face flushed from the heat as she scrambled up, her arm wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her white locks clung to her neck and face.

Focus, Marick’s voice rang in her mind. Evelyn let out a small gasp as she closed her eyes. She shook her head at him. How can she focus? There were lava deathtraps almost everywhere, the heat was suffocating, the noises, not to mention his, now three, hovering death weapons, and—

You’re being emotional. Evelyn's eyes snapped to him, her facial expression was one of denial for a moment.

CLANG.

With a bitter acknowledgement, he was right. Evelyn took a deep breath, her shoulders rolled back as she relaxed slightly. Her neutral expression returned as her grip tightened on her Sith Sword and she moved her feet back into a steady, defensive stance. She gave him a determined nod and Marick returned the gesture.

A bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face but it did not bother the half-Hapan as he had been using the Force to help regulate his body temperature. His hand outstretched and the lightsaber returned safely to his hand, the cool hilt felt like a blessing in this heat as both lightdaggers tilted downwards and pointed at Evelyn.

CLANG-CRUNCH

The metronome of thudding thunder from the forge’s thrusting turbines traipsed into a chomping mastication as metal grinded against metal. Salvaged sheets of durasteel plating and shrapnel—likely recycled from the previous Shanty Town arena—screeched in protest against the pounded parts and panels rolling across the conveyor belts in a makeshift assembly line.

Marick idly appreciated Idris’ design, despite his growing distaste for the incessantly permeating heat index as a result of it. The Voice had devised a way to squeeze magma from molten rock—all while providing a perilous venue for combat, strife, and entertainment.

If you’re going to be one thing, be efficient, the retired Voice mused as the oppressive heat matted strands of his impossibly straight ashen hair against his brow.

CLANG-CRUNCH

Focus, Marick reminded himself. Just as he had instructed Evelyn Wyvern. He owed her his full attention. Anything less would not be proper. The Elder Arcanist also noticed that the Ace pilot was drawing faintly from the Force to deal with the heat of the arena. He idly wondered if she even realized she was doing it.

CLANG-CRUNCH

The sound faded to the back of his mind. As he surveyed the shifting terrain and studied the woman’s stance, Marick realized he was likely stretching his own abilities beyond what would be considered efficient. Regulating his body temperature was consuming considerable bandwidth when combined with his telekinetic technique and keeping up with the talented swordswoman.

In seemingly silent agreement, his twin floating lightdaggers disengaged their blades and returned to their respective sheaths on his belt. He toggled the dual-phase emitter on his Radiant lightsaber hilt, the black-cored blade retaining its ghostly shroud as it shifted to its stun setting. The Exarch could now duel one his top Envoys without worry of inflicting lethal harm—all while giving Evelyn the respect she deserved.

Marick darted forward, cloak billowing behind him in the wake of his sudden motion. He closed in and worked his saber in a circular pattern, probing first at each side of her high guard. Evelyn kept her wrist loose but her grip tight as she deftly swept her Sith sword from left to right, parrying each attack before it could strike either of her shoulders. She braced her free hand against the bottom of her sword's hilt to power her next two deflections, batting aside Marick’s follow up swings toward her knees. Alchemical metal defied dulled plasma as her boots slid smoothly backwards over the igneous rock bedding that had replaced the coliseums' sandy floor.

Defense would only get her so far. So Evelyn caught the half-Hapan’s next sequence of attacks head on instead of letting them slide off her blade. As their blades crashed into one another, she lowered her center of mass and pushed back against the half-Hapan with all the power of her legs behind her repelling riposte.

The two hybrids traded momentum, with Marick now forced to backpedal and twist his lightsaber into tight defensive coils. Evelyn expertly wove her martial arts training into her swordplay—finessed feints with fist and foot fusing with bold, broad swings of her Sith Sword.

Tyris evaded each strike, never staying still or in one place long enough for one of her hits to find purchase. To make matters more infuriating, anytime she felt a surge of confidence in figuring out his pattern, the Elder Arcanist would seamlessly switch hands and alter his technique. And while she would often add a second hand to her hilt for different maneuvers, Marick always seemed to keep one hand free, likely out of habit. Yet he was not using it to pull on things with the Force, or even to strike at the openings she knew she was leaving him. Which meant he was trying to make this a fair fight.

A small part of her appreciated that, the larger part of her competitive heart flared. Her brow furrowed in frustration as she doubled down on trying to take away any advantage he might have had in regards to speed and mobility. She took fewer swings and lunges and instead focused on more intentional, powerful patterns. Her efforts were rewarded as she forced the half-Hapan back between two jutting crags of volcanic rock that formed a makeshift arch.

Running out of room to dodge, Marick was forced to duck under a scything sweep of Evelyn’s sword that would have likely taken his head clean off his shoulders. In the same sinuous motion, he sprung up behind her, reversing their positions. He slipped past her guard and then snaked his saber around her heavier sword, striking like a serpent before she could bring the blade down to block.

Evelyn swiveled on reflex to get out of the way, but still felt the sting of the Exarch’s stun-saber bite through her robes. A dull numbness blossomed just above her hip, but the Shaevalian-Echani simply sneered and pushed through the discomfort. Pain was nothing new to her. Still, she tried to remain calm, collected and without emotion. But as her therapist had said, sometimes emotion could be a powerful tool.

“Is that the best you have?” Wyvern shouted as she rushed the Exarch and brought her lightsaber down with all of her might into a single, destructive blow.

Marick sidestepped. Just as she expected.

At the last possible moment, Evelyn halted her haymaker and instead dropped her shoulder into her opponent's sternum. Marick was caught flat footed and felt himself stagger backwards from the woman's momentum.

It gave her the opening she needed. She was in control here. No one else.

With a quick flourish, she slammed the butt of her sword’s hilt into Marick’s thumb. Bone popped. To his credit, the Elder Arcanist merely growled in pain, but the grip on his lightsaber hilt faltered.

Evelyn did not relent. She capitalized on the opportunity to hook the cross-guard of her sword against Marick’s lightsaber and then fling it as far away from the combatants as she could.

Tyris winced as he dropped to one knee, causing Wyvern’s adrenaline to surge as she lunged for the defining coup de grâce. As her blade moved to skewer him through the chest, Evelyn suddenly became very aware of what she was about to do. She had always just assumed Marick would dodge her attacks. He’d survived worse. But what if she made a mistake...

As doubt doused the fire of her newfound confidence, she hesitated. She never saw Marick pull a Sith Dagger from his boot, brandishing it in his uninjured hand and then raking it neatly across her abdomen. The dagger drew a thin line of bright crimson blood, causing Evelyn to wince and fall back. She gripped her sword with white knuckles as she tightened her jaw. The pain returned, but it would not slow her down.

She thought of all she had been through. Siren Squadron. The lives lost under her command. How she had sought out the Envoy Corps partially in part to wanting to be like the Exarch. To prove to Marick she was worthy of the honorable fight he was giving her. She would blaze a path to victory and prove herself in the eyes of all that were watching.

Biddy beeped bitterly as he scampered around the plethora of deadly obstacles that seemed to be spawning around him at a rapid rate. Quicker than Lady Kirra could go through an entire jar of cookies, or Fela through her evening meal. He had told his master that this tournament was not a good idea. Nothing good came of this place. Had he already forgotten the Krayt dragon—

—clunk

Something cylindrical collided with the top of the BD-unit’s small, square head.

Biddy beeped a binary swear as he bounced around in frantic circles. After the moment of shock passed, he looked down and realized what had assaulted him from above. It was Master Marick’s lightsaber.

With renewed purpose and glee, the backpack droid scooped up the discarded hilt and stashed it into his storage compartment. He had told Master Marick to be more careful with it. But did he ever listen? No.

Marick sheathed the bloodied dagger somewhere under his cloak, then slowly drew a new blade from the odd sheath at the small of his back. To Evelyn’s surprise, it was another lightsaber, but this one looked more like a relic from the past. The blade was different and did not give off the tell-tale hum of a saber.

How many lightsabers does he karkin’ have!?

The Elder Arcanist cringed for a moment as he did something to his injured left thumb with another audible pop. Still, he was now gripping his new lightsaber in his right hand.

Then he flashed Evelyn a small, earnest smile. Like the sun peeking momentarily through a sky blanketed with clouds. Perhaps it was a trick or mirage from the ripples in the air from the intense waves of heat. Before she could fully register the rare show of emotion, it was gone.

All that remained was the Exarch of the Brotherhood. Her opponent.

Anger boiled at Evelyn’s heart as it was suffocating in self-hate. Her hand went to her midriff and saw that while it was injured, it was not grave. She had lost control and for a moment, she wanted to go for the kill. Entering this may have been a bad idea after all.

Ashes from their surroundings had dirtied their hands and faces. Beads of sweat left streaks. Evelyn could feel that her lips were so dry that if she dared to try to speak again, they would rip open and bleed. The scorching heat sucked everything out of her. She could feel the burn on her muscles, the heat licking at her feet with every movement she had made. Her concentration on her body was gone.

Marick waited for her to make a move. She lunged forward with a swipe. He easily side-stepped to the left and swung at her and she backflipped and landed on the conveyor. He watched her stumble for a moment on a metal sheet and used this advantage to jump up onto the belt as he landed gracefully.

The pair of them exchanged flurries of different slashes and swipes. Marick was faster but Evelyn kept her sword close to her body. Eventually, like all defenses, it broke. Marick summoned the Force for an extra boost as Evelyn’s grip faltered and the Sith Sword was sent flying out of her hands. That did not deter the woman as she stopped his attack by getting her Sith dagger out and intercepted his blade with her own.

With the knowledge of Shadow Step, he found one of her weak points and used his elbow to jab at her upper right shoulder as she gritted her teeth and stumbled back.

They had been moving backwards and had found themselves inside the Forge. Evelyn took this chance of slight distraction as she got out three throwing knives from their sheathes on her thigh and threw all of them towards Marick. He brought up a metal sheet in front of him to deflect the incoming attack.

The moment the sheet was tossed away, Evelyn had already hopped up onto another belt. This time it was a machine with small claws with metal sheets that needed to be dipped into the magma. Evelyn grunted in pain, her shoulder still bothering her from Marick’s jab earlier, ignoring her muscles crying out at her, and barely pulled herself up. Her eyes frantically darted around to find her Sith Sword. Instead, she spotted a familiar droid.

“THIRT-” She tried to shout and ended up coughing harshly. Her throat felt raw. Thirteen’s attention went towards the sound. Evelyn continued to cough as she pointed in the Sith Sword’s direction. Thirteen idly beeped as it rolled towards the area she had pointed. Exactly what was it that she wanted it to look for?

Biddy excitedly went into the Forge, looking for its Master to present his lightsaber he had found. Biddy was already planning a long Binary lecture to Master Marick for losing his lightsaber and bumped into Thirteen. There were a few bionic exchanges between them. The pair of droids decided to be in agreement and went in search of what it is that Evelyn wanted.

Marick took this moment of respite as he looked around the Forge. There were many areas to take advantage of. His eyes glanced back over to Evelyn and caught her hopping over onto another belt. He looked around for her sword. If he could get there before— There.

Evelyn already had a head start as he kicked off to meet her there. It was smart to use a high point of view to find the weapon. He watched her leap and do a roll on the ground. His hand went out as he used Telekinesis.

The Sith Sword slid out of her grasp mid-roll, as Marick struck her with the hilt of his lightsaber at the side of her neck when she stopped moving. She got out one of her knives and left a thin crimson cut at his shin as Marick hissed under his breath, covered by the magma bubble popping near by them. Evelyn was quickly learning Marick’s tricks.

Evelyn tossed the knife as her hand went up to the swelling bruise. She let out a sharp breath as she dropped to one knee. The jab was strong enough to halt the blood flow to her brain for a moment. She could see Marick’s boots before her. “I—'' She whispered and tried not to wince at her sore lips. “A teacher, who taught—” She stopped and then corrected herself, “—tormented me for years and who I thought dead, I saw him.” Evelyn started as she looked up to Marick, her eyes full of fury. “And I froze,” Evelyn nearly spat.

It was obvious with the tone from her last word, she never forgave herself or understood why she froze. Her head lowered as she tried to gather her breath. Evelyn saw Marick’s hand enter her field of vision as she let out a shaky breath.

Could she do it? Memories of war, the exhaustion, grief and pain. It was known that soldiers always got back up and kept fighting. She placed her hand on his and was helped up. Their eyes met and she’s aware that Marick knew all the pain too well. He too, had seen wars and lost so much.

“One more,” Marick said, his expression remaining neutral. He used the Force to grasp the Sith Sword and brought it over for Evelyn to take. Marick knew she was slowing down but he wanted to make the fight honorable for the both of them.

Evelyn knew she was fighting a losing battle. It didn’t help that she felt so parched and she didn’t know how much longer she had before she needed to stop. She was even sweating less, a serious sign of dehydration.

But Evelyn didn’t know what giving up meant.

Her hand grasped around the hilt of her Sith Sword and gave Marick a nod.

Marick’s eyes missed very little. While Evelyn's admission had confirmed his suspicions, there was still an unspoken understanding that passed between the two Arconans. A trust. She had shared a part of herself that she hated with him. That took a rare kind of courage that illuminated Evelyn in a different kind of light. Similarly, he knew that she was probably pushing herself too hard as a result, regardless of her half-Shaelyan resilience.

So as the Envoy dropped into her dueling stance, the Exarch returned his lightsaber to its shadowsheath. To her credit, Wyvern kept her face carefully clear of curiosity. She did tilt her head slightly as he rummaged beneath his cloak for something before proudly producing an insulated thermos. He took a drink, returned the cap, and then extended the water bottle towards her.

Evelyn lowered her weapon, but her dark emerald eyes shifted warily back and forth between the offered thermos and her opponent's face.

“I won’t have hyperthermia steal my glory,” Marick explained. There was no hint of humor or hubris behind his deadpan delivery. Evelyn could somehow sense his sincerity, and applied it to the rest of her knowledge of the man.

“Very well,” the Ace acquiesced as she accepted the thermos. The ice-cold liquid sent an invigorating shudder coursing through her nervous system, and she fought back against the animalistic urge to chug the entire bottle. Instead, she took the type of slow, shallow swigs that seasoned soldiers and pilots were savvy to. Once content, she re-affixed the cap and handed the thermos back to the Exarch.

“Thank you,” she said plainly, rolling her stiff shoulder and tightening the grip on her Sith Sword.

The Elder Arcanist simply bowed his head in response, having used the brief respite to refuel his own reserves within the Force. As he moved to draw his lightsaber, he paused with his hand on the hilt.

Marick’s iridescent blue eyes—stark against the obsidian and ochre landscape—fixated on a camera drone that hovered nearby. The Exarch blinked once, expression blank, as the drone buzzed and moved in closer. As it did, he heard the sound of the arena’s audience for the first time over the Forge’s industrial foley. Listening closer, he could make out the crowd's dirge of dissatisfaction as it was piped through the drone’s built-in speakers.

They had come to see conflict and strife. To see blood spilled and the sands soiled like the gladiators of old in the Petranaki arena. Yet instead of violence or vanity, they were witnessing a duel rooted in honor and humility.

A flicker of irritation flashed across the half-Hapan’s otherwise stoic mask. His eyes darkened. He extended his free hand and made a grasping gesture. In response, a sphere of molten magma lifted up from a boiling lava pit that had formed nearby. It quickly grew and swelled to the size of a roaring Rathtar. With an effort of will, the Force Lord unfurled his balled fist and thrust his arm in the direction of the audience. In time with the motion, the sphere of magma rocketed through the arena and then crashed into the coliseum’s high wall.

The scream of startled spectators quieted quickly as the burst of lava never actually crossed the threshold between the arena and the stands. Even in his moment of anger, the man who had been named Darth Amarok was still in control. The Force Lord maintained eye contact with the drone as his emotionless features were put on defiant display across every vidscreen in the arena. The drone withdrew, returning to its wide-shot coverage. With it, the jeering of the crowd faded back into the arena’s ambience.

Biddy and Thirteen traded beeps of relief as the two droids narrowly avoided the splash zone of the erupting ball of magma that exploded against the side of the coliseum wall. Thirteen had been the first to notice the dangerous projectile, and had started to roll away as fast it could. Biddy, knowing his short legs wouldn’t keep up, banked on forgiveness over permission and had hopped onto the BB-units back. The BD-unit motored his flat little feet as fast as he could to keep up with the larger droid's spherical rotations as he rode it to safety.

Thirteen beeped indignantly when it came to a stop and swiveled its head around to glare at Biddy. First it’s head had been used as a play toy for a cythraul. Now, it was being used as some kind of chariot for a backpack droid? It was about to express its frustration when a sudden shift in the arena’s floor caused it to shriek in surprise as a geyser of fire split the volcanic rockbed right between the two droids.

Biddy kicked Thirteen out of the way and then springboarded backwards to safety, narrowly avoiding being turned into toast.

Once safe, both droids bounded towards their Masters in tandem to warn them of this newly added danger.

The Arconae exhaled slowly as he lowered his hand. With his focus shifted momentarily away from regulating his body, the Elder Arcanist was reminded of the slash in his shin and the dull ache in his thumb as the radiating heat caressed his cheeks with a flush.

“Ignore them,” Marick said as he returned his attention to Evelyn, who watched with a mixture of muted admiration and apprehension. “Let us—”

Evelyn darted forward and cut the half-Hapan’s words off with a flurry of blows from her Sith Sword. Marick evaded each slash and stab, shuffling backwards and up the slope of a metallic ramp that led to the top of one of the Forge’s workstations. Wyvern’s strikes were poised and calculated, capitalizing on Tyris’ distraction while conserving as much energy as she could. Her ‘boss’ had told her to focus, afterall. And not taking advantage of the opening he had left her would have been...improper. Now, all she had to do was force him into tight quarters where her technique and bladework had a chance of defeating him.

The Exarch remained calm and collected as he wove through her attacks. The Envoy threw the last of her throwing knives, but only one managed to find purchase as it snipped a few strands of Marick’s annoyingly not frizzled hair.

When he reached the end of the platform, he was forced to leap over to an adjacent steampipe. The pipe stretched out over the rivulets of lava that continued to gather into boiling, bubbling pools. It was wide enough for two feet and not much else. Evelyn landed in front of him and shifted her heels together into a right angle. She bent her knees for balance and extended the point of her Sith Sword at the Exarch.

“Ready to give up?”

“Hardly,” Marick replied as he spotted two objects racing towards them from below. “Biddy!” he yelled as he spotted the droid sprinting over alongside Evelyn’s BB-unit.

The little backpack droid didn’t need instruction to know what his Master’s outstretched hand meant. Biddy launched Marick’s Radiant lightsaber towards him. The Force magnetized the cylindrical hilt into the half-Hapan’s waiting palm, the black-cored blade springing to life just in time to deflect a deadly thrust from Evelyn’s sword. He was glad to see that it was still in the stun configuration of its dual-phase emitter.

Biddy beeped something that was hard to make out over the Forge’s cacophony of mechanical machinations. Something about...flames...gushers? What did the gelatin snack that Kirra ate have to do with the price of beskar? Maybe the heat had gotten to the droid's circuitry.

Sword and saber clashed as the two Arconans traded ground back and forth like two galactic fencers. Evelyn swung, missed, but followed up with a kick. Marick ducked under it, then countered with a sweep for Evelyn’s ankles, which she deftly hopped over and continued to press her attack. Tension rose with every parry or riposte that did not result in a definitive hit.

Evelyn over committed on another swing. Marick attributed it to fatigue, and did not hesitate to take advantage of the opening she presented. As he moved in for a final strike, however, Evelyn redirected her Sith Sword down into the steampipe between them. Alchemically treated metal punctured the pipe with ease.

Hard-won reflexes alone saved Marick from the sudden stream of scorching hot air. They did not save him from Evelyn’s follow up strike, as her sword slashed a similar line across his chest to the one he’d landed on her earlier. She had not hesitated, and had reaped the benefits.

Wincing, Marick leaped down from the pipe and landed in a crouch on the volcanic rock bed that had materialized below. As he rose back to his feet, he felt a sudden sluggishness to his limbs that had nothing to do with the oppressive heat. The former Assassin touched the raw, red gash with a gloved hand and sniffed at it. Bitterbane. A common herb used in inhibiting poisons.

Impressive he thought as years of training and conditioning helped dissipate the toxins effect. He was far from immune and would need to apply one of the antidotes in his kit. When he looked up, Evelyn was gone.

Reaching down to pull out his own Sith Dagger, he focused on his opponent's blood that had dried on it. Blood was a powerfully efficient link, so he was able to easily follow it to where he knew Evelyn lied in wait.

Marick walked past a collection of duracrete crates and stopped beside one of them. He put the dagger away, toggled his lightsaber out of its stun configuration, and then stabbed the black-cored blade through the metal of the container.

There was a startled shriek as Evelyn threw herself out of the crate, rolling across the basalt with a gash in her already injured shoulder. Her vision flashed with spots as pain blossomed, but she willed herself back to her feet. She had lost her sword in the shuffle, but replaced it by brandishing her Sith Dagger in a reverse grip.

“This ends, Wyvern,” Marick said as he moved to close in. Daggers were effective, but Marick’s longer blade would have the clear advantage in what was rapidly becoming less and less of a fair fight.

Evelyn did not back down. Her body tensed, muscled coiled like a wound spring and ready to fight until the bitter end—whatever end that might be.

Just as their respective blades were about to cross for the last time, time slowed for the Elder Arcanist. Preternatural precognition triggered a warning through the Force. Something was coming from below them. There wasn’t enough time for him to grab her and jump away with the Force, or to throw her away to safety with it. His saber was useless—

—time accelerated. Marick tapped the Force for a burst of strength instead of speed. He accepted a stab from Evelyn’s dagger into his ribs, but ignored it. He dropped his shoulder into the lighter hybrid's sternum with all of his augmented mass behind it.

Evelyn was thrown backwards bodily by the blunt impact. Marick tried to reverse direction and lunge away from the sudden pillar of fire that cracked through the volcanic ground. He was quick enough to avoid the full gout of flame from enveloping him entirely. It still managed to singe through the right side of his cloak and robes, searing the flesh beneath.

Not fast enough.

The geyser subsided as quickly as it had arrived. Marick slumped forward, face down.

Geyers, was the last thought that came to Marick’s mind as pain and exhaustion overwhelmed him. That’s what Biddy had tried to warn him about. The moment of reflection faded along with his consciousness.