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.

After healing herself and offering to heal her previous opponent, the Sith Elder wondered who she would be up against this round. Looking at her datapad, it was confirmed that this was a new configuration for the arena, one she wasn’t particularly happy about. When her turn came, Tahiri had to command Zuska to stay in the locker room, before heading to the lift to begin the next combat trial. Even before getting onto the lift, the Togruta could already taste the bitter and slight metallic flavor of the ash drifting down from the exit, halfway up she began to feel a pressure on her chest, and a burning sensation in her nose as the intense and smoldering heat began to build up. Upon exiting the lift onto the churning, heated landscape of chaos of lava and stone, the din and clanging of the forges nearby seemed almost as loud as the audience in the stands around the arena.

Glancing around at the harsh, jagged landscape, Tahiri did her best to stay in the darker regions, making her way up to a higher vantage point to see who would be her next opponent. She settled on top of a rocky crag near the middle, peeking over the jagged rocks that overlooked a flat plateau, fenced in on either side by rivers of lava. She couldn’t see anyone yet, but figured she wouldn’t have to wait long for her opponent.

I’m still glad I made Zuska stay below. This environment is not suitable for him. There was a sudden tug on her self consciousness. To the left! Tahiri only got a chance to take a peek before immersing her muscles in the flow of the Force, carefully flipping and twirling out of the way of a huge dark shadow that descended from a bit higher rocky outcropping to her left.

“Hello there, seems as though we haven’t officially met yet,” the petite Togruta smiled warmly and then straightened herself up, she gave the hulking figure a bow. “Foxen Erinos, was it? You’re Minnow’s brother, correct?”

The oceanic black tendriled and horned head atop the immense shoulders nodded ever so slightly. The energy the petite Togruta felt from the hulking Chagrian-Nautolan hybrid, was a bit overpowering. “You don’t talk much, do you hmm? The opposite of Minnie.” The deep lidless eyes stared back at her. “Listen, I know we don’t know each other, and you have every right not to trust me. You can take my word for what it is, whether you believe me or not. But I don’t wish to harm you, especially if you’re close to Minnie, I don’t… Well, I try not to hurt my friends’ family, or friends.”

This woman is Bril’s godmother. She seems sincere enough, but she’s still a Sith. He had wanted to introduce her, but she had that dog with her. Flyndt would be happy if… Wait, where is the dog? Foxen watched the tiny Togruta in front him, every facial feature, and muscle twitch. Tensing up he scanned around her, slowly taking his datapad out and tapping a quick message on it, before holding it out for the Elder to read.

Where is your pet?

Tahiri cocked her head at the datapad, before leaning forward slightly, squinting to read, as the particles of dust and ash caused tears to well up in her eyes. “Oh, Zuska? He isn’t here with me today. His paws would have been too badly burnt on this ground and I didn’t want to risk him getting too injured by the environment itself.”

Foxen considered.

She could have been lying. She lied about her appearance, his sister had said; Minnie had witnessed the Togruta drop her blue-eyed illusion and reveal the yellow irises of a deeply corrupted jediit. But they were yellow before him now, whether a choice not to frak with his mind or due to her inability to concentrate. Metal clamored and clanged around them, vibrating his teeth in his gums, nevermind her montrals. Swells of roaring and boos from the crowd were a distant buzz overwhelmed each time by the pounding of steel and the bubbling, hissing spittle of lava. The air was sulfuric and oppressive where any skin was exposed and even in the regulated lining of his armor, a torporous, insidious heat that dragged the body down, clouded the mind.

But she was Bril's godmother. They called each other ameeno'nop and ye'meht, endearments in a red-grass tongue he didn't know but could hear the belonging in. Bril rambled about her often and at length.

"You know, Brosodien, you might be the only person I've ever met who has more knives than my godmother…" he'd commented once, fondly.

Ironic, since Foxen could count the several hidden and not on Tahiri now, and for once, his opponent currently carried more. He was bogged down with equipment.

The heartbeats ticked by.

He thought of Flyndt, his sister, and her Bril, who was — begrudgingly — little brother to him, and chose trust.

The crowd's discontent grew louder when he typed on the datapad again. A silent fighter wasn't well liked.

Confirm. If you do not have the animal, then I will not kill or overly harm you. Couldn't make promises with it around.

There still must be a victor, however, and I intend to win this karkfest and ask for a boon. So I suggest a duel.

I will not use guns or lethal force. My rules: no lightning/electricity/shock, no burning, no restraint around neck and head, no collars, no whips, no animals. Preferably no limb breakage. Also no limb loss. Think that covers what our loved ones would protest. Do you agree?

It took Tahiri a moment to read when he offered the pad over, the roaring of the spectators truly growing now. Foam fingers and various snacks were being thrown into the arena and went up in stinking flames before they even made contact with the lava's surface.

Then, the tiny Togruta Sith woman looked up at him, flashing fangs in a smile.

"I agree, of course, Foxen. That sounds much more fun. What do you say? Until one of us can't fight anymore?"

First blood would be over too quickly for these voyeurs but attrition is not desired. Best of three bouts, blood on each?

"I accept that challenge."

No sooner had the last syllable left her mouth than Foxen was slashing at her, metal glinting in his hand with the garish orange light of the magmaworks. Tahiri leapt straight upwards over the blow, a supernatural feat for her stature, and kicked off his arm to redirect herself in a reverse somersault. She landed with one leg extended, fingertips ghosting the volatile ground, the other arm snapping out.

Metal flew.

Pingbrinnnng!

The Nautolan's dagger clocked one way then the other, arm pinwheeling as he blocked two throwing knives with the flat of his beskar kal. Another he caught out of the air with his free hand and threw right back, intercepting a fourth mid-flight with a clang!

Behind his carved face plate, red eyes watched as the Sith gave the smallest shudder at that sound. And several harder ones every time the impact of presses from the steel plates rang out.

Reversing his grip while drawing his sword, Foxen charged the petite blademaster. Tahiri backpedaled rapidly, leaping down the embankment of steep rock and metal and hopping from island to island amidst the lava flows. Despite his own bulk, the hybrid was quick to give chase, erupting a surprised look on her dark, flame-striped features. He crashed upon her like an avalanche, swinging both blades, and in a flash and hiss of plasma, beskar met golden beams.

For a heartbeat as molten rock and slag burbled around them, they struggled, shoto roaring like a dragon to silent dagger, rune-carved lightsaber ringing to silent sword. But that heartbeat gave way between atrial and ventricular gasps, and Foxen's superior might bent their crossed weapons closer, slowly but surely prying the Togruta's arms further apart against her amplified strength. Her soles slid back across black rock, leaving ashen scrapes. The Nautolan twisted his wrist, hooking his dagger around the blade of her shoto and wrenching it from her grasp, metal sliding cleanly through tendon meat and splattering blood that evaporated in ferrous pops. The hilt clattered as it rolled across volcanic rock.

Raising a booted foot, Foxen slammed a kick directly into Tahiri's chest, large enough to encompass her whole torso. The Togruta went flying back, but rather than tumble, she twisted with the momentum of the throw, rolling it into an acrobatic vault that kept her out of a lava pool. Her short, pyric lekku swayed as she juked back upright, panting hard already, one lightsaber still in hand. She shook out the other, licking the wound as would a beast.

Her grin was ferocious.

"That's one," she called, and then evaporated out of sight like the ripple of a heatwave in the air.

Foxen's lips almost twitched. He knew better. He had trained with this in tandem; Flyndt used the exact same tactics.

Still, he was on high alert. His gaze searched for the tell-tale shimmer that would come the moment Tahiri attacked. The automated factory kept moving, the crowd baying for blood finally around them. He breathed hard, fogging the slits of the mask. The heat was staggering. His skin burned. His mouth and nostrils were dry.

Too loud. Too busy. But he couldn't sense her like she could him.

However.

She'd flinched. When the hydraulic presses slammed, her montrals rang with it.

Foxen pivoted on his heel and sprinted towards the nearest machine. A scrabble of stone indicated he was being followed.

A line of pain sliced across one of his headtails, the glint flashing out the corner of his eye. He made no sound nor slowed to glance back, knowing Tahiri would be cloaked again by the time he did. Instead, he continued, barreling onwards and stepping up onto one conveyor.

Two heartbeats.

Three heartbeats.

Foxen whirled, feet planted and stance wide to hold his balance on the moving belt, headtails swinging, blood dripping.

One to one.

Steel RANG!

Tahiri burst into existence several meters down the platform, a long Nightsister blade in hand, wincing.

Foxen drew one of his own knives and threw.

Turning her Nightsister duskblade flat just in time to redirect the thrown dagger, the clang of blade meeting blade vibrated through her muscles, making her wince at the pain that raced up her arm and through her fingers. Even with the minor wound mended, the Elder had been able to at least knit the tendons back together. She reengaged with the hulking Chagrian-Nautolan hybrid, the sudden moves still causing her pain.

The constant ringing of steel and concussive force of the hammers within the forge, were causing a pounding within her head, which was developing into an agonizing and throbbing headache. She contracted an annoying twitch in her left eye every time there was a solid Clang, making it difficult to focus.

“Well played Foxen,” Tahiri raised her voice in order to be heard over the forge and conveyor belt. She shook her head a little and smiled, her eyes showing a blaze of determination. Twitching still as she gave him a nod, “Looks like we’re one for one right now. One more bout and no matter the outcome I’ll heal us both.”

As she sized up the sturdy hybrid, she knew that he must’ve been struggling in this heat, as much, or more so than how she was struggling with the noise. Knowing that this final clash of blades may very well mean the end of their match, she wanted to make this last as long as possible.

Twitch

There was a sudden tug at the back of her mind. Look Out! Before she could even react to the tug itself, her right hand threw the Rune saber up in the air, barely catching the handle of the throwing dagger. Twirling it in her fingers, she reflexively sent it back towards Foxen, only for him to rush towards her like a Rancor.

“Frak!” Cursing under her breath, Tahiri was barely able to twist and gain enough distance from his looming presence. Springing away, her peripheral vision caught the spot where her saber had landed. "He’s slowly disarming me. Clever trick." She continued to stay just out of his reach as she dove into the pipeworks of the facility. Her slim body slipped easily through the opening between a pair of large pipes, just as she heard his beskad sword clang against them.

Sheathing her Nightsister blade, she quickly made her way through the pipes, dodging and ducking from the edges of Foxens’ sword and dagger strikes. Finally, she saw an opening where she could get back out and engage properly. As a burst of energy surged through her limbs, Tahiri sped forward, twisting her body as she leapt out, hoping she was far enough ahead of Foxen to get her blades out in time. Tucking and rolling as she landed, as the Elder twisted on the balls of her feet to meet the looming figure, she unsheathed both her duskblade and vibrosword, bringing them up just in time to meet his blades.

Circling the machineworks like his namesake, Foxen relentlessly slashed at the pipes and valves, inferior metal giving way before the beskar as he tried to cut a gap to reach the Togruta, but she always slipped away. When again she disappeared deeper into the forest of forging steel, he backpedaled, recalculating. If he disengaged instead of pressing the offensive, she would have to come after him.

Two meters away, a black and red blur emerged like a bullet through a body. The Nautolan lunged, swinging, and once more metal pealed as Tahiri caught his strikes on her own raised blades. Her sulfuric, glowing eyes tightened in pain and her striped face twisted in a pantherine scowl as he bore down. Her arms shook. So did his against her supernatural strength. He bared his teeth right back, a rathar to a vornskr.

The Sith was smart enough this time not to let the lock last. She dropped into a split and slashed for his ankles while his blades fell through emptied air, forcing him to rapidly retreat lest vibrating teeth saw through his boots. The buzzing edge cut into the black rock instead, making a horrific screech. Tahiri flinched minutely, and Foxen rocketed his foot forward to kick the vibrosword from her grip. As it skidded away off behind them, the mercenary stabbed down at his opponent.

The Togruta opened her mouth and screamed up at him mid-swing.

His armor tried to compensate, he could hear it, but the hushed leveling was quickly overcome at this range with ongoing duration. His vision blurred as the familiar sensation of rupturing eardrums burst through his skull and pounded in his head, enveloping the world in sudden tinny, ringing silence. The hybrid stumbled one step with a sick lurch of muted horror, freeing the smaller of the two to launch herself up at him in a flurry of unpredictable attacks. She flowed chaotically between the forms he recognized in Flyndt's Niman practices with acrobatic ones he didn't. The Nautolan's entire focus narrowed to dodging, chased ever backwards across the conveyors and belts and towards the flowing lava once more. As their distance from the noisey forge grew, one meter, then two, then three, the Togruta's fury and precision only increased while Foxen's own world became calculating angles to parry and turn.

Sweat poured down her brow. His skin burned with dryness, chafing in the armor. He couldn't hear a thing. He couldn't hear.

A necklace swayed from out of Tahiri's armors as she vaulted nearly overhead in a swinging stroke that he beat back, a large animal tooth wrapped on a cord.

Under his own armor was a string of feathers. Was ink and wings. Was Home.

He was going to win this for Flyndt.

Necessary sacrifices.

Tahiri's duskblade swung again for his beskad, her movement committed, expecting to strike and be met with resistance.

Instead, Foxen let go.

The sword flew from his grasp, sailing over into the boiling slag of orange earth behind them. Tahiri's sword kept going, her narrowed gaze widening in a mix of shock and horror for his well-being. Foxen's other hand came up as he dropped his beskar kal, catching the hilt and her hand to arrest it with a clap. At the same time, his emptied hand struck for Tahiri's belt, stealing one of her many tiny daggers and hurling.

Three meters away, at the perfect angle and force to deflect back, the throwing dagger struck her fallen vibrosword on the ground. He couldn't hear the ring, but he saw the flash when it reversed and flew right for them—

—and cut a thin line across the Togruta's lekku.

He watched her yelp. They panted almost chest to chest, her sword held between them at an angle that hyperextended her arm and put her on her toes, thanks to his height. A moment passed.

Their eyes met.

Foxen released his hold and they moved apart.

Her mouth moved, so he looked down to that.

"Wow," gasped the tiny female. "That was an impressive trick. Are you sure you aren't Force Sensitive? I can sense something about you..." Her fangs flashed white as she grinned at him, and she dipped her head gracefully in deference. "That means you've won the day, Foxen."

Deny, Foxen signed while shaking his head. Then he lifted his other hand, the one that had caught her blade, and uncurled his fingers to reveal three bloody holes in his palm and the meat of the digits. He didn't try to sign further, knowing she wouldn't understand, but the message was hopefully clear.

Her sword's hilt had been trapped. She had drawn blood just as well.

They were tied.

"Oh," said Tahiri, and then chuckled, or so he assumed from the shake of her shoulders and curl of her lips. She said something else, but he couldn't make it out with the added static of laughter muddling her lip movements and facial expression. He shook his head again and pointed at where his ear holes were under the headtails, where ears would be on a mammal, then pointed at her and mimed a moving mouth with his bleeding hand. Shook his head one more time.

Her next "oh!" was obvious. She nodded, then sheathed her sword and stooped to pick up his dagger, handing it to him. He accepted without touching her skin, something that didn't go unnoticed.

She frowned, then pointed at his datapad. With a shrug, he pulled it back out then offered it up to her grabbing motion.

I can heal you but I have to touch you. Is that alright?

Foxen grimaced but nodded. He took the pad back and held out his elbow in a way that suggested nowhere else.

Tahiri laid her palm there, and after a moment, the sounds of it all filtered back in as she visibly sagged. With the roaring and booing of the crowd and the booming of machines came relief. He recognized then the panic that had started screeching underneath his consciousness the moment he'd been deafened: terror that he would not get to hear Flyndt's voice again.

"Sorry about that. Do you feel better?"

He nodded.

"And sorry about your sword…"

He typed a one-handed message to show her.

Confirm, better, thank you. It is an acceptable loss. I am not sorry about this.

Tahiri cocked her head. "About what?"

His finger twitched, activating a servo. She reared back lightning fast from where her hand laid on his arm, eyes widening in precognitive reflex, which saved her from any missing phalanges as the beskar fan blades in his gauntlets sprang out. Instead the sudden rupture of metal sliced clean into her arm in a bloody spray across them both. This time he heard the shout.

Two to three.

He'd warned her, after all. There had to be a victor, and he was going to win.

Tahiri recoiled with a hiss, clutching the heavily bleeding arm to her chest. Foxen casually reached into his bag and drew out the small dose of bacta he had, offering it up.

"I am starting to see why Bril tells such stories of you," the Togruta muttered, but took the tube. He gave a last few words on screen as they headed for the exit, signaling victory to the camera droids.

And I you.