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.

Mune began questioning why they had entered a tournament that pitted them against opponents more capable of combat than themselves. One could argue it was the excitement. The sensation of adrenaline and excitement that the clash of weapons sparked within one. So it was that the white-furred Shistavanen was again standing within the colosseum, looking upon yet another new configuration. The only constant, it appeared, was the spectators looking down upon the arena. Like the two fighters, they saw the expanse of hefty bridges that spanned the swirling mists with gnarled grey fingers curling to drag down anyone who dared slip.

Mune could faintly detect the scent of ozone, indicative of the crackle of electricity below. Their nose wrinkled, and they sneezed. They sensed the eyes watching (or eye), not those belonging to the spectators above but to the woman at the far side of the bridge they stood upon.

Morgan B. Sorenn, fellow Arcanist and Elder, cloak rippling in the subtle breeze brushing by them. Her good eye burned like a smouldering ember in her pale face. Subconsciously, her aura had begun to creep outwards, clawing toward the younger combatant. She wore her past, the grief and rage, much as the cloak that flowed around her, as armour between her and the world.

The Shistavanen felt the touch of that power as a chill up their spine. They recognized it for what it was. “They seem to enjoy throwing me up against you, more combat-oriented sorts,” Mune commented, steeling their mind against the rising tide of crawling fear that the woman’s aura induced. It clawed at the edges of their mind, gnawed at the walls hastily slammed into place, threatening to seep through the cracks to penetrate the depths of the younger combatant’s subconscious. Mune bristled. With a snarl, they thrust back that aura, evicting the woman’s power from their being.

“No.”

The Human woman arched a brow; otherwise, her dour expression remained unchanged. “No?” she parroted.

Mune flicked their wrists, the hilts of their lightsabers snapping to hand with no more than a thought and a fraction of concentration. The Shistavanen had seen their fair share of battle. Their shortcomings became abundantly clear with each subsequent battle they’d faced recently.

The other Arcanist could undoubtedly wipe the floor with them.

Mune knew it. Even saw it.

Morgan likely knew it. Her experience would tell her as much.

“You seem unenthused,” Morgan commented coldly, summoning her lightsaber to hand. “You lack the hunger for battle that the others all have.”

“Apologies, I am not as much of a fighter as most you have faced; I fear I may not be the best entertainment.” Mune offered a wry grin. “I am questioning why I signed up for this.”

“You are excited, though; I sense it,” Morgan noted.

“I am. Though, of the paths I have glimpsed, my tail gets kicked in ninety percent.”

Again, the arching of a single brow. “The other ten percent?”

Mune gave a nonchalant shrug of narrow shoulders, then toggled the activators of their sabers. Blue and violet energy cascaded to life, stretching their shadow behind them. The Shistavanen’s ruby eyes glowed with their brilliance. The younger Arcanist flipped their blue blade into a reverse grip. Exhaling, they centered themself, the Force whispering through their being. Who would make the first move?

Mune’s eyes studied the woman, who was many metres away, watching her closely. Analyzing. Trying to puzzle her out and understand her, they knew they would have to rely on their mind if they were to stand even a fraction of a chance.

Morgan activated her lightsaber, black plasma hissing to life, swallowing the light in its wake. She lowered her center of gravity, muscles tensing. One moment, she was as still as death; the next, she was a blur of Force-empowered motion. Power pulsed through her veins and surged through muscle and sinew. In only a handful of heartbeats, she was upon them.

She saw Mune shift their weight to parry; instead, she leapt over their head. Her blaster snapped to hand, and she fired. She saw the bolts bounce and disperse across what she surmised was the Shistavanen’s power, noting the agility with which Mune willed it into place. She landed, skidded, and propelled herself again at her opponent, moving quickly. She found her opponent's protective bubble still in place, her lightsaber sending ripples through the invisible field.

Mune dismissed their barrier, and the woman’s lightsaber found no more resistance until it found an opposing lightsaber barring its path. The Arconan grunted. The power behind the blow caught him off guard for a brief second. She was strong! Mune twisted in time to dodge the second blade of her saber staff. The Force hummed through their mind. They sensed the draw of power and surge of speed their opponent imbued herself with. Acting instinctively, they did the same, evading the woman’s arcing slash by a hair’s breadth.

Lightsabers clashed once, twice, and thrice before they separated. Neither was even winded. Taking each other’s measure. Slowly, they breathed, their hearts calm, their pulses even. The Force was filling them, drawn in to replenish what was spent in their brief clash.

“You are better than you let on,” Morgan noted cooly.

“But,” Mune grinned sheepishly, “you are just warming up.”

“I am,” Morgan confirmed, levelling her saber toward her opponent.

The tension was palpable. The air between the combatants very nearly crackled with it. A thrill buzzed through their limbs, tingling along their fingertips. It was a hum through the minds, the Force pulsing through them, the Arcanists riding its currents, drawing upon it and readying for the following string of attacks.

Furia twirled in her mistress’ grasp as the former Herald rushed at her opponent at speed. Fueled by the Force, her strikes were lightning fast, but anticipated as the Shistavanen willingly ceded ground. Fueled by Dark Side power, the black blade was a blur forcing Mune to sup upon the Force to predict their opponent’s next moves, sharp eyes darting back and forth, ears perking up to listen. All their senses were on high alert.

Down! Mune’s felt Morgan’s upswing before it even materialized. They blocked with their off hand and swung their main into thin air as Morgan ducked underneath the swipe, her saber disengaging for but a brief moment before...

Left! Furia engaged mid swing as Mune reversed their grip to deflect a bisecting blow just moments before it landed. The black blade disengaged again, its swing giving Morgan enough momentum to spin away from Mune’s off-hand jab.

Front! Sorenn’s stab was as sudden as it was explosive. It smashed into an instinctively raised barrier and smashed it. As it crumbled the human sensed incoming danger just in time. She disengaged Furia and sailed over her opponent in a Force-powered jump. The saber sweep Mune had intended for Morgan’s legs instead sent sparks across the platform and left a deep melted gouge in the metal grating.

Back! Mune’s senses screamed in alert as Morgan’s saber engaged in mid-air. Sorenn slammed onto the floor, raised her saber and caught the Shistavanen’s wild, defensive off-hand swing in a saber lock. She ducked under the blades, leveraged her own Force-granted strength and slammed bodily into Mune’s side. The Shistavanen flew back and rolled, their off-hand hilt clattering from the platform, down, down into the deep, settling fifty or sixty feet below them, on the lowest platform hazed in mist. Jumping into a backwards somersault to create much needed distance, Mune barred their teeth at the human, fur raised, ready to pounce. This prompted a smirk from their opponent.

“I like you,” she said honestly, relaxing somewhat and letting both of them get a breather. She was enjoying the casual fight too much to finish it too soon. “You don’t give a kark if I’m better or not, you’ll just keep fighting. I can tell you’ll do anything to get out of this alive.”

We’re not that different. Morgan never voiced the thought, though it lingered in her mind. She twirled her lightsaber in a flourish and depressed the ignition switch, disengaging the black blade. She sensed the momentary confusion in her opponent as they readied themselves for the unexpected.

“You seem respectful and I like that you have the guts to go up against some of the meanest bastards in this arena. I ain’t got no feud with you, so I’ll do something I don’t usually do for anyone. I’ll give myself a handicap just this once, seeing as I relieved you of your other blade. To even the odds, so to speak.” There was no mirth in her tone that Mune could read, no deception that they could sense. “I’ll only use my hilt for a while,” she proposed, grasping her saber in a low grip and lowering her center of mass. “It can handle a saber blade just fine.” She finished that display of bravado with a silent thought. I think.

Momentarily taken aback, Mune took a nervous step to the side, mirrored closely by Sorenn. Still expecting a trick or ruse, they stared at the woman intently, but there was as yet no sign of any duplicity or deceit. As if sensing the Arconan’s apprehension, Morgan nodded. “Fangs bared, come on.” Mune smirked at the invitation, teeth shining in the light.

Both combatants charged to the cheer of the crowd, Mune’s lightsaber swiping from on high as Morgan dropped into a graceful slide underneath, the blade searing her hair and burning bits of it into atomized dust. She jumped to her feet and deflected the incoming upswing with a well-positioned strike from her hilt, the writing along Furia’s length glowing with a sickly alchemical radiance. Another swipe of the purple blade made Morgan give ground, spinning horizontally in the air to avoid the deadly strike. It missed her by inches, cutting apart her expensive cloak instead. She rolled to her feet while ripping the last vestiges of the cloth from her neck and shoulders, and clicked her tongue against her front teeth, annoyed by the loss.

Mune rushed in for a stabbing attack, followed by a slash as Morgan sidestepped to her right and caught the blade against her hilt. Furia’s enhanced metal fizzled and popped with the heat of the plasma, its alchemical nature truly working wonders. Morgan was always skeptical about Sith Alchemy, but those wise guys had it figured out.

Mune swept their lightsaber up towards Morgan’s face as the human dropped under their guard and delivered a kick to their back, unbalancing them. She used the moment to kick up off the floor and spin to face her already recovered opponent.

“I have to say, this handicap thing wasn't the best idea,” she said as she moved back a few paces, breathing deeply through her nose and mouth.

“Having regrets? It was your idea,” Mune laughed, picking up on the jest in Morgan’s tone.

“Hey!” She pointed a finger at the Arconan. “I keep my word, I just gotta change some things.” As the words left her mouth a focused bolt of lightning crackled from her extended digit straight at Mune’s feet forcing the Shistavanen into a backwards leap onto an exposed, metal bridge. It had room enough for four people to stand side by side, and no safety rails. Morgan jumped after them, landing softly onto the shaky construction.

“A change of scenery might do us some good,” she said as she rushed in.

The Shistavanen tracked her movement. Physically, Shistavanen and Human’s speed and endurance were well-matched. Mune focused, gauging how she moved. Within a fraction of a second, she was upon them once more. They ducked, then quickly twisted, blocking her follow-up. With the way that she pressed her attack, Mune had no choice but to remain on the defensive lest they become overwhelmed and outclassed. They dropped low, and the woman’s lightsaber hilt nearly brushed the tops of their ears. The thought of being clobbered over the head by the metallic cylinder was not one Cinteroph favoured. They riposted, and Morgan leaped back, stopping short of the platform's edge.

“So, why get involved in all this?” Morgan asked.

Mune eyed the woman briefly before answering honestly. “One can only get so strong with their nose in books. If I am to protect those that I love, those I care about, and those who have accepted and shielded me, I need to push myself to be more than what I have been.”

The younger Arcanist was refreshingly genuine. Had she expected an honest answer from her opponent? Perhaps not, but she received one nonetheless and it resonated with her.

“It is naive of you to think anyone could truly protect anything. Sometimes, no matter how strong we are, it may all still be taken from us on the whim of another.” Morgan moved again, closing the distance between them in two quick steps.

With a grunt, Mune blocked her swing with both hands on the hilt of their saber. The shock of the blow jolted up their arms, making them grit their teeth. Switching quickly to a one-handed grip, they drew upon the Force and shoved the woman back with a gesture. Morgan skidded back but effortlessly regained her balance. She lunged, though found that Mune already had the same idea and came in low. The pommel of their lightsaber struck her in the solar plexus, as her forward momentum rendered the blow more solid than Mune may have managed by their strength alone. The pain was sharp, and her breath was forced from her lungs all at once.

Before Mune could withdraw or capitalize on the opening, the other Arcanist recovered as the Force drove back the flash of pain. Morgan’s saber hilt rose, and Mune found themself hugged against the woman when her free hand grasped the other side of the hilt to hug them in close. It could almost have been intimate had it not been in a combat arena with an audience staring down upon them. Before Mune could think, her head slammed into theirs. Stars exploded across their vision, and their senses reeled. The world spun wildly. The sweet and coppery tang of blood assaulted their nose, and the sensation of something warm and sticky running between their eyes made their nose wrinkle.

Morgan released her stunned opponent. She delivered a hard kick to the back of their left calf, dropping them to one knee. She followed up with a kick aimed at the Shistavanen’s head but met only air when the Arconan bent back to let the attack sail overhead. Mune lunged to the side, rolling back to their feet overlooking the abyss below. The Human did not let up; taking the opportunity her opponent’s back presented, she attacked.

The Force whispered a warning, and Mune twisted, one foot sliding behind the other to maintain their precarious balance. The woman’s knee caught them in the stomach, and they skidded back, shoving the shock aside to reignite their saber and parry an overhead strike of the woman’s hilt.

The Arcanists breathed harder, taking the seconds their weapons pressed together to syphon from the ambient energy around them, slowing their breaths and regaining equilibrium. Then Mune did the unexpected.

They focussed their mind on their power and grasped the Force tight. They knew what they were attempting was dangerous. Duracrete cracked in a sound that echoed off the arena's walls and made those who watched above sit up in surprise. Morgan’s eyes widened in mild surprise. A fine fissure, with just enough material, disintegrated into dust as matter bent to the will of the Shistavanen. The bridge’s supports were lacking, and with another crack that split the air, the eroded and shoddily built bridge began to fall toward the ravenous darkness below. Mune took that moment of surprise to thrust the woman’s saber back towards her, knocking her off balance, before following up with a shove of Force energy to thrust her back against the other side of the widening gap in the bridge.

Both halves tilted wildly toward the darkness. Rebar and crumbling duracrete fell into the mist below. The Arcanists watched one another, directing the Force through their beings, sending it pulsing through every muscle fibre, every nerve.

Morgan reignited her lightsaber.

“Fair play,” Mune commented.

They both crouched on separate halves of the bridge, their respective platforms tilting further. Then they leaped. Sabers clashed where they met in midair. Plasma sparked and flashed to mark their meeting. Separating, they landed on the other’s respective platform, nearly vertical to the pit waiting below. Muscles coiled and launched towards one another again, making contact for only a moment, landing higher, climbing higher with every clash. Upwards, they climbed, clashing repeatedly until they vaulted onto the crumbling edges, their falling platforms.

“Nine o’clock,” Mune barked at the woman.

“Four,” Morgan called back.

They both leaped as the mist swallowed their respective perches, following the other’s directions to land safely on more stable ground. They stood facing one another, an expanse of air keeping them apart, allowing them a moment to catch their breath and think. To calculate.

“I am impressed,” Morgan called across to her opponent. “You have some neat tricks in your arsenal.”

“Thank you,” Mune chuckled, “Kind of making it up as I go along.”

“Shall we?”

Morgan bowed like a swordswoman, saber at her side, one leg extended, knee bent, taking advantage of the moment of theatrical spectacle to observe and absorb her surroundings. She could feel the crowd booing, cheering, shouting, calling for blood. Joy, excitement, fear, anger and ecstasy poured from the clenched fists, stomping feet and gaping mouths. The tumult was electrifying, and Morgan felt the dark strands of her rage drilling into her mind as the energy of the crowd invigorated her in a way that only the Force could. She breathed in that power as the memory of her dying children flashed through her mind — a trigger for blazing hot, unbowed power that she had simply avoided using until now. Her opponent was interesting, respectful and brave, but the fight had to end sooner or later, and the outcome was never in doubt.

The theatrics over, her mind made up, she rushed towards the edge of her platform and leapt into the air with a howl of unbridled rage. Like an arrow shot from a bow that could barely be dodged, she launched herself at the stunned Shistavanen, who went on the defensive. Morgan landed and rolled, the momentum taking her behind her opponent as Mune dodged to the side, saber raised to deflect a decapitating blow, eyes wide at the sudden change in her demeanor. The crunch of grating, rusty metal beneath her feet, a flash of alarm in the back of her mind and Mune ducked, sword whirling across her back to ward off a killing blow from behind.

Morgan’s saber was a blur of black and white — upswing, slash, overhand, twirl, disengage the saber, fist to the face, swipe the legs, engage saber, thrust, dash to the side, avoid their blade, sweep, smash their barrier, deflect their overhead. The fight was so fast that the cam droids could barely keep up while the screens flickered above the arena flickered.

The Shistavan was on total defensive and retreating, ever closer to the other side of the platform and another open bridge. They were being pushed to their limits, even beyond, to follow the woman's every blow. Only their agility and the Force kept them up and fighting, but soon the creeping fear of failure wormed its way into Mune’s mind. It triggered a memory that had been lost long ago — the smell of danger and death. It surfaced at the worst of moments and as the Arconan’s breathing quickened, their movements became more erratic and the were torn between their deadly opponent and their own thoughts. Unbound by compassion and empathy, Morgan used everything she could, and that was plenty. When their sabers locked, Mune could see the unfathomable rage in the human’s eye. They saw — no, they felt hatred, suffering. Death.

With inhuman, wrathful strength, Morgan disengaged Furia as she grabbed a distracted Mune’s saber hand in an iron grip and delivered a Force-driven punch to the stomach. The Arconan fell to one knee, breathless and heaving. They tried to set up another barrier when Furia struck again, and the one-handed killing blow came.

Nothing.

They realized that their connection to the Force had withered like flowers in winter. They felt empty and afraid, rudderless in a storm of rage. Two words came to mind as they closed their eyes one last time.

“I yield!”

There was a long pause in which even time seemed to stand still. Mune squinted, then peeked as the hum of a saber caressed their ears. The black blade purred menacingly, just a hair’s length from their neck. Following the menacing core, the Shistavanen stared at his opponent, eyes level and face to face. They saw the utter coldness of their opponent, nostrils flaring, almost breathless but unperturbed as Furia remained steady in her hand.

“I yield.” Mune confirmed, their own saber disengaging.

The tension held for another moment before the crowd erupted in cheers. Morgan almost reluctantly took a few long steps back, pressing the activation switch and locking her saber to her belt before nodding curtly. Confused once again, Mune slumped back onto the ground, ignoring the crowd as their mind touched the human’s. They could feel the heat of her anger subsiding, if only just. Such a turnaround in behavior, such an explosive display of power. It had its downsides. She was fighting it, they realized, regaining control of herself. She barely showed it, but she could not hide it from everyone. Not from Mune, and not from the people in the crowd who could attune to such feelings. Morgan’s eyes seemed to drift to them as the moment passed. Finally she turned to Mune again and spoke.

“You held your own, you aspired, and you survived. I admire that. Hope we’ll meet again under better circumstances.” Morgan finally relaxed visibly, a smile gracing her lips. “Good luck in future battles.” She said as she turned towards one of the exits, leaving the pensive Shistavanen alone in the arena.