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 Elements.

A singular large circular platform sits in the center of the arena elevated just off the main arena floor. Floating walkways jutting off to smaller platforms floating above the central one. At first glance, this setup appears simple, solid ground beneath your feet, nothing to worry about beyond falling off to the arena’s floor and the dangers of your opponent.

Yet once the match starts, that story changes. The landscape of the platforms shifts and changes cycling at random through vortexes of strong wind, rushing water geysers, shaking and rumbling earthquakes, and vents of fire.

Watch your foot, as each step might signal a change of the elements.

Marick Tyris Arconae paused before setting foot into the next arena. He glanced up at the large vidscreen overhead. His face was an unreadable mask as he watched the Voice of the Brotherhood, resplendent in his iconic crimson beskar plate, introduce the match. Words were wind and faded from his mind, but he did finally get to observe Adenn’s ritual that he had missed in all his previous matches.

Idris swayed with a feline grace despite his heavy armor. He shimmied his shoulders while gliding sideways and criss-crossing his heels. In the same fluid motion, the Voice shifted his weight to his toes, pirouetted in a full three-hundred-sixty-degree cycle, and then delivered a picturesque ‘dab’ as Zig and the kids called it.

His elbow bent perfectly and covered the eyes like a second visor while the opposite hand struck up towards the sky with a hand flat like a knife. The crowd roared. Idris knew his business.

Perched on the half-Hapan’s shoulder, Biddy let out a whistling beep of appreciation for the showmanship. Marick shrugged at the BD-unit and then padded into the arena without further fanfare.

The Exarch’s attention was immediately drawn to his opponent, who similarly looked to be pushing the pageantry of the competition aside to focus on the match itself. Both advanced towards the center of the center of the platform.

Aiden Lee Deshra strode gracefully in his beskar plate like it was a second skin. Marick moved like quicksilver in his armorweave cloak and simple robes. Neither brandished a weapon.

As they drew closer, Marick attuned his senses to his surroundings. Unlike the previous matches, nothing immediately leapt out at him as a life threatening variable. There was solid, sturdy stone underfoot. There was no molten magma, no jungle humidity, no vertigo inducing suspension bridges or lurking land mines. It was just a platform.

A final destination with no items or obstacles? No. Too pedestrian.

Smaller platforms floated up above, but at the center of the platform was an opening. The two Arconans came to a stop on opposite sides of it. A spiraling staircase sunk down into the opening and then out of sight.

Both Arconae glanced down, then back up at one another. Marick’s stoic mask was mirrored by the Mandalorian-Disciple’s visored visage.

“Can’t be this simple,” Aiden and Marick spoke at the same time. Deshra’s modulated voice hid a hint of playfulness while Tyris’ tone was calm and clear as still water. Aiden grinned behind his helmet's visor, but Marick’s expression remained stolid.

“After you,” Marick nodded and then gestured politely towards the steps.

“Lord’s first,” Aiden countered, mimicking the motion.

The Exarch didn’t seem to take the bait for banter. He shrugged and then started down the spiraling steps.

Aiden Lee Deshra took note of how his opponent showed him his back. It could have either been a sign of trust and respect, or an indication that the Mandalorian-Disciple did not register as enough of a threat.

He hoped it was the former. While they had yet to cross blades, Deshra was more than familiar with Tyris’ history and service record to both the Clan and the Brotherhood. He had also taken the time to study the Force Lord’s previous battles closely. While he had teased his fellow Arconae holder about his new title, he acknowledged that the Grand Master did not doll out such honorifics lightly.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, the hairs on the back of Aiden’s neck immediately stood at attention. Years of hard-earned danger reflex synergized with the Seeker’s awareness through the Force. The arena was not what it seemed, and neither was his opponent. Peril lurked beneath both.

“You can drop the veil, by the way,” Deshra commented as they squared up a few meters apart on the lower platform. “I can see through it.”

Marick seemed to consider compliance for a moment, but then nodded. Quick as blinking, the Arcanists' aura went from a pale glowing ember to a roaring furnace as the Force flared out and around him like a pair of demonic wings.

It was a stark contrast to the calm, tired demeanor of the man Aiden had seen open a new orphanage on Selen, volunteer at his free clinic on Port Ol’val, and still have time to execute as Exarch and serve as a fellow advisor to the Arcona Summit. This did little to dissuade the Mandalorian-Disciple from his approach to the battle. If anything, it fueled the competitive spirit and desire to prove his prowess to someone he respected and considered a peer.

The BD-unit on Marick’s shoulder chirped a question that Aiden faintly picked up on. Tyris shook his head, and the little droid dispensed a cylindrical lightsaber hilt into Marick’s open palm. The backpack droid then hopped down and scampered away.

Deshra’s helmet swiveled slightly as he tracked the droid's egress.

Marick narrowed his eyes as he took note of where Aiden’s attention had shifted to.

“If you treat my droid like you did Diyrian’s, there will be no sum of credits that will balance that scale or keep you safe.” There was no actual malice or vitriol in the half-Hapan’s words. It was not a threat. It was simply a promise spoken aloud. A statement of immutable fact without humor or hubris.

“Fine,” Aiden replied evenly. “But don’t hold anything back, and fight me for real.”

The Mandalorian-Disciple drew his twin lightsabers and thumbed the activators. Both blades snapped to life in unison. The ghostfire crystal in the first soundless saber cast half of Aiden’s helmet in a pearly glow. The second saber sheathed the opposite side of his helmet in shadow with a hiss to create a dyad that represented the thin line between the dark and the light—between balance and instability.

Marick remained silent but answered by igniting his own lightsaber. The black-cored blade with its ghostly shroud was a mirrored fusion of Aiden’s diametric sabers.

As soon as the combatants’ lightsabers sparked to life, the arena around them shuddered and sprung to life as well. The sky above darkened. A cool mist materialized and created a haze around the two Elders.

Then, a cyclonic current whipped across the platform, billowing Marick’s cloak wildly behind him and exposing the rest of his weapons stashed on his person. He squinted as his ashen hair veiled across his face, but managed to set his feet. The Soresu master held his lightsaber back in a one-handed grip, angling it forwards with his blade arm held parallel while his free hand extended outward in challenge.

Across from him, Aiden remained steadfast in his ready stance. His armored figure seemed unaffected by the sudden shift in the elements as he coiled his body like a spring. He took it as a cue to begin.

The Seeker darted forward, sabers trailing at his sides as he accelerated through the winding wind. Marick dug his heels into the solid ground and anchored himself against both the onslaught of Aiden’s attack and the anger of the wind.

Aiden unfurled all of his momentum into a sinuous series of strikes. Marick deftly wove his saber into figure-eight pattern before him, catching and turning away each sweep and slant of the Seeker’s slashes. The Arcanist shuffled, circled, and repositioned so that the two duelists were now both being buffeted by wind equally.

Ebony and pearlescent plasma light danced through the mist in flickers and flashes. Aiden’s form was flawless, his flourishes fast and furious. Marick’s defense was far from perfect, but where he trailed in technique he more than made up for with his timing and perception. The half-Hapan remained patient, never over-extending or over-committing to any feints or fake-outs. Each parry was precise, and when necessary, he augmented his balance and speed with the Force for a brief moment to compensate.

Aiden felt his pulse quicken at facing a worthy foe. The lust for battle boiled in his blood, but he managed to tamp it down and focus on his technique. Any weakness, any opening, could prove fatal.

Marick ducked under a scintillating cross-cut from both of Aiden’s sabers, and then leapt backwards to create separation. When he landed, he felt his footing falter as the wind swept across his knees and forced him to flail in place. Deshra seized the opening and planted a swift kick into the half-Hapan’s torso.

The Arcanist tumbled backwards, off balance, but somehow managed to recover his footing, right before his boots would have slid right off the side of the platform.

Then the wind stopped, and was replaced by a sudden sandstorm that swallowed both combatants' whole in an ochre cloud of obfuscation.

Dust and sand whipped across the battlefield, the refined grains buffeting against Aiden's beskar. The crushing winds of the overbearing storm drowned out light, almost melodic pings. The Mandalorian found his vision severely impeded, unable to discern even the glow of his trusted weapons. 

And so, Deshra closed his eyes, blocking out the light and the near-blinding sand. Years of training flooded his memories as his younger self wore the traditional blinding helmet that all young Force users grew accustomed to. The words of those who taught him well resounded in his mind. 

"Your eyes are not your allies. They will betray you when you think you need them most. Learn to anticipate the world around you, even if you are blind to it."

The Force was his ally. And he gave himself over to it.

It did not betray him.

Aiden's arms moved almost of their own accord, guided by the warnings of his dear companion. Like whispers burrowing into his very soul, he listened intently. The sounds of clashing sabers filled the air, Deshra now wholly on the defensive. With an elegant grace, he countered Marick's strikes; the former Voice's unpredictable flurries denied their meal. 

Unlike Aiden, Marick had no trouble seeing through the haze of the sandstorm. Empowered by the Force, his eyesight was flawless. He could see each gradual of sand as the intense winds carried them. He could also see the weakness in his opposition. With cold calculation, he had determined that aggression was the best approach with Aiden's blinded state. 

While midnight and star-bright lightsabers clashed, it became more apparent to Marick that Aiden was entirely reactive at that moment. The Mandalorian made no efforts to strike out offensively. His movements, perfectly executed from a lifetime of training, were also directly opposed to his own. 

The Hapan leaped back, gaining some distance from his fellow title holder. He whipped his lightsaber forward with a stoic face, releasing the hilt from his grasp. The blade arced and spun through the air, a deadly whirlwind of ebony light. Deshra's senses rang in alarm, and with his eyes still tightly closed, he batted the incoming blade away from him.

This was just a distraction, though, as Marick drew his right arm back, his body coiling. Drawing upon the Force, he felt the power emanating in his palms. As his saber was redirected out of the air, his body snapped back, and his hand thrust forward. He pushed the Force hard, the energy barreling into Aiden, knocking the Mandalorian off his feet and further into the sandstorm. 

The Human rolled across the platform, and the storm raging around him whipped and swirled, blowing dust into the crevices of his armor and robes. His lightsabers fell from his grasp and clattered across the arena. As he rolled, he heard a faint click on the platform, and the winds immediately began to lessen. Coming to a stop, he lay still for a moment, and the air cleared as the raging sandstorm faded away. 

"Well…that sucked," he groaned out, tasting sand on his tongue, slightly disoriented from the hit he took. As his eyes opened, he had to look away from the light as his pupils dilated and readjusted after fighting blindly before. The Mandalorian was snapped out of his daze as water droplets appeared on his visor. "Oh great…another one."

Marick could feel the water against his skin. It came quickly after the last storm effect. The rain descended from above, but the ground seemed to flood far too quickly, letting him know the platform effects were coming from multiple sources. His armorweave cloak soaked up the rain, drenched and heavy from the water. 

Aiden brought himself to his feet, his boots wading through the several inches of water that seemed to stop at the arena's edge, not pouring over the sides. Whatever science the Voice had cooked up here was rather impressive. With his hands outstretched Deshra's lightsaber hilts flew out of the rising flooding and back into his palms. 

Aiden turned to his superior as his lightsabers snapped to life, steam rising from the glowing blades. His vision was clear, and Deshra was ready for round 2.

"You're as good as all the stories I've heard, Lord Tyris. But I won't be losing to you without putting up a fight."

"I would be insulted and disappointed if you did, Deshra."

The vidscreens above were ablaze with images of the two Arconae facing off. The two warriors stood silently and still, rain cascading around them, reflecting the light of their respective blades. Neither party moved a beat, and the audience above watched on with growing anticipation.

The arena went white quickly as lightning streaked across the arena, and Aiden was moving. Sabers clashed as a thunderous boom resounded all around. A new storm was raging as the two Arconans dueled in a fiercely competitive quarrel. 

Aiden moved with elegant precision, each swipe and strike of his opposite blades moving smoothly and fluidly. The blows were perfectly timed, singularly focused, and so utterly refined that his movements seemed effortless. His agility and overwhelming presence would've intimidated most opponents but not his fellow Arconae.

Marick, on the other hand, was a bulwark of impenetrable defensiveness. His body glided across the flooding floor with patient efficiency. He was like a detective, watching and waiting for each strike coming his way before rebounding the blows with a tightly coiled protectiveness. 

They were a perfect match in overall skill—an unstoppable force adorned in black and blue beskar and an immovable object cloaked in darkness. 

As lightning flashed across the arena again, both combatants seemed to move in unison. Aiden spun to the right, Marick to the left. Both channeled the Force, and the water around them rippled as droplets rose several inches above. As the two Arconae locked eyes, they thrust their arms forward, each a perfect mirror of the other. 

The air seemed to churn under telekinetic distress in the space between them. The water coating the arena split in between them, parting under the duress of the overwhelming power each Elder wielded. The rain froze in the air around them, the droplets vibrating intensely. The pressure built as neither Marick nor Aiden would let up. Neither was going to accept a loss today. 

When the growing singularity in the Force became too much, it collapsed in on itself, first drawing the two men closer before violently throwing them backward. The water around burst into a torrent of force-made geysers. Shockwaves rippled outwards, causing wave after wave to crash against this invisible edge of the platform that seemed to keep it in.

Thrown off their feet, both men launched towards opposite ends of the arena. Marick's golden cowl snagged on the platform, slowing him down enough to grasp the edge before rolling off. The flooding waters almost entirely submerged his body. Aiden wasn't so lucky as he went over the side, looking like he would fall into the pit below. Placing one of his sabers on his belt, he grabbed his grappling hook and launched the cord. 

…

Idris Adenn watched the battle with growing amusement from high above the arena floor. The rainfall stopped, and the waters disappeared as the Voice looked on. The visor of the Mandalorian's helm began to glow red, reflecting the fighter's next surprise.

"And let there be fire."

…

Ow.

Marick’s fingers scraped desperately against the slick surface. His cowl snagged on something protruding from the platform instead. It would have likely choked him, but the half-Hapan reflexively stripped it away from his neck and then quickly wrapped it around his wrist instead. The cortosis-weave fibers of the Envoy Cowl tugged taut as he used the temporary reprieve from his imminent descent to augment his muscles with the Force, grabbing ahold of the mechanism it had caught on to. It was a nozzle of some kind, sturdy enough to prevent him from falling into the void.

His cloak became a sudden anchor as the added weight from the indiscriminate flow of water drenched him from head to toe. He gasped for air, only to have it ripped away by the makeshift river that continued to spill over the edges of the circular platform. Instinct took control as he calmly released the clasp of his cloak. The armorweave Shaed shrugged off of his shoulders before it dropped down into the darkness below. The cascade of water eventually slowed and then began to recede into some kind of mechanized drainage system dispersed around the platform’s panels.

Marick flexed his fingers, the whipcord biceps of his arms as he pulled himself up and over the ledge. He flopped down onto his stomach like a fish and then coughed up all the water he had unintentionally swallowed. His ashen hair veiled his visage like a curtain. His throat was raw from the effort as he wiped spittle and bile away with the back of his still-wet sleeve. After one last fit of coughing, he pulled out the nerf-wool towel from his pack and blotted his face, slowly rising back to his feet and surveying his surroundings. He tucked the towel into his belt in a gesture as smooth as a swordmaster sheathing their blade.

Or just the deft hands of a father of two that always seemed to be cleaning up messes.

The Exarch did a quick assessment of the arena, which was still in the process of morphing into whatever new scenario Idris had devised. Looking around, he saw no sign of his droid. He frowned faintly as he held onto hope that Biddy had managed to stay clear of the storm. Marick had lost sight of the little droid during the sandstorm but trusted him to have found cover.

The Arcanist used the brief respite to smooth over his surface-level fatigue with the Force, and then reflexively replenished his reserves. Marick’s danger senses, meanwhile, had remained silent. That meant Deshra was likely still recovering from the telekinetic singularity as well.

A moment later, the Mandalorian’s helmet poked up over the platform's edge, followed by the rest of his frame. Like a determined mountain goat, the armored Arconae pulled hand-over-hand on the grappling hook's line until he was back on the platform proper. He found his footing much more readily than his opponent had.

The two Elders studied one another from their respective sides of the arena. Without his cloak and with thin strands of his hair plastered to the sides of his face, Tyris looked like either a drowned womp rat or the main character in a romance melodrama. Deshra’s black-and-blue beskar, by contrast, glistened in the colosseum’s dramatic overhead lighting.

Aiden’s visor hid any kind of reaction or commentary on the half-Hapan’s appearance. Marick’s face remained an unreadable, muted mask.

Before either could speak or redraw their weapons, the air of the arena shifted to signify the change of the scene. A crippling wave of convection heat engulfed the platform as any remaining traces of the prior thunderstorm evaporated. The ripple of heat similarly wicked away the dripping water that had clung to Marick’s robes. His hair stayed straight and did not fray or frizz, but he began to create his own water as he instantly broke out in sweat.

Hilarious, came a dry remark from a recessed part of Marick’s wit. At least it was not another volcano. Idris was anything but unoriginal.

Still, it was clear that Aiden had the advantage in a straight-forward melee. The Mandalorian was able to keep up with Marick even when blinded, and his combat prowess and technique were on par with the best of the best. Likewise, if Marick split his focus between regulating his body's internal temperature while fighting and maintaining his martial form, he would be worn down by attrition. Lastly, he could not draw a bead on where his Radiant lightsaber had scampered off to.

It was time to fight outside the box..

The Exarch reached behind his back and drew Resonance, activating the lightsaber's conversion hilt. Servos ground and churned as the base extended until it was the length of a quarterstaff. A second click followed by a sharp hiss sparked the lightsaber spear to life.

Resonance’s crackling, cerulean blade hummed ominously as Marick tossed the saberspear aside. However, before it could hit the ground its momentum was arrested midair and it began to float. He repeated the motion again with both of his lightdaggers, each of the petite, periwinkle blue blades joining the suspended saberspear. He added his Sith Dagger to the mix as well, kicking it free from his boot holster and into the air.

The Force Lord broke his mind into four pieces and gave each the responsibility of controlling one of the weapons.

Across the arena, Aiden readied his own weapons. As he observed Marick’s display of power, he mimicked his gesture and tossed both his lightsabers out in front of him as well. The twin blades of midnight and starlight began to circle him protectively as he primed his gauntlet.

Marick dug his heels into the ground, furrowed his brow in concentration, and ignored the uncomfortable permeation of sweat pooling across his body. He cast a hand forward and his cadre of weapons flew toward his opponent.

Aiden’s own telekinetic lightsabers launched into motion, meeting the initial onslaught head-on. Fluorescent flickers of light danced across the haze of the arena like fireworks. Deshra dashed and darted through the attacks. He directed each lightsaber to deflect or parry Tyris’ lightdaggers and saberspear. The Mandalorian batted aside the Sith Dagger as it tried to slip between the gap in his armor by the hip. Beskar screeched defiantly against its alchemically-treated edge.

Rooted in place, Marick wove his hands mostly for show, conducting his weapons like a theatrical music director. He might have been a step behind his opponent when it came to raw talent, but his willpower was second to none by perhaps the Grand Masters themselves. He continued to press his attack.

Aiden continued to evade, use the terrain to his advantage, and attempt to close the distance between the two. Marick did not let him—over and over again, his saberspear’s slashes and stabs were turned aside by Aiden’s lightsaber blades while keeping him at bay. On the last sequence of strikes, however, something changed.

Deshra’s starlit saber flickered and then phased out of existence, its power source drained away from repeated clashes against Resonance’s crackling blade. Aiden was fast, his instincts hard won over the years thanks to his rigorous training and discipline. But when every moment of his consciousness was consumed with keeping up with a constant threat of danger, it left the slightest of crack’s in his awareness.

Marick’s saberspear took advantage of this momentary lapse in Deshra’s defenses. Resonance scored a gash across Aiden’s armored chest, which the beskar denied, but found purchase at the end of its sweep. The saberspears tip sliced into the underside of the Mandlaroian’s shoulder pauldron.

Aiden sneered in pain beneath his helmet. Of course Marick had targeted his organic shoulder, and not his mechanical one. Anger flooded his awareness and the dark side whispered a reminder of its presence. The light could not exist without the darkness, and in this case, Aiden’s fury would be a boon, not a burden.

"Enough!" Deshra bellowed as he slammed his fist down into the ground. The Force coalesced around the point of impact and then detonated outward. Even at a distance, Marick could feel the shockwave barrel into him. While it did not disrupt his telekinetic focus on his weapons, each was sent flying through the air and crashing into different parts of the platform in a scattered array.

Just as Marick regained his footing and went to recall each of his fallen weapons, the temperature in the arena suddenly dropped. It happened at such a rapid rate that Marick barely had time to register the absence of heat before the very real threat of hypothermia clawed its way to his attention. The ground shifted and became a bed of powdered snow. Sheets of ice stretched out like a tarp across the platform in different sections, trapping each of his weapons beneath the now frozen battlefield.

He really needs to let it go, Marick thought with a tired sigh as he reached into his pack and drew his last remaining weapon. It was a plain-looking lightsaber hilt, but it was treated to weather the elements. He activated the boring blue blade, assumed a defensive stance, and started to calculate a way to deal with encroaching cold.

Cold. The Mandalorian's veins felt like they were full of ice as goosebumps rose up his organic arm and legs. A shuddering chill ran up his spine as white flakes fell from the platform above. The skin of his shoulder, beneath his pauldron, burned, but the falling temperature penetrated through his pain.

The sweat that had beaded across his face was now ice against his flesh. His breath fogged the inside of his visor, obscuring his vision. The seal of his helmet had broken from the traumas of the fight, a duel proving more fun and dangerous than any he had faced in this tournament. Filled with utter disdain for the situation, Aiden grabbed the bottom of his helmet and pulled it from his head. With a loud thud, the beskar cracked the ice forming beneath his feet.

Silver-streaked black hair whipped across his hardened face as the winds accelerated. The gusts flicked strands of his hair across the ghostly-white scar under his left eye. The dark side of the Force still fueled him as his yellow-orange eyes glared up at the platforms above. Aiden had been loving the duels and fights of this tournament, but these booby-trapped arenas were interfering with his enjoyment. Precious time was spent avoiding the elements and not focusing on the sweet conflict between the two warriors. It was all because of the Voice, Idris Adenn. Aiden wanted to win so much more now than he had before. Not for the glory. Not for the prestige. Not even for the knowledge that his skills were superior to those of others. He wanted to win so that he could challenge the man on top. Idris was his goal, and he aimed to face his final boss.

For now, though, he needed to be calm. With the plummeting temperature, his body would soon slow and succumb to the elements, and Deshra would not allow that. With a moment of focus, the Force began to fill the Human's shivering body, warming him from within and bringing him into balance. Aiden's eyes shifted as he breathed in and centered himself amidst the falling snow. His dark side-shifted eyes melted back into an almost glowing blue-green hue. His slightly tanned skin seemed to pale against the white storm that cascaded around the snow- and ice-covered arena. The elements had yet to best him, and this new obstacle would also fail.

Marick stood across from him, his blue blade glowing against the swelling blizzard. The two Arconae met eyes, a momentary feeling of respect shared between them. The two had not met face to face since the former Taldryanite's time in the Inquisitorius. Not since Aiden had been whole. His lightsabers and most of Marick's had been lost to the ice, but he wasn't defenseless. Reaching onto his back, Deshra pulled out his lightsaber-powered rifle. He knew he couldn't get a winning shot off, and he only had five rounds before the saber hilt inside melted into unusable trash. However, he hoped this would grant him the time to devise a plan to come out on top.

Neither man said a word as Aiden raised his rifle, taking aim. They both understood each other, and neither was willing to back down.

One…two…

Two bursts of lightsaber-fueled energy fired from the rifle barrel, and Aiden was off. The jet thrusters on his boots activated, launching him into the air, flying against the winds. Marick quickly batted the two bolts of plasma away, melting the ice in which they landed. He watched as the Mandalorian flew through the air, the rifle never leaving its mark. The former Voice expected more but needed to maintain his own focus. Deshra was not to be underestimated.

Three…

Aiden released a third bolt of energy towards his senior clanmate. He noticed a familiar glint in the ice behind his superior as he flew. A smirk crossed his face as a plan began to form in the back of his mind. Marick snapped his blade toward the incoming bolt again, batting it back toward its master. The Mandalorian simply dodged to the side. As he moved in the air, the Human bent his leg, firing a barrage of rocket darts from his knee launcher. The missiles went wild, and his lack of familiarity showed how little control he had over the explosives. He grasped one of the rocket darts with the Force, guiding it to fly behind Marick. Small explosions rocked the arena, with shards of ice and stone careening across the platform.

Four…Five…  

The weapon seemed to smoke and spark as the final two bolts left the barrel. The hilt had been consumed and could no longer power the rifle. Aiden threw the useless hunk of metal to the side and dropped from the sky, landing on the icy platform below him. Smiling, he reached out with his hand, pulling. Marick shook his head as he defended himself against the energy bolts, deflecting the danger away from him. His senses were on full alert as he dodged several sharp shards of ice flying towards him from behind. As the Arconae dodged the debris, a metallic glimmer of black and white flew through his peripheral sight. Marick had never been Aiden's target.

The newly freed lightsaber hilt found itself in its owner's hand, and Aiden activated the midnight blade. His hand and arm shook as his focus failed. Freezing temperatures began to fill him once more, and his shoulder throbbed from searing pain. He needed to push through. He wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet.

The image of two comrades facing each other against the howling white storm was artwork for all who viewed the fight on the video screens. The audience watched at the edge of their seats as the climax of this exciting match came into focus. The two Arconae resembled the honorable warriors of the old tales, sword masters with their blades in hand. For Honor. For Respect. For the clan of which both were so loyally named. Masters of Makashi and Soresu readied themselves for a final bout to end this duel.

"This has been an honor, Lord Tyris."

"You've earned my respect and my ire, Deshra. But this match has gone on far too long."

"Then, my lord, let us give this audience a good show. One final crossing of blades."

Marick gave no response to Aiden's words except for a slight bow of his head. With his blue blade in hand, he waited for the Mandalorian's strike, and Aiden didn't disappoint. All sound seemed to vanish for both as Deshra propelled himself forward, only returning to them when the two blades locked together in a fiery blaze.

Ebony and sapphire clashed in a myriad of perfectly executed strikes. Aiden's offensive never let up, one attack fluidly leading to the next. Marick's impenetrable defense didn't give an inch as he expertly responded in kind. The two moved around the icy ground as equals, opposites for sure, but perfectly so. They balanced each other in a simple but beautiful synchronicity. Most who viewed the dance-like duel thought it would seemingly never end, but to the trained eye, both combatants were slowing down. This battle of attrition was wearing on them both, the only question being who would slip up first.

Marick could feel his strength leaving as the cold wore him down. He was tired under Aiden's onslaught. His steely eyes, however, caught that the Mandalorian was faltering. The longer he pushed through his pain, the less refined his movements seemed to be. Deshra was reaching his limits, but so was he. As Aiden moved in for another strike, the former Voice moved to the side and reached out, focusing on the ground beneath his opponent's left foot.

The ice seemed to soften and give under Aiden's heavy beskar boot, and he slipped ever so slightly. Marick moved to capitalize on the opening, thrusting his saber towards Deshra's exposed body suit. Only the Force's screams alerted Aiden to the danger, and on instinct, his left hand moved to cover his weak spot. Blue plasma met a beskar vambrace, the opposing forces holding tight as the silvery black metal began to glow red and orange. As Aiden caught a foothold, he planted his weight and pushed himself away, landing hard on his back.

Marick leaped into the air, both hands clasping his lightsaber hilt, and poised the blade to thrust straight down onto Aiden's chest plate. As the elder Arconae closed in, the Mandalorian activated his jet thrusters, sliding him back and away. The blue blade sank into the snow, ice, and stone platform beneath.  As the thrusters powered down, Aiden pushed himself into a backflip, pressing a button on his saber hilt as he did.

Landing on one knee and holding himself still with his cybernetic hand, Aiden whipped his midnight black blade forward. His right shoulder burned with pain, and he nearly cried out from the effort. The black blade spun towards Marick, the Arconae shaking his head as he reached out to stop the blade in the air. Nothing happened. For a moment, Marick felt the Force leave him. The connection to the very fabric of the universe was gone in a blink, a brief moment where he felt powerless. And in that momentary emptiness, the black core saber struck home, sinking into his chest.

Except…it didn't.

Marick felt a burning shock as the blade was frozen against his chest. A hurt he hadn't felt since the early days of his training, practicing forms and technique with his master and others. Deshra had made his weapon non-lethal and given up a chance to kill his superior.  The lightsaber disengaged as Aiden collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily. He had used up his strength to land what should have been a killing blow.

"Why?" Marick asked in a cold, monotone voice. Aiden Lee Deshra wasn't one to throw in the towel.

"I wanted to win the fight. That doesn't mean… I wanted to kill a fellow Arconae. Not for an audience to watch and be entertained." Aiden fought to catch his breath as he answered.

Marick looked down at his clanmate and opponent. That last attack should've ended his life, but he had been granted more time. Time to be with his beloved. Time to be a father to his children. Sighing, the Hapan looked up to the droids recording their match.

"End this match, Idris. I am tired of these games. Deshra has won. I'm done."

The blizzard dissipated, and the ice and snow began to melt and dissipate. Free from their icy tombs, Marick's light daggers and saberspear flew back to their master and returned to their sheathes. The sound of scampering metal feet alerted him as Biddy skipped over to him. Luckily, the BD-unit seemed unharmed.

"Why?" Aiden asked, mirroring the former Voice's own query.

"You should have killed me but chose mercy. Because of that decision, my children get to keep their father. I'll respect the choice. However, I must offer this advice," Marick approached Aiden and knelt close to the Mandalorian. "Sentimentality will kill you. If you have the chance to kill your opponent…take it. Ruthlessness is a mercy that you grant yourself."

Reaching out his hand, he called Aiden's effects to him and placed the weapons next to the winner of the match. He offered the Human his helmet, and the offering was accepted. Two sets of hands clasped the beskar helmet as if in a respect-filled handshake. Their fight was over, but the tournament would only move forward.