Two towering, tinted, transparisteel doors slide open to grant you access to the central chamber of the Combat Training Halls. The main room is wide and open and as large as as a holoball field. Tall walls stretch towards a domed ceiling that is made up of rows of ambient lights that spread out and fill the room with soft even lighting that eliminates any shades or shadows. Those same walls are lined around the perimeter with racks and stacks of varied weaponry: everything from swords and polearms to rifles and flamethrowers.

There are two signs that hover over each weapon rack to create an alternating motif in the Combat Training Hall: “No Explosions” and “Accorded Neutral Territory”. While the first is fairly obvious, the second speaks to the single law of the Training Halls: all members of the Brotherhood are welcome, and no member is to be killed or maimed without incurring the wrath of the Grand Master and the Inquisitorius.

A trio of training dummies are statically set up and spread out in a line, each made out of a blend of alloys and padding that can withstand blows from any standard weaponry with the exception of lightsaber blades. To the side of the dummies, a large sparring mat has been stretched out to create a larger footprint than the typical shockboxing ring. The padding is good for helping teach new combat students how to take a fall without injury and offers firm footing, but the hard rubber mat is hardly forgiving.

Behind the sparring area is a door that leads to a small archives that combat students can use to view holorecordings of fights and duels from the past as well as relevant information on combat tactics, techniques, and forms. On the opposite side of the archives at the far end of central room is the locker room that members can safely store their equipment.

The final and probably most important element of the Combat Training Hall is the onsite Med Ward. The maglock door is sealed off and can only be opened by an attending Medic. The Medical facilities feature state of the art bacta tanks for recovery and aftercare. A combination of observation and waiting room rests adjacent to the recovery center and features two large monitors that display a live feed of the central room.

The Combat Halls are staffed around the clock, allowing combat students and mentors alike to come and go as they please at odd or regular hours. It also available for members looking to prove their worth to compete in the Antei Combat Center.

[Venue Note: Weapons incorporated into your match are allowed to be used, even if not listed on your Loadout for the match itself. Skill usage and all other ACC rules and guidelines still applies.]

The halls of the training center were stark and cool.

Narman Losa stode through them at a precise clip, the stride of a surgeon and a soldier. His gaze scanned his environs and each individual he passed, assessing briefly.

It was his first time on Arx. The capital itself reminded him uncomfortably of the xenoists of his homeworld, like a glimpse into a stark future where the Human League won its genocidal war. There seemed to be an assortment of aliens about the Taldryan spaces, but Eos City was starkly and imperially Human.

He thought of Jules, his friend and former colleague, still on Setia Prime. The Twi'lek wouldn't leave, even when he sent word to her of the auspices of new systems he had found himself embroiled in these few months past; but neither would she leave her home, too scared of being attacked in the street, dragged off to one of those camps he'd helped dismantle and strung up.

They'd chatted last week. He'd urged her to go outside. He needed to call again, but his work from the agency had kept him busy, nevermind the recent tensions between the Traditionalists and Loyalists in the Senate and the Summit having nearly escalated to full blown civil war in the attacks…

Shaking his head, the officer put his mind to the task ahead, itself a new assignment.

Or what could generously be referred to as one, at least.

It has come to my attention that you are deficient, Doctor." Even in miniature blue Holo projection, Anders' red gaze was cutting. "You lack experience amongst Force-Users, particularly in combating them. I believe the closest you've even been to one was pulling the Lady Second from the rubble. This will be remedied. This body will suffer no shortcomings. Fear not. I know of the perfect opponent for you. A false Sith. Your life won't be in danger."

He had sounded disgusted.

That was all the information Narman had been given. No name, no dossier, nothing. Likely to simulate being unprepared in the field. Still it grated.

Arriving at the doors to the training rooms, the Human loosed a final steady breath before stepping inside as they swished apart. Before him was a tidy and commendable space: equipment, padding, a medical suite he was eager to investigate and judge. It was also notably lacking in other participants, all except one.

In the center of the mats sat a man, Mirialan by his green coloring and copious tattoos, folded in a meditative pose and reading on a datapad. He looked up at the exact moment that Narman looked at him, staring with unnaturally clouded lilac eyes.

"Yo," he said, and then, "I mean, hey, ay. You must be Narman? Nice t'meet you. I'm Ruka."

He rose, fluid and pantherine, padding over on bare feet that were near-silent. The doctor studied him for a moment.

The eclipsing cataracts in the eyes weren't something typically seen outside the geriatric of most Near Human species like his, and the heavy silvering of his dark hair supported that. However, the skin visible around the predominant scar tissue, what little there was, looked firm and vibrant in hue, no age spots, no thinning. And that was just the physical characteristics; for all his language was casual as might be attributed to either culture or youth, his demeanor and the actual look in his gaze were so much older.

How old was this man?

"Uh…?"

"Doctor Narman Losa," the Taldryanite corrected idly, extending his hand to clasp the one Ruka had offered while he was appraising. The Mirialan was frowning at him, an expression that pinched his whole face. "Narman will do for our purposes. Pleased, Ruka."

"Right, ay…"

Their hands dropped.

He supposed some small talk was in order.

"Anything interesting?" Narman gestured at the datapad. The Mirialan blinked at him, brows scrunching, then followed his pointing fingers down to his own side where he'd seemed to have forgotten his reading.

"Oh! Ay, uh, would you believe 'Self Help For Peedunkies?'"

"I have no reason to disbelieve it. Anything valuable?"

"Not sure yet." A beat. "We don't gotta chat. If you just want to get to the lesson…"

Relief. Narman sighed and followed Ruka back onto the mats, taking his cue to peruse the training equipment.

"Certainly. You work for Anderson, then?"

"Kriff no!" now it was the Mirialan who sounded disgusted. Narman filed the mutual antagonism away. "I don't work for him. This is a favor." He sighed long-sufferingly. "His son's dating our daughter. We try to be nice sometimes. He asked. I said yeah. Better me than whoever else he'd franging toss you at, ay ay ay. He'd kriffing have you tortured or half-dead just to make a point."

"Well then, I'll thank you for sparing me."

The mild gratitude only seemed to hitch the Mirialan's shoulders more. He rolled them, grunting an acknowledgement.

"So you've never fought a 'User?"

"Not that I know of."

"You might be in for a hell of an intro," Ruka muttered, and then inhaled deeply. "Speakin' of, ay. Gonna set out some ground rules for how this gonna go."

They stopped in the center of the mats, Ruka's datapad suddenly floating off out of nowhere to join a folded pile of robes and armor that presumably covered the body suit he wore normally. He had no visible weapons on him.

"Point of this is to give you a chance to fight a Force-User no holds barred in a safe environment. Kinda. You can come at me with everything you got, and that includes live fire. Powers, lightsabers, blades, hand to hand, whatever. Only caveat is that if you're using live rounds not to go for my head. If, and only if, you want it to happen, I will hit back. Otherwise, your goal's to try and take me down." He shrugged a bit. "If my husband was here we'd show you what it can be like fighting a team of us, or someone with support abilities. He can protect me at any time. But for now we'll start with me. Med team is on standby mostly for me when I can't move anymore, but they're here for you too. I cleared the place in case of stray shots. Got it?"

"Understood," Narman replied, though he couldn't help but feel it was all quite blindingly foolish. The Mirialan 'false Sith' grinned at him a bit.

"Ay, I know, sounds stupid, right?" Was he easy to read, or was the other man just preceptive? Perhaps the cataracts weren't blinding. Or was it something more? He'd heard rumor of mind reading but considered it nonsense. "But it's really not. So. Come on. Try to hit me."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Though skeptic, Losa reached for his belt and drew his blaster pistol. He lifted it, aimed steady across the space, and fired a single shot.

Ruka sidestepped. The bolt splashed into the wall far behind him, alabative plating apparently assuaging the scorch mark. Narman felt his eyebrows shoot up. He looked at his blaster, then back again.

"C'mon," the Mirialan urged.

He flicked the setting around to semi-automatic burst fired and loosed a salvo of three.

This time Narman didn't get to see the whole movement; his opponent moved too fast, a blur of color that was then several meters to the side and noticeably unscathed. Gritting his teeth, the Human fired again.

Again.

And again.

Bursts of burning blasterfire chased a ghost across the ground, Ruka always seemingly ahead of his shots or somehow out of the way, twisting and turning faster than any humanoid should have. His body shouldn't have been able to do that. It wasn't anatomically capable.

And yet.

"Enough!" Narman called when he was close to just turning to full automatic fire and shooting wildly. His gaze sparked with an intense curiosity, bordered with horror. The veteran found himself feeling as if he was examining a new class of weapon. "I want to see what else you're capable of."

"And that means…?"

"Hit back."

Ruka nodded at him, still just standing in place. He didn't so much as lift a finger.

And yet, suddenly every training rack around them rattled as the weapons within them lifted free, slowly spun towards Narman, and stayed there, suspended in the air, a breath held. Twenty, thirty, no, more—

One by one, they flew towards him, a riptide of metal and wood.

The screech of the weapon racks sliding forward and the whistle of steel cutting the air were the only sounds that alerted Narman to an incoming attack. Within seconds he found himself under a steady barrage from both sides as all manner of weaponry, armor, and assorted gear pelted his body. When the initial salvo arrived, he attempted to dodge every strike, but the quantity and persistence of the improvised missiles made that impossible. Blocking a series of small hand weights with his forearm and ducking under a spinning dagger, he scanned the room. A cloud of shimmering steel surrounded him, with each object waiting patiently for its opportunity. All the while, Ruka stood still, reactionless, arms relaxed at his sides.

The Doctor had sidestepped to avoid a heavy blaster pistol when a sharp pain radiated from the back of his head, flooding his vision with white. The blow staggered him for a moment, but he quickly shook off the fog; a helmet in the Mandalorian style clattered to the ground behind.

‘I need to keep moving forward,’ Narman thought to himself, deflecting a pair of gauntlets with his elbow. ‘I can already feel the injuries accumulating, and he hasn’t even moved yet.’ He took a step and ducked an attack. Another step, then a step back to avoid a durasteel shelf. The Taldryanite was beginning to perceive a pattern to the attacks, whether conscious or not. His eyes fell on a long, thin rapier that was twirling to the left, and he tracked it all the way as it flew in to strike. At the last second he contorted his body out of the way and grabbed onto the hilt as it passed, redirecting the momentum into a spin and throw.

The blade covered almost half the distance to Ruka before it froze, suspended in the air between them. The Mirialan remained still, his clouded eyes locked on Narman’s, maybe slight amusement on his lips. The Doctor panted slightly, suddenly aware of how little distance he had covered. He felt a tinge of shame. Why had Anderson really sent him here? His thoughts flashed back to his enlistment training, the relentless hell their bodies had been put through. The drill instructors had relished the pain they caused, but not Ruka. He hardly seemed interested.

“I suppose you did that intentionally.” He called out across the room to the Mirialan, who nodded in response.

“Ya, no use in going all-out. You didn’t even know what you were up against, ay.” The remaining suspended objects clattered to the floor around the room. “Figured out the rhythm pretty quick, though.”

Narman released an out-of-character exasperated sigh and shook his head. Outmatched was an understatement. He was fighting a brick wall, one hundred feet tall and reinforced with durasteel—it didn’t even know he was there. The thought of coming across a Force User of this calibre on the battlefield was sobering. What hope would he have in that scenario?

“Most aren’t as strong as me,” Again, the ‘Sith’ responded to him as though he could read his thoughts; at this point Narman couldn’t rule anything out. “But plenty are.” The Taldryanite had encountered powerful Force Users within his own ranks, but he had yet to see them go all out. Or this one either, for that matter.

“I appreciate the restraint you have displayed up to this point. When the training began, I was skeptical of your warnings—they hold much more weight now. Consider me humbled.” There was no hint of disdain in his words, only respect. “It’s clear that I am outmatched. Now I need only determine to what degree.” The Marialan shook his head.

“Ay, don’t think that's a good idea.”

“Respectfully, this exercise does me no good if I leave here without knowing truly what challenges I face. I need you to go all out. Just please try not to kill me.” Narman reached down to his belt and unclipped a long, slender blade that was tucked inside. Light glinted off the razor sharp edge, highlighting the thin coating of inhibiting poison. If he could just get close enough for a single strike, perhaps it would even the odds a bit. That is, if he could even touch him. The Doctor suddenly bolted forward, trying to catch his opponent off guard and close the gap.

Ruka had anticipated this move and stood with one hand outstretched before him, azure bands of electricity crackling between his fingers.

White hot heat exploded directly beside his head.

It was a burn and light and a pop, a sudden stink of superheated ozone and sear across his skin, the muffling of cotton in his ear. Narman flinched from it, instinctively aborting his charge to dive to the ground. He hit the mats in a roll that aggravated the small cluster of bruises on his arm and his aching skull, anticipating some sort of pain, some lack of consciousness, even, loss of control. He expected the sort of thing he had tended to in seizing fits or patients in cardiac arrest whose chests jumped under life-giving electronic jolts, but never himself felt.

But there was nothing but the itching sting, like an intense sunburn, over his cheek. Behind the veteran, something rent apart into many pieces, and his eyes snapped instinctively to what wasn't a grenade, but one of the training dummies.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Ruka repeated his earlier oaths. "Using pain to 'teach' someone to get used to it ain't training, it's just torture."

As Narman watched, lighting shot from the Mirialan's hand again and then kept coming, a continuous storming stream that struck the next dummy, then the next, and then another. His other hand lifter and five more targets became smoking victims. Still the storm didn't stop. Every hair on the Human's body stood on end, the air humming around him, thick and crackling.

"Doesn't mean I can't show you what you're up against. But we're doing this my way, respectfully, since I'm your test mynock, so pay attention, ay."

"I'm paying attention." And he was. He grabbed the nearest object, a wooden dagger not unlike his last projectile, and threw it too. One green arm whipped around, and all the lightning dissipated instantly as instead the weapon stilled midair again.

Ruka gave him a nod, face almost not scowling.

"Good. You're getting it, ay."

"You can't do two things at once," the doctor concluded confidently.

"Kinda. It's harder to do…say, active stuff like that. Lightning, telekinesis, a barrier, healing…and not at the same time. But other stuff, the more internal stuff, some of that is just always on. Like how I can sense an attack coming."

"You're precognitive?"

"Very. It's really strong for me." He shrugged, dropping the dagger. One arm fell, but the other stayed up as he held up a finger. "But just 'cause I can feel it coming doesn't always mean I can dodge it or get away. Too tired. Too much going on. Same as anybody else. There's this term…overwhelming force."

"I'm familiar. I throw enough at you, something will get through."

"Exactly. One of my teachers was like you— no powers. I fought plenty others like it too. The Collective, you'll hear of them if you haven't, they all no powers, but they've killed so many of us. They use insane tech and mods to make cyber-soldiers, suicide tactics, explosives, bombers…poison gases, grenades…"

He shuddered.

Narman adjusted his grip on his own coated dagger, circling closer as Ruka spoke.

"Those are effective? Even against your senses?"

"Yeah. Yeah they are. Stuff that hits areas, stuff you can't block or dodge, anything that breaks your concentration…"

Like giving a lesson.

The veteran thought rapidly. He only knew a handful of things about his opponent from their brief meeting thus far: he had a daughter, dating Anderson's son, and either didn't approve or begrudgingly approved, possibly due to enmity with Anderson; he was married to a husband, also a Force user; he had been heavily scarred, possibly being sacrificial given he obviously disliked violence and had a protective streak even for strangers like Narman. The Mirialan was teetering on the edge of something now, Narman could tell. He's seen such a haunted look in enough faces. He just needed a push, and then perhaps an opening would come.

"Speaking from experience too? With grenades?"

"I've been dead before," Ruka murmured quietly, as quiet as his empty grave. "Grenades? Pft, yeah. My first war I caught one. Covered it to save Cor. I was in pieces. Another time my guts was everywhere, cut myself open trying to stop— I was mind controlled. You gotta watch out for that too, the mind tricks. I can't do that but some people…" His eyes fluttered. "I survived things...seen things you ain't believe. Over and over. Don't think anythin's impossible anymore. Not around the Brotherhood. That's my advice."

Narman struck.

He was close, his hand sure as he lunged with the blade, sweeping for an artery. Surely enough, Ruka jolted away in an emerald blur, but the metal still sliced into his arm, drawing a red line leading away from the brachial veins. When the doctor twisted, body angled to block, his opponent was already landing across the mats, having leapt some ten meters in a single bound.

"Smart," Ruka complimented again around a hiss, examining the wound. He wobbled slightly where before his posture had been perfect. His clouded eyes narrowed, then shot back to the Human suspiciously. "That had somethin' on it, ay?"

"Use what you can."

"Yeah, you and my old coach woulda agreed. Kriff…" It was difficult to tell, but his green skin seemed to blanch, and he grimaced. "Yeah, ay, that's…another way. C'mon then. Try me."

"Just like that?"

An echo.

"Just like that."

Narman charged again, and this time Ruka met him halfway, almost too fast for the eyes to follow. Two daggers appeared in his hands, summoned from the mess around them, and he caught the Human's first strike in a cross-hold. Narman dropped his weapon then caught it with his other hand, swiping, and the Mirialan leaned back, pivoting and swinging an elbow for his face.

The crack of the blow was muted as the veteran jerked away himself, all too familiar with brawls from his days in basic training. His ear still rang and pain flared across his jaw, but he was practiced enough to ignore it and still twist to the side, trying to keep a smaller profile while he backtracked.

Ruka gave him no such quarter. The Force-User was on him immediately, close enough their chests could brush, striking at the inside of his wrist and throwing his poisoned dagger from his hand. And invisible force flung it far away, and Narman could only throw himself backwards in a roll to disengage, unarmed with an enemy so near.

His shoulder protested loudly. Aging wasn't kind.

The Human scrambled up with his collection of aches, snatching up the blaster carbine that had earlier hit him. He fumbled to find the safety on the unfamiliar model and then depressed the trigger, bracing as he fired it wildly. Ruka's eyes widened and he cursed while dancing backwards, and it was truly a marvel, watching him move then. The Mirialan twisted, jumped, and kipped around almost every plasma bolt, throwing himself in impossible, beautiful arcs and gravity-defying turns. Narman studied each movement as he would an anatomical diagram of a new species, the heavy gun in his hands spitting molten red light that made their arena a pantomime of a bloody battlefield.

But it was only almost every shot his opponent dodged. Several hit, and the weapon was live. Bloodied burns seared across Ruka's form, glancing blows all, and somewhere in the tangle some of his locs of hair smoked. He finally stopped only when the carbine did, Narman letting up when the power pack began to whine with heat.

It felt an incredible victory, and yet the Mirialan wasn't even panting. Aside from grit teeth from pain, he hardly seemed phased. At least until he gagged slightly and obviously swallowed bile down; the work of the toxin, no doubt.

"Are you even tired?" Narman had to ask.

"Feel sick, but no, ay. Could do this all day. I told you: I've been dead. And seems like that's all that can stop me these days." He shook his head, then rolled his shoulders, hissing again. "Kriff, those sting— you did good."

"Now what?"

"Now I'm done for a minute. I hate— ugh, whatever this is…you got a cure or somethin'?"

"But—" Narman gripped the carbine, a rush of ruthless curiosity, dread, duty, need. They were obviously barely scratching the surface. There was a whole new galaxy here before him to be dissected. If a single Force User was so unstoppable, he could foresee one man armies. He could imagine the difference they could make against insurgents like the Human League. He could imagine Jules unafraid, if he harnessed and understood this power. "We have to keep going."

"I just said…"

Narman's finger twitched on the trigger, and that was enough.

Ruka's hands didn't move, but his eyes did, pinning the doctor as he was lifted into the air suddenly, the blaster ripped out of his grip. It took skin with it. He gasped, only to have his jaw snap back shut as something forced it to. His limbs were trapped to his sides, his chin lifted. It felt like being entombed, only it was a spectral force holding him, helpless, dangling.

"I said enough," Ruka repeated, this time cold. "I'm not your kriffing experiment. I was doing you a frangin' favor. Puuja. Should've known anyone Anderson sent…"

"I—" Narman choked out, and the Mirialan, soft heart as he seemed, even angry, let his jaw go to speak, the pressure disappearing. "I'm sorry. Sincerely. I apologize, Ruka. I grew over-invested. Of course you are not an experiment. I know Anderson only as a superior officer in Taldryan intelligence. I mean you no harm, I take my oath as a doctor seriously."

The false Sith regarded him like a judge and a jury for a moment, weighing his sincerity. Then he sighed, and Narman found himself lowered and gently set down. Ruka turned away, towards the medical unit. All the weapons and equipment levitated up and began to right themselves, shelves tucking back into place.

"I'm sorry I did that," Ruka replied over his shoulder. Soft-hearted indeed. "You should get your head looked at."

He followed after. "And then you can show me more, perhaps? I really am sorry."

"Convenient for you, ay."

"I have reasons. People. Not a husband or daughter, but people nonetheless. My duty is to help. You can understand that, I presume?"

Ruka visibly imploded under that simple appeal to emotion. He sighed again, squinting at Narman, then grunted.

"Fine. After we get this crap outta my system. Then I show you some more."

"Just like that?" Narman tried offering a stiff grin.

Ruka half-scoffed, half-snorted.

"Yeah, yeah, ay. Just like that."

There was something exceptionally beautiful about the ribbons of electricity that struck out towards Narman; beautiful, and terrifying. He had witnessed similar displays of power from mechanical structures like generators and engines or on a smaller scale with droids, but it wasn’t something he anticipated seeing produced by an organic being. The expression ’Expect the unexpected’ was likely originated with Force Users in mind. It took every muscle in his frame working in tandem to twist left, though he felt the static pull at his armor as he did.

The Taldryanite rolled across the mats and caught the edge of one with his fingers, halting the momentum. He raised his eyes at Ruka just in time to see him rotating his palm and the azure lightning sweep across the gap between them in pursuit.

‘Kark!’ Narman thought to himself as he was forced to strafe around the Arconan ‘Sith’, unable to get any closer. He kept his eyes on his opponent while he moved in a wide arc, sprinting full speed to keep the electricity behind. Without warning, he felt and heard a sickening crack of bone as a haymaker punch collided with his jaw. The grip on his blade loosened as his legs turned to jelly and sent him crashing down; a myriad of thoughts cascaded through his mind in that moment. His eyes scanned the ground looking for what hit him, but he saw nothing. Ruka was at least ten yards away, but it felt solid, like a fist. Did he possess that much power with telekinesis alone? The Doctor tried to pull his arms up and catch his fall, but it felt like they were stuck in mud. His head slammed into the mats and he slid face-first several yards.

His ears rang and he had to blink away the black spots encroaching the edges of his vision. Blood and spit poured out of his broken jaw. Even through the pain, Narman tried to pick himself up again. That is, until white hot pain ripped through his entire body; every nerve ending screamed at once. He lost complete control of his muscles as he began to spasm on the floor. Adrenaline could only carry him so far, and the last thing he saw as his vision faded was the blazing blue glow reflecting off the mats.

The Taldryanite swam in a sea of darkness. How had he gotten here? It was peaceful, quiet, but not quite right. Years of training and strict regimen suddenly kicked in, and he gasped awake, face-down in the training hall. Narman rolled over onto his back. His entire body ached, though he could feel numbness radiating from the points on his back where the bolts of electricity had made contact. Blood trickled down from his nose over his lips. He reached his hand up and repositioned his jaw, which hung slightly loose and to the side. A shadow crossed his face, blocking the overhead fluorescent lights. The Mirialan stood above him, one arm outstretched. A flash of silver and in an instant the Doctor was illuminated in the brilliant blue glow of a lightsaber. He held his hand up in defeat.

“I yield, I yield.” Narman could see a few beads of sweat trickling down Ruka’s face, though he was hardly breathing heavily. He activated a switch and the blade receded, then crouched down beside the wounded Taldryanite and patted him on the shoulder.

“Now imagine if my husband had been here, ay. No chance.” Ruka made a slashing gesture on his neck. “Only reason I used what I did was to show ya. Could have taken ya with just this, no force.” He held up the intricate silver hilt. Narman believed him. He was glad Anderson had sent him here, it was an eye opening experience. Even through the pain, he was already planning updates to his training regimen, new equipment and defenses to test. He would need to find a willing participant to assist him. But that would come at a later time; first he needed to get off the floor. “ You gonna make it out of here okay, or do ya want me t’get the med team?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Let me just-” He tried to push himself up, but his arms were useless beneath him. “On second thought, perhaps the medical team is not a bad idea. Please.” Ruka nodded and stood, letting out a soft chuckle. Narman closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic padding of the Mirialan’s feet as he walked away, already deep in thought.