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 Void.

A single large circular platform floats in a sea of darkness. Its worn duracrete and durasteel show the scars of battles long gone. No rails, no cover, just a flat space in which combatants can battle. There is no running from your opponent here. No hiding to catch your breath. The Void calls only for the most capable and determined. Any less and you will find yourself out in the cold black.

The wind ripped at Selika's hair as she stood at the door of the clapped-out Low Altitude Assault Transport, her gauntleted hand grasping the edge of the open hatch to steady her as the craft flew up and over the outer walls of the Colosseum. Huge floodlights ringing the grandstands lit up the night, each one directed at the arena floor. Selika had assumed that Idris had selected this particular mode of entry into the arena out of a sense of showmanship, aggrandizing the proceedings now that things had reached the final four. Her assumption was quickly shattered as the repulsor vehicle cleared the walls and revealed the arena layout below them.

A single, battle-worn circle of floating duracrete was the only thing that occupied the battle space. Neither lava flow, shanty town, or dense jungle were to be found this time. The nearly featureless circle of duracrete glistened in the light as rain fell on the arena, the lights leaving stark pools of brightness and darkened pools of shadow between them. Selika could see that the stands full of spectators were shielded by containment fields to keep the weather out. Still, the arena floor itself offered no such protection.

"I guess this is your idea of combat in its purest form," Selika mused, the two figures flanking her clad in the armor of the Iron Legion remaining stoically silent as ever.

"Something like that," came the voice of Idris Adenn. A tiny hologram of the Mandalorian was being projected from the holocomm at the front of the craft's passenger compartment.

"You couldn't have at least kept the damn arena dry?" Selika said, turning to stare daggers at the action figure-sized image of the Voice of the Brotherhood. "It seems like you've used this tournament as an excuse to wage war on my hair."

Selika couldn't be sure at that size, but it appeared that Idirs offered a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Weather is part of the venue."

Selika turned back to the view outside the door, choosing not to favor Idris with a response. The LAAT/i circled the arena, allowing her a full view of the assembled throngs from every angle. The crowd was suitably raucous, obviously ready for the brand of bloodsport that an open, empty circle would bring. No lulls in the action, no sneaking around. Just pure, direct combat. Selika was of two minds about this, rarely favoring a straight-up fight. Obfuscation and trickery were typically her weapons of choice, but against her opponent, a simple battle held a certain appeal.

The repulsor vehicle descended to the arena floor, stopping in a hover only a fraction of a meter above the duracrete. Selika could step out easily, needing not even a jump to reach the platform, seemingly floating in the empty void. Initially shielded from the raindrops by the overhanging wing of the infantry transport, Selika stood still for a moment before it departed. As soon as the vehicle drove upward and away into the sky, Selika was first buffeted by the disturbed air resulting from its full-throttle acceleration, followed by the warm raindrops being driven into her face.

As the air calmed again, the rain returned to falling straight down and started to soak into her hair. Pushing the hair at her forehead aside to allow the rain to run down the sides of her face as opposed to directly into her eyes, Selika heard a chorus of dueling cheers and boos from the crowd. Comfortable playing the role of both face and heel, Selika raised her right hand and waved theatrically to the crowd. Both camps roared even louder at that, Selika having long since learned the benefits of theatricality.

The sound of repulsor engines cut through the din as a second LAAT/i approached from the opposite side of the arena. Circling around her, Selika could see the silhouette of her opponent framed in the light shining from within. It had been nearly nine years since she had faced him on the sands of this very arena and even longer since their game of cat and mouse through the Visulu Marketplace on the now-destroyed New Tython. Throughout the preliminary rounds, Selika had hoped to face him again. As soon as the brackets had been set for the elimination rounds, Selika knew that fate had answered her. They would face one another again in the semifinals, and the results would be different this time.

The transport carrying Selika's opponent finished its circle, dropping to hang just above the arena surface as had hers. The Dread Lord eyed the outline of his form backed by two Iron Legion soldiers, wondering if the years had left him smaller than he had seemed all those years ago. Running her hand along the saber hilt that hung at her belt, Selika smiled as she imagined what it would be like to drive it deep into her opponent's chest.

Suddenly, the soldier on her adversary's left jerked forward and pushed him out the door. The man's body dropped to the duracrete like a pile of laundry as legs, arms, and tail splayed out around him. Tail. The realization hit Selika like a lightning bolt.

"No," she whispered to herself. She angrily strode across the arena to approach her opponent, knowing what she would find. "No, no, no!"

The gray-skinned Ryn was still face down on the ground, his movements suggesting that whatever post-match festivities he had planned had very much become pre-match festivities. "You couldn't manage to fight your way past Kordath, Turel?" Selika growled through gritted teeth.

The Arconan was dressed in a set of boxers and nothing else, various things attached to his person or shoved into the waistband of his underwear. Absent, of course, was any sign of a lightsaber or even blaster. He was, however, carrying a comically oversized foam hand. Selika dragged the alien to his feet by his arm and was confronted by the smell of liquor assaulting her senses. The man smelled like a Corellian distillery.

"Hello, luv," Kordath slurred with an inebriated grin.

Selika pushed him backward, the Ryn nearly losing his footing as he staggered backward several steps. "This is what you think is a worthy match, Idris?" Selika yelled to the sky. "This street rat?"

"Hey, don't underestimate him like Turel did," came Idris's response over the Colosseum's public address system. "He's wiry!"

Kordath squinted up at the woman taking in the revealing outfit despite this being a battleground. Even though feeling his head hurt as he saw it shimmer and distort as she ranted about his old mate Turel. Something was off there. He’d been half asleep and still drunk for most of the ride down and terrified that they were headed to space, clutching his bottle the whole way down. The darkness surrounding the wet platform was unnerving to him, reminding him too much of the cold vacuum.

“So…I’m here ta fight, yeah?” he mumbled, slowly staggering back from the seemingly unhinged woman. “Who’s me opponent?”

“I am,” snapped the haughty, angry woman.

He looked her up and down again, then started chuckling drunkenly. Being the homebody he had always been, even as a Consul, he had no idea who this woman was.

“Yeah, funny, yer tha ring girl clearly from that get-up. So who’s gonna be kickin’ me arse now?”

The Ryn had just enough warning from the Force to realize he was getting struck not to be too shocked by it. The telekinetic slap across his face made his head ring.

“Oh…ookay…” he mumbled, holding his head and shaking it. “So yer actually tha one, fair play.”

“This is a waste of my time,” sighed Selika, pinching the bridge of her nose. Drunk or not, Kordath was watching her, putting together pieces. Her hair was wet, her clothes weren’t, her fingers didn’t seem to quite touch her face and her arm shimmered a little as it moved. There was more to this than met the eye, he decided. She also had an ego…or a temper, he wasn’t sure which yet.

“Just die.” She flicked her hand dismissively, pushing the nearly naked man skidding across the wet duracrete, sending him tumbling backward. Infuriatingly he rolled back up to his feet, blinking, never having dropped his bottle. Kordath took another drink, seemingly unbothered by it all, his fur growing more and more damp by the moment.

“Do no think we can settle this wit’ just words, can we, lassie?” he began walking back towards the woman, though it was an awkward gait that saw him drifting off to the left. “I do nae want ta have ta glass a lady who’s ridin’ along on her looks alone. Mayhap we have a drink and talk it out?”

He was almost certain he saw a muscle twitch around the Human’s eye.

“Are you trying to make me angry, rodent?”

Lightning crackled around the woman’s right hand before she pulled it back and hurled it like a ball. Kordath’s eyes tracked the movement as she flung her arm forward. Dull plating came into view for a moment, covering the limb. This was all in the back of his head, in the drunken, disorderly worldview that was coming together as he held his arms up in front of him. The purple and blue physical manifestation of anger and the Force rippled over the field of energy he projected, buffeting around him and causing his damp hair to crackle and stand on end.

“Touchy, eh, luv?” he shook his hand after the blast ran its course, like it was hot or something, staring over at the Human. “Fine…tis a fight ya want, tis a fight ya get, I suppose.”

He took another long pull from his bottle, the whiskey burning its way down his throat and offsetting some of the chill of the rain. With a wipe of his lips with his fuzzy, damp arm, Kordath began stumbling towards the Sith.

“Really?” she asked drily, watching him approach, her hand starting to raise up to send him away again with a wave of telekinetic energy. Her violet eyes widened in alarm when she felt him draw on the Force and his body exploded forward with a surprising burst of speed. The heavy armor she wore, disguised as it was with technology, slowed her reaction as the Ryn darted to her side and swung his body around in an arc. His foot slammed into her side, the sound of wet flesh slapping hard metal ringing out.

Kordath hopped back on one foot, clutching the one that had struck her.

“Frak me! Kark that hurt!”

“Fool,” she sneered, raising her hand up, palm down, and gesturing it down towards the surface. She didn’t have to, but it was dramatic and the crowd would eat that sort of thing up. She smirked as the telekinetic wave of energy slammed Kordath down to the ring.

“Ow,” he mumbled…but he’d confirmed his theory. The woman was wearing some kind of armor, and likely hadn’t even felt his kick. But her hair was wet…which meant…

His thoughts were cut off by an increase in pressure, pushing him down against the hard surface and driving the air from him.

“You really thought to lay hands on me? Your ability with the Force is wasted on such a useless creature as you, Kordath Bleu,” Selika stalked around his fallen form, playing to the audience, her hand still held palm down in a show of strength for their sake.

“Heard worse from better, lass…uhhh…” he craned his head towards her, “ya should lighten up on tha smug expression though, a woman of yer years, that’ll start leavin’ lines on yer face.”

Selika bristled at the insult from the Ryn, her mood already prone to frustration given the combatant she now faced. "And what would you know of beauty, rat?" Selika demanded, turning to face her opponent after playing to the crowd.

Instead of seeing her enemy being crushed into the permacrete circle, her vision was filled by a fist that slammed into her face. The blow staggered Selika back, her sight filling with momentarily blinding stars that left her shaking her head to clear it. Somehow, the slippery alien had escaped her Force grip, and Selika had paid for her overconfidence.

"Thought I wouldn't notice you'd left one place uncovered," Kordath slurred, his words almost lost in a drunken haze.

Selika grimaced, calling on the Force to banish the throbbing pain in her nose to a deep, unfeeling corner of her mind. The trail of blood that trickled from her now broken nose, however, was a bit harder to wipe away. Clicking the control on her gauntlet, Selika dropped the cloaking field of her armor. "Guess there's no point in hiding," she mused. Her hands moved to where her helmet had been strapped to her belt at her left hip, but her hands encountered only empty space. 

"Lookin' fer this?" Kordath said with a leering smile. The Arconan held her armored helmet up, looking quite satisfied with himself.

Pushing down her growing anger, Selika decided it was well past time to stop pandering to the audience and end this. Her lightsaber leaped into her hand from where it was clipped to her hip, a reflexive bit of telekinesis. "Time to end this game, street rat."

Selika moved forward with a ferocious overhand strike. She moved with little thought towards defense, entirely surrendering her mind to battle. The Ryn carried no weapon to challenge her blade, so this should be over relatively quickly. Instead of dodging or trying to avoid her blade, the former Consul moved in a blur and met her weapon with the crown of her helmet, the blade sparking as it glanced off the alchemically treated metal.

"Whoops!" Kordath exclaimed. "Be careful with that lightstick; you'll put an eye out with that thing!"

Selika continued her assault against her opponent, the shorter man alternately dancing out of the way of her weapon or meeting her blade with the helmet he now used as a shield. The crowd roared their appreciation, rooting on the Ryn they now saw as a plucky underdog against an implacable enemy. The longer he stayed away from the glowing lightsaber, the more excited they seemed.

"Havin' trouble keeping up?" Kordath goaded her, driving her weapon aside once more with the helmet.

Selika gritted her teeth and offered no answer, trying vainly to catch him with the weapon as she redirected it back towards him. Spinning away from it, the alien's tail whipped around. It smacked Selika upside her head, again causing her vision to momentarily blur from the force of the blow.

"Stand and fight, damn it!" Selika shouted, unable to fully contain her mounting frustration.

"And why would I do that?" Kordath replied. "Much more fun this way."

The Ryn evaded her weapon once more, but this time, their bodies crashed together awkwardly with the sound of shattering glass. Crushed between Selika's armor and the helmet that Kordath held in his hands, the bottle of whiskey that the Ryn had brought with him into battle had been smashed. The liquid inside splashed over Selika, and the light rain did little to wash it away. The smell that filled her nostrils let her know that this bottle had not been a cheap vintage but instead a bottle of Whyren's Reserve.

"No! The booze!" Kordath cried, the anguish in his voice showing that the loss of the alcohol pained him greatly. Disengaging from his opponent, Kordath began swinging the appropriated helmet as if it were a bludgeon, moving from using it as an improvised shield to an improvised weapon. Momentarily staggered by the suddenly determined nature of her enemy's attacks, Selika backpedaled as Kordath drove forward.

Blocking the helmet with her blade, Selika and Kordath's weapons were caught together in a somewhat comical approximation of a traditional saber lock. Kordath pushed against her block, the Force-enhanced strength of the Ryn overwhelming the Plagueian's guard. "This'll teach ya to waste a drink!" Kordath spat.

Kordath drove Selika's blade back until it pressed against her armor, the weapon sparking as it hit her chest plate. This time, however, the sparks did not simply flash away harmlessly. The vapor of evaporating alcohol flashed into fire as the sparks met fuel and Selika was suddenly enveloped in flames as the fuel combusted. The armor protected Selika from the worst of the fire's resultant heat, and her rain-soaked hair and exposed skin would not spread the flames. However, the fire surrounding the Dread Lord was hungry as it devoured the oxygen that fueled it. Unprepared for the now raging flames, Selika was unable to steel herself as they seemed to suck the air from her lungs, leaving her unable to catch her breath. Blackness seemed to close around Selika's vision as the lack of oxygen drove her to her knees. As her weapon dropped from her hands, her iron will, backed by the Force, was the only thing that kept her conscious.

It was all she could do to haphazardly fend off the continued blows of her opponent, primarily by shielding her head with her forearm. Even through her armor, the force of the strikes began to take its toll on her shoulder as she absorbed hit after hit. Mercifully, the alcohol-driven flames quickly faded, having exhausted the whiskey that had fed them. Sucking in breath again, the blackness receded from the edges of her vision.

"Enough," Selika murmured to herself, her mind clearing along with her vision. Her frustration and anger were pushed aside as she brought calm focus to quiet the distractions that had clouded her mind. The Ryn was an unorthodox opponent, but it was time to stop treating him as an inept one. He had made it this far with the appearance of a bumbling clown, but an appearance was all it was. One could not advance to the semifinals of this tournament by accident any more than they could find themselves seated atop the Serpentine Throne.

Kordath's next blow was intercepted by Selika's weapon, the violet blade flying up from where it had landed to interpose itself between the combatants. The lightsaber continued its telekinetic movement as Selika pushed herself back up to her feet, breathing deeply as air returned to her lungs. Selika said nothing as she gathered the Force to her, the energy building before it leaped out from her right hand and extended towards her foe. Kordath intercepted the bolts of lightning with the helmet he carried as Selika drove them towards Kordath's chest. The continued steam pushed Kordath back slowly, step by step. Selika raised her left hand and sent a second stream of energy surging toward Kordath. The Ryn could not block both attacks and yelped as the lightning rushed into his legs.

Kordath dropped and writhed as the energy washed over him, the helmet falling from his grip and bouncing away across the permacrete platform. Selika cut off the lightning, leaving steam to rise from the Ryn as the rainwater soaking his fur flashed from liquid to vapor. The crowd, now firmly rooting for the Arconan, rained a chorus of boos and jeers down on the arena combatants.

"Your boos mean nothing," Selika yelled back at them. "I've seen what makes you cheer!"

Kordath’s eyes creaked open, hazy with pain, as his gaze swept the platform. The broken remains of the bottle lay a short distance away. Largely crushed, the neck he’d once gripped so fiercely lay there with a dribble of amber liquid falling to the duracrete below. His legs hurt. At least he could still feel them, an analytical part of his mind thought. The rest of him, though…

“Sonuva gundark…” he groaned as he sat up, glaring across the way at the woman shouting at the crowd. “Why’s it always got ta be tha crazy broads that cause me so much bleedin’ trouble?”

Her violet eyes flashed towards him, causing him to sit more rigidly, realizing he’d been heard.

“Here, now,” she commanded, lifting a hand up and drawing it towards her. Kordath yelped as he felt himself lifted from the wet ground and jerked in front of her, his limbs splayed out, unable to move more than a few fingers.

“You have made a mockery of this fight, this tournament, and of me.” Her voice was low and quiet, barely picked up by the camera drones floating around them.

“Look, lass, I do nae even know who ya are, or really how I got here,” he started to explain as he attempted to coax his leg muscles into responding. Healing himself had never been a great talent for the Ryn, and he was cursing his lack of practice.

“You don’t know who I am?” her voice got somehow colder, the muscles around her left eye beginning to twitch. “I am the Dread Lord, the Ruler of Aliso, and I will reign as champion when this tournament is over.”

Kordath stared at her for a few more long seconds, as if waiting.

“What?” she hissed, constricting the fingers of her outstretched hand, making the Ryn hiss in pain as his body began to twist unnaturally.

“Just…ya did…nae…answer…tha bleedin’...question…” he gasped out in agony, giving up on his legs. He could at least feel his feet. With an open hand, he twisted his wrist, the Force flowing through towards his palm.

“You honestly don’t know who I am? You were a Consul. How is that even—” she cried out in surprise as the burst of blinding light came forth from Bleu’s hand. This was followed by a grunt of annoyance as she felt herself pitch forward slightly, a tug at the neck of her armor, and the brush of fuzzy fingers against her throat.

Kordath wedged his feet against her armored thighs, gripping the gorget of her armor with one hand, while his other stretched towards the neck of the broken whiskey bottle. The jagged bottleneck slapped into his palm and with gritted teeth he swung it across the blinded woman’s cheek, gouging a line across delicate skin.

Selika cried out in rage and in pain. Her vision started to come back into focus just in time to see Kordath swing the makeshift knife toward her again. It shattered against a field of Force energy. She glared at him, her eyes alight in anger.

“Ah, kark me,” muttered Kordath as he felt himself get thrown back, a blast of lightning flinging his body bouncing across the platform. Smoking, he skidded to a halt, smelling of wet and burnt hair at the same time.

Selika wrinkled her nose in disgust, blood streaming down her cheek, the deep gouge bleeding profusely. She tried to ignore both the pain and the thought of how it would heal if she didn’t end this soon and get aid. Armored boots clunked on the duracrete as the Sith stalked up before slamming a food into his ribs. With gritted teeth, she raised him up with the Force once more, spinning the burnt and wet Ryn to face her.

“So…what to do with you now?” she growled, glancing around the platform. The rain stung her wounded cheek, fueling her lasting anger. “The blade would be too quick for you, street rat.”

Kordath’s head swam as he found himself floating across the platform, eyes blinking slowly while he fought through disorientation and pain. The looming void surrounding the arena began to fill his vision, too reminiscent of the depths of space for the Ryn’s mental well-being.

“...uhh…we…we can talk about this…” he mumbled, shaking his head and trying to speak.

“Oh? Afraid of the dark, are we?” came a lilting reply, cruelty clear in its tone. “Perhaps this is not the ending our dear audience wishes, but it is the least you deserve.”

Struggling in the telekinetic grip, Kordath whimpered as he found himself over the dark depths, causing him to freeze.

“Do nae guess its, ah…ah…too late for me ta yieeeeeeeld—” he screamed as Selika released her hold on him, dumping him into the darkness. She smiled, self-satisfied, but felt the tug of her torn open cheek. Anger bubbled up inside of her, watching the Ryn disappear into the darkness. Perhaps that had been too quick of a death for the street rat. Oh well.