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 Bridges.

High-suspended walkways cross and weave through multiple levels of platforms. Some are solid, metal and duracrete crafting an unmoving foundation. Others are mere rope and wood, swaying with even the most gentle of breezes.

Below the walkways is a void filled with mist, the ground unseen for combatants and spectators alike. Periodic ripples of electrical energy can be seen through the mist, hinting to the deadly nature of the arena floor below.

A crowd of spectators from all species had gathered at the Arx Colosseum. Sentients of all ages gathered around view screens and digital projectors; eager to witness the impending violence between two combatants.

Some viewers appeared puzzled by the appearance of only a sole combatant on the viewing devices. A blue skinned Chiss garbed in a set of fine Serrano robes of red, gray and black.

The Chiss moved with poise. A confidence some would consider arrogance. But he had the skills to back up the bravado and moved from bridge to bridge without a concern. His opponent would find him soon and would be dealt with then.

Anders had already bested his foe on several occasions. But besting Hector Von Ricmore in a more public venue would certainly aid him in his goal. He would show the Council, no, the entire galaxy, that he was deserving of the title of Grand Inquisitor.

He was the strongest. The most intelligent. The most ruthless. The most deserving of such a position. They would all witness his grandeur. They would know his justice.

The Grand Inquisitor had to be shrewd, to be capable of spotting trouble wherever it occurred. So it came as little surprise to Anders when his sharp eyes caught the vague and blurry outline of bended light.

Optical camouflage. How clever.

The Sith drew his lightsaber, igniting the black and red blade and holding it in front of him. Not a moment later his foe decloaked and opened fire with twin blaster pistols.

The blue skinned man lazily batted the bolts aside. Such weapons were practically no threat to someone of his skill. He began to leisurely stride forward, taking the time to enjoy the battle.

“Come now Hector, did you really think such parlor tricks would afford you an advantage in this fight? I thought you would have learned by now after losing to me time and time again. You have no hope, no chance of ever defeating me.” Anders drawled, worming his way into his opponent’s mind, creating doubt that he could take advantage of.

His foe would be lying if he said the words had no effect. There was a harsh truth to them. Hector had yet to best Anders in combat. But he had to try. The Force had guided him here for a reason. But it was up to the Kiffar to figure out why.

Stowing his blaster pistols, the Dark Jedi drew his own lightsaber and ignited the amethyst blade.

He was immediately pushed onto the defensive, forced to give ground as Anders crashed his saber against his again and again. The red and black blade lashed out with nimble strikes, picking away at the defense and searching for an opening. An opening that would no doubt appear if the fight continued in this manner.

Hector held up a hand, shoving his foe back several steps with unseen kinetic energy, using the Force. He began to chant in a low, guttural tongue. His Barab Ingot began to glow.

Anders didn’t give him time to complete the ritual. He lunged forward with an elegant thrust, a move Hector barely parried in time, the blade singeing the edge of his armor’s energy shielding. He continued to chant as he was pushed back, completing the ritual as he fought a desperate lightsaber battle.

”Tell me Anders, do you know what the Nightsisters, Sith, and Sorcerers of Tund have in common?” The Kiffar inquired.

”No. But I can’t imagine how such knowledge will help you now. You are outmatched in every way.” The Chiss verbally jousted.

Anders could tell his foe had another trick up his sleeve. He would not be so confident otherwise. He tensed his body and kept his saber at the ready, prepared to counter whatever his enemy had planned.

”They can all conjure fire.” Hector claimed.

His kyber crystal gleamed with a cerulean incandescent light. A stream of blue fire erupted from the crystal. The fiery energy rushed towards Anders who watched with wide red eyes, his body already moving to counter the sorcery.

Panic shot through Anders like a lightning bolt. The flames were about to engulf him like an azure tsunami. He could feel the heat on his skin as the fire closed in on him, the blinding hotness searing his irises.

With the preemptive warning from the Force, Anders leapt off of the side of the duracrete walkway as the roaring inferno raced past him and clipped his cloak, setting it ablaze.

A trail of smoke followed him as he crashed into the wooden bridge below. The shudders and creaks did little to alleviate his immediate concerns about its stability, nor did the flames on his cloak which caught the ropes and set them alight.

Anders forced himself to his feet as fast as he could, his chest, knees and feet aching from his landing. He swiftly removed his very expensive cloak from his body and tossed it over the side of the bridge. It descended into the mist below and into oblivion, swarms of electricity sparking within the cloud-filled void.

‘Curse you, Hector, and your idiotic use of that blasted magick! What in the name of the Nine Corellian Hells do you think you are doing!?’

The ropes began to rip and tear, support of the bridge crumbling. With the dark side as his ally, there was nothing Anders couldn't do.

He poured the malevolent energy through his body and into his legs, empowering them to leap to safety just as the wooden bridge collapsed underneath him. He landed elegantly and gracefully on the adjacent platform, lightsaber still in hand. He turned just in time to witness the bridge buckle, falling apart into the perilous and unknown depths. Anders clutched his left shoulder, which was slightly charred from the fire.

The sound of the jubilant roars from the crowd obliterated the silence. Anders snarled, but stood tall. He composed himself. A prospective Grand Inquisitor did not lose sight of their objective. He took a moment and connected his mind to Hector's.

‘You are a fool, Ricmore! You are completely ignorant of the power that you wield!’

He heard Hector respond through their connection. ’I am far from ignorant. My potential should not be your concern, is that not right, Anderson? If you cannot beat me now, then you don't deserve to become a Grand Inquisitor.’

Anders shook his head. ’Then will you face the consequences of your negligence and perish like the halfwit that you are.’

The Chiss fully expected Hector to take advantage of the situation and prepare his ritual a second time. Sure enough, he felt the signature of his fellow High Inquisitor above, a darkened mass tainting his presence in the Force. Anders was not foolhardy enough to jump in without a plan, though his flesh ached and was lightly burned from his earlier peril.

With the dark side fueling his wicked intentions, Anders leapt back up onto the platform where they had started their fight. Hector was there, chanting, his barab ingot glowing on the necklace that hung around his neck. The Kiffar turned sideways to face him, his ritual almost complete. The Sith's heart pounded in his ears, adrenaline pumping in his veins.

“Silence.”

The Chiss poured the Force into the command, causing Hector's lips to close and seal shut, halting the ritual. The Kiffar's eyes widened as he realised what had happened. Anders’ mouth curved into a malicious grin. It appeared his hypothesis was correct. No incantation meant no fire. Based on his earlier skirmish with Hector and his own knowledge of Sith rituals, he had every reason to suspect his idea would work.

“I have you now, Ricmore!” Anders lunged forward in a stabbing motion.

It was only thanks to his trained reflexes that Hector was able to deflect the strike in time with his lightsaber. Hector held his blade close to his body, using quick, deft hand movements to deflect and parry each incoming attack that threatened to slip past his guard.

“Soresu, Hector?” Anders scoffed. “I've seen better skills displayed by younglings.”

With his opponent's confidence shaken, Anders moved and attacked like an arrow being fired by an expert marksman; deadly and precise. Each step forward was deliberate and unwavering. Every swing he committed to had purpose and reason as the gaps in the Kiffar's defences became wider and wider. The Chiss found it rather insulting that Hector believed he could defend himself in this manner.

“Pathetic,” Anders sneered.

A swipe of the Sith’s blade loosened the final brick in Hector’s defensive wall, though the pain in his chest and shoulder prevented him from striking the killing blow. The Kiffar took the opportunity to shake off the mental miasma Anders had subjected him to and took the chance to start chanting again.

In response, the Chiss sent out a wave of telekinetic energy that slammed into Hector's chest. The Vizsla member soared back off of the platform and onto another narrow bridge, this one was made from metal and supported by duracrete columns on either side. Hector rolled to a stop halfway across.

“Do you see now, Ricmore?” Anders jeered from the edge of the bridge. “Your efforts are futile. Surrender is your best course of action.”

“Even now, after all the times we've fought each other, you still don't understand me,” Hector pulled himself back onto his feet. “You can beat me. Hell, you might even beat me here in front of a large audience, but I will never surrender to the likes of you. You are nothing but a coward and a hypocrite spilling death using justice as an excuse for your actions.”

“Please, spare me your rhetoric. What could there possibly be to understand?” Anders asked. “You use gimmicks to fight instead of relying on your own strength because you are weak in mind, body, and the Force. It is why you can never hope to beat me, and why you could never defeat Appius Wight.”

Hector clenched his fists at his side. “You dare mention his name… What would you know of Appius Wight?”

The Chiss’ eyes grew cold. He gave Hector an icy glare, one that could send shivers down his spine. Anders spoke slowly and meticulously as he answered, his tone darkening as his eyes flashed a crimson amber;

“More than you could possibly understand, but I grow weary of this conversation. I will be taking that crystal along with your life. Goodbye, Hector Von Ricmore.”

Anders reached out with the Force and wrapped a telekinetic tether around the barab ingot that Hector had hanging from his necklace. The kyber crystal flew back around the Kiffar's neck and pulled as if repelled by a powerful magnet. The Sith took gleeful delight in the gasps released by Hector as the necklace dug into his throat and choked him.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

Hector stumbled. His knees slammed into the ground below him.

The purple lightsaber tumbled from trembling hands, hitting the ground and deactivating.

Hector desperately gasped and clawed at his throat, trying to force whatever air he could inside. His vision began to waver and his head pounded. It hurt to think.

Anger flowed through him. Anger at his own weakness. Anger at his inability to learn what became of Appius. Anger at this situation. At the insults and indignation from Anders. He had spent months learning and practicing that ritual, only to receive mockery and verbal barbs.

He would show Anders. He would make him pay.

With a choked growl the Kiffar unleashed that hatred, breaking the choke with a pulse of telekinetic energy that hurled his opponent backwards.

Hector gasped as air began to flow back into him. A deep line was carved into the flesh of his throat from the necklace, a dull burning sensation. But he could breathe once again. And the pain was nothing compared to the fury which had overtaken him.

Anders looked down in disdain, his visage a sneer; his signature look of superiority. His charred shoulder pulsed in irritation, but he would not bother to broadcast that to his opponent. “It appears that is all it takes to bring you to your knees. You should stay down there. With the pathetic effort you have made it is clearly where you belong.” The Chiss mocked.

A wave of shame and revulsion swept through Hector. It was a poor showing indeed. The gap between them was considerably large. But he could not afford to give up here. The Force would not allow him to.

The Dark Jedi rose to his feet. With a gesture he attempted to call his lightsaber to his hand. The weapon froze in midair, an opposing force pulling it in the opposite direction sending it tumbling back to the ground.

”You have already failed to impress me with your skills with a lightsaber. This contest will be decided by our knowledge of the Force.” Anders declared.

The Sith reached out with his left hand. Sparks crawled over his arm and coalesced into lightning. Bolts of electricity shot from his palm, one branching off another. They ripped through the air, crawling towards their target like writhing snakes.

Hector raised both of his arms towards the storm. The electricity slammed into them and began to push him backwards. The soles of his boots shrieked against the bridge. The lighting struck again and again.

Bolts of blue and purple surrounded him. And yet he felt no fear. No anger. No hesitation. For the span of a few moments he felt peace. He felt his heart beating and the sweat accumulating on his face.

He denied the lightning the right to harm him. Bolt after bolt slammed into his arms. The electricity was sucked in by an unnatural force. A power that allowed for the attack to be banished from this plane.

The storm dissipated, harmlessly absorbed. Such a feat was not performed without effort.

Hector's arms trembled. The considerable voltage combined with the strain of the ability had taken its toll.

This technique was his greatest contribution to the Brotherhood. A weapon to even the odds between the average Force user and the powerful Elders and Grandmasters that roamed the galaxy.

To broach that gap, even temporarily, took a substantial toll. His breath came in uneven gasps. Concentration was difficult. His thoughts were fleeting, like trying to grasp water in the palm of one’s hand. And his body ached. It was difficult to hold himself upright.

Anders watched his enemy carefully. He had not expected his lightning to be absorbed. Dodged? Possibly. Deflected? Certainly. But absorbed? That was unprecedented. Novel. And likely dangerous. His enemy relied upon gimmicks and dirty fighting. But what he had witnessed was interesting. Worthy of a small manner of respect. Or it would be, if it didn’t tax the user to such an extent. No amount of willpower would fool his eyes. He could see the trembles his opponent attempted to conceal. The exhaustion which wracked his frame. Simply moving out of the way would have expended less energy.

Inefficient. Yes that was the word. How perfectly fitting that a gimmick reliant fool would develop an inefficient technique.

He watched as his foe pulled a green needled tipped vial from his belt. The Kiffar jabbed it into a space between his armor and drained the liquid into a vein, then tossed away the vial.

Bacta? No. It wasn’t the right color. Some sort of combat drug perhaps. Or an alchemical mixture. Yet another gimmick. A chore he did not feel like dealing with.

Hector stumbled backwards as a surge of telekinetic energy slammed into his belt where he had grabbed his stim. He could feel the liquid in the remaining stims seep into his clothes and armor. The vials had been broken.

His arms no longer trembled and his body felt refreshed. Yet he had no more stims to help him contend with the Elder before him.

One would have to be enough.

Calling his lightsaber to his hand, he ignited the purple blade and stood resolute. This would end soon, one way or the other.

Anders stepped back onto the durasteel bridge, skulking and prowling like a vorn tiger upon the narrow walkway.

“Once again, you display nothing but your weakness to me, Ricmore,” Anders wagged a finger in a derisive manner. “Appius Wight was a far more deadly and proficient opponent when I ended his miserable existence.”

Hector froze. His eyes widened, his body becoming tense as if his joints had locked into place. He shook his head and coughed as he sputtered out words, his throat sore.

“You're lying. You have to be! Idris would never…”

“Why would it not be Lord Adenn who gave the order?” Anders’ lips curved into a smile filled with enough prideful malice to burn a thousand worlds. “Mandalorians are members of such a fickle culture. History has dictated they will betray one another over the simplest of ideological differences. Alas, you are correct, it was not Idris Adenn who gave the order, but our very own Grandmaster. He saw a potential rival in his political future and desired he be eliminated. I removed both Appius Wight and Darrio Klars from the equation on separate outings. They deserved their fate. Justice was served.”

Hector's grip on his weapon tightened, his pupils dilating as he growled like an angered beast. “That man was a father. He was someone's husband, and a friend. He was my friend. He was adored by so many…”

“And yet, you drove him away from Clan Vizsla and fought him on numerous occasions. Some comrade you are, Hector,” Anders took gleeful delight in the torment he witnessed in his fellow High Inquisitor's body language.

“You call it justice? I call it murder. You are a monster who uses justice to feed your fragile ego. You are little more than scum, Anders. I'll make you pay for what you've done!”

The Kiffar roared, his revenge-fuelled anger driving him to retrieve one of the dozen spherical ricochet disks attached to his back. He launched it telekinetically towards Anders at breakneck speed. The dark side was a veritable blade forever used by Anders to enact his justice. Yet, even as the Force had pre-warned him of the incoming threat, he was so shook by the low, guttural quake in Hector’s voice that he almost lost all sense of self-preservation. He was not a man easily shaken, but this? That threat?

For a moment, he actually believed it.

Anders snapped himself back to attention just in time to flick his wrist, his lightsaber cutting the projectile in twain as if it were made from plasteel.

Another warning. Another prophetic feeling of impending danger encompassed his body. With a flick of a switch, Hector converted his lightsaber, extending his reach dramatically. He closed the distance between them and surged forward. The light of the amethyst lightsaber nearly blinded Anders as it came centimetres from his forehead. He heard the distinct humming in his ears and felt the heat emanating from the blade.

The Sith's crimson hued weapon crashed into the opposing lightsaber, sparks hissing. Anders forced the pike out of its trajectory and over his shoulder. The Kiffar jabbed at the Chiss with uncanny precision. The Sith grit his teeth, parrying and deflecting each deadly accurate stab as it came towards him like they were blaster bolts being shot at him by assassin droids. Aequitas’ heart pounded in his ears, sweat dripping down his brow, his shoulder burning more and more with each strenuous movement. His pain fueled him, his eyes transforming into the corrupted amber belonging to the Sith.

“How dare you accuse me of injustice!” Aequitas snarled.

Hector only had the dark side of the Force to blame for the fact that he was unable to capitalise on the Sith's injuries. It was apparent to Aequitas that his opponent's physical attributes had atrophied since the last time they'd fought each other on the Godless Matron. It was yet another example of Hector's negligence.

“What you gained via your sorcery, you have lost in your physical capabilities,” the Sith jeered as he used his superior speed to turn the tides of battle and push Hector back towards the edge of the bridge.

“Do you ever shut up?” Hector responded with a strain in his voice, fatigue setting in.

“I would challenge you to make me, but we both know that it is impossible for you to succeed in that endeavour.”

Aequitas’ taunt weakened Hector's strength of will enough to grant him free access to his mind. With the telepathic link re-established, the Chiss had free reign to force the images of Appius’ demise through the open door of his consciousness. The cold, dead, lifeless eyes of his Mandalorian comrade made the younger man recoil, distracting him, giving the Sith the opening he needed to slice through the elongated lightsaber hilt in the Kiffar's hands.

“Now do you see the truth, Ricmore?” The Sith sported a triumphant smile.

Hector staggered, almost falling off of the durasteel bridge the pair of them stood atop as he dropped the pieces of his lightsaber hilt off of the edge.

“That you are a sociopath suffering from delusions of grandeur? I do. The truth will come out, Aequitas, even if it is through my sacrifice!” In an act of desperation, Hector began chanting again, the crystal around his neck glowing in an azure light.

“Hand over the crystal.”

The mental command from Aequitas prompted Hector to hush his words. He stood with his lightsaber poised at the Kiffar's throat as he grabbed a hold of the crystal and removed it from the chain it was attached to before placing it in the Sith's gloved hand.

“Do not fret, Hector. I will make sure to take excellent care of it. Now, do you have any final words before I send you to meet Appius?” Aequitas’ tone reeked of victory and arrogance, despite the headache that began to form.

Hector glanced behind him with no visible salvation in sight. Only thick mist broken by the currents of electricity that sparked from one side to the other greeting him. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked straight into the Chiss’ blood-red orbs.

“Yes, I do. Go frack yourself.”

Hector leapt backwards off of the bridge and descended into the depths below. Anders peered over the edge as his frame was consumed by the mist.

’That fool. If the drop does not kill him, those electric currents will.’

The Chiss deactivated his lightsaber and clipped the hilt back to his belt. He grimaced and clutched at his shoulder. His headache began to irk him too. No doubt he was in need of medical attention. He made to leave, fiddling with the crystal in the fingertips of his spare hand. It was this same Force-forsaken item that had caused him his injury in the first place. He was looking forward to being rid of it. Perhaps Aphotis would be interested in the magick laying dormant within this little trinket?

”Here is your winner; High Inquisitor Anderson!”

The crows erupted into applause at the announcement of his victory. He stood tall and proud as his visage appeared on the view screens and digital projectors. No doubt his display of superiority would aid in his ambitions to become a Grand Inquisitor.

Then there was the matter of confirming Ricmore's death. Aequitas might be willing to believe that Hector had more than likely perished in his fall, but there was no shame in being thorough.

Assuming that Hector truly was dead. Somehow, he had a suspicion their confrontations were far from over.