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.

Sauntering along the duracrete pathway, Titius was on high alert. The arena was quiet save the low hum of the camera drones circling like carrion birds ready to broadcast his death to all the viewers. Waving a rude gesture at the nearest of the gaggle, he trod on.

Useless gawkers, the lot of them Titius felt no joy in this tournament. A researcher of the highest order yet here he was, reduced to an entertainment piece in this deathmatch. His musings and trudging brought the mercenary to an column. Serving as a pillared intersection of sorts, Titius could see countless paths arcing out along its height with the bottommost shrouded by the fog below. Looking over the edge brought a tickle of vertigo from the distance. Titius instead gazed up, aiming his grapple for the pinnacle. The launcher clicked as it rocketed the claw upwards. Cable sang as it spooled out accompanied by a dull roar. An eyebrow raised as the roar continued after the grapple finished landing. Beginning his ascent, Titius felt a sudden sense of urgency as he realized the source of the roar. His opponent was in the sky and gaining fast. Spinning on the retracting cable, he loosed Horrific Deluge enough to bring its barrel to bear. Peering through the sight, flits of color sparkled through distant columns.

"There you are." he whispered as the safety clicked off and finger rested delicately at ready. "Come to play have we?" The heat signature was growing in size as the hunter spotted its prey. It weaved between columns with a deft grace, almost lazy in its looping journey.

Sometimes Declan Roark wondered why he bothered at all. His pre-match routine included looking over the Inquisitorious dossier of his opponent. Today’s matchup was with a mercenary known as Titus Orthello. Roark knew that wasn’t his real name, but he also didn’t have the desire to actually learn the younger man’s name. Plagueis, under 30, fancies himself a medic. Roark almost yawned as he read the biography.

The Grand Master shook his helmeted head as he watched Titus, like most of the ACC’s younger combatants Titus was randomly rappelling to a different level for no apparent reason. Why couldn’t these youngsters just stay stationary and fight it out like the good old days.

Roark’s jet pack fired, and he followed the Plagueian with a sense of annoyance. Stop running kid, Roark thought. You will only die tired.

The Mandalorian Grand Master watched a gout of blaster fire from the mercenary’s blasters arc towards him. It was proficient, but not deadly. Roark’s casual flying transformed to evasive as he implemented the well known Mandalorian s-curve before softly landing on the same level as Titus.

Roark glanced at his opponent, dressed in the finery of an Inquisitor, and chuckled. It was a fine uniform to intimidate, but it lacked the protection of beskar.

The Blackhearts slid from their holsters in a motion practiced over decades. The modified WESTARs spat deadly fire at Titus.

Roark, unlike his opponent, was not simply proficient with his weapons, he was deadly. Perhaps the most deadly gunfighter in the galaxy.

Two streams of blaster fire left the Grand Master’s beloved Blackhearts targeting the Plagueian high and low. Roark’s ambidexterity and skill made tracking two different targets on his opponent’s body almost effortless.

“Good luck, kid.”

Titius had no retort as he took multiple bolts across his body. The force of the pinpoint onslaught drove the mercenary back over the edge like a discarded doll. Roark followed, jetpack growling as it carried him over the edge. Titius was limp as cable shrieked out from his grapple, its casing beginning to emit white tendrils.

The pair landed on the bridge below, Roarke with practiced grace, Titius with a dull thud. The latter didn't move for several beats.

"Get up, kid. You already wasted my time from that little climbing stunt. Declare forfeit or I end you like a sickly beast." Titius attempted to follow Roark's command, drawing in his arms and pressing. His left arm buckled immediately, causing him to roll unceremoniously onto his side in a stifled grunt. Groaning, he reached to unclasp his helmet, drawing a heaving breath as it slipped off. The groans turned to a deep sigh as pain relief finally kicked in, forcing the pain to dull its edge. Appearing to fumble with the help, Titius slipped a gravity grenade in then unceremoniously tossed the assembly at Roark.

The helmet clattered at the feet of the Mandalorian, his own helmet tilting to watch the pathetic attack. Opening his mouth to insult the throw, a small doubt tickled his mind. Heeding his instincts, Roark moved to kick the helmet away. As his foot contacted the black plate, he felt his entire body being thrown towards the now airborne cap. Roark gave some credit to the kid, he was devious.