Lava is mined as a precious natural resource on this volatile and volcanic world. The opposing gravitational forces of the twin gas giants closest to Mustafar tear apart the planet’s surface to reveal the mineral-rich lava flows underneath. Once serving as the capital world for the Confederacy of Independent Systems, remnants of their past influence still linger. Massive mining facilities—originally constructed by the Techno Union—are still maintained by the native Mustafarians, an egocentric people who would like nothing more than to squeeze minerals for the purposes of trade and commerce from their volcanic planet.

Other than in the pursuit of business interests, few arrive on Mustafar save for those needing to incinerate evidence in its vast expanses of magma. What little curiosity is given to the volcanic planet is thwarted by a natural scanning interference caused by intense geological activity. Pirates, smugglers, criminals and scum all value this world’s ability to dump bodies, tracked cargo shipments and other unwanted articles—the singular reason for the Black Sun’s interest in the Outer Rim world.

Droids, machines and conveyor belts create the workings of an efficient system to extract the minerals and have it prepared for refinement and transportation. Lacking a suitable surface, metal walkways are shielded against the heat to allow workers passage throughout the facilities. Even with the worst of the heat being shielded against, Mustafar’s temperature remains less than comfortable to most species lacking exoskeletons.

Beyond the blistering heat of the volcanic world, Mustafar served as the battlefield for the fabled final duel between Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.

Mako wiped the already forming sweat from his brow. The heat was oppressive, even in the building's entryway to a landing pad. Henymory had called Azler Wilder to this place under the pretext of transporting him to Clan Vizsla’s home on Zsoldos. While that was not a lie, it was also not the whole truth. Mako had served alongside Azler many years in the past during his time in Arcona. Intel had reported to Proconsul that Azler had vanished for several years since then and Mako wanted to be certain that half Echani had not let his skills atrophy.

The Elder watched Wilder descend the ramp of a transport shuttle and begin to make his way towards the building. As expected the shuttle took flight once Azler entered the Factory’s building.

“It’s been a long time, Wilder.”

“It has, you’ve grown stronger, old friend.” Azler approached his new Proconsul, his senses reaching out through the Force, assessing the man. Mako appeared nothing like he had so long ago, the maelstrom of darkness was deeper and more vivid. The Force seemed compacted and denser around the Human. The ping of incoming danger began to tingle along Azler’s spine as he moved within a few feet of Mako.

Before the Equite could react to the warning it suddenly cut off. Replaced by the sound of rustling cloth, a sharp pain in his chest, and the distinct and disturbingly complete absence of the Force. Azler crumpled around the heel palm strike, leaving the ground and sliding several feet across the floor after landing on his back.

“Lost your edge a bit I see. Vizsla will have to forge it back into you it seems.” Henymory’s cold assessing voice filled Azler’s ears.

‘TO CLOSE’ the thought screamed across the half Echani’s mind as he rolled away from the sound. The hiss of a lightsaber plunging into the metal floor where he had just been filled his ears next.

Regaining his feet quickly, Azler noted a single silent black core lightsaber in his Proconsul’s hand. His own red blade gave the tell tale snap-hiss and pulsing hum as it ignited. The sudden lack of connection to the Force was throwing Azler’s mental focus off.

“Untrained and under prepared.” Mako spoke slowly, analytically, his emerald eyes sizing up his subordinate. Henymory closed the gap unnaturally fast as alarm klaxons screamed death in Wilder’s mind. A crack and sizzle spurred forth as their blades crossed and locked.

Wilder felt his weight shift forward as Mako’s blade vanished, as the elder sidestepped. The half Echani let the unexpected momentum carry him into a forward roll, his head narrowly dodging the black core blade’s strike.

“You called me here to kill me!” Wilder gasped out as he spun to face Mako.

“Not kill you, merely to assess you as a potential asset to Vizsla.” A grin spread across Mako’s face. It had been too long since he had faced off against a Force user. Too long since he had been given the chance to refine his techniques. His left hand’s fingers twitched slightly beneath his cloak commanding his second elder saber to rise above his head. He noted Azler pulling his own second lightsaber out in response.

“Prove yourself useful through your actions, old friend. Credit’s not Words”

Thoughts raced through the warrior’s mind, but as Mako’s last statement rang in his head, his brow furrowed and he took a deep breath, calming his thoughts. Not a fight to the death, he could - no, that was not the way to think of this. If he intended to rejoin the Brotherhood, every fight had to be treated with lethal intent.

Moving his fingers, rotating the blue saber within his right hand, he focused on his training. Henymory had gotten better at single use saber using since their last duel, and clearly far stronger in the force, benefits of staying within the Brotherhood while Azler had left to pursue other avenues.

Again a blur of movement, the twin black blades moving towards Wilder and swiping from either side towards his center, the man bringing up his own to block from the center, leaving the two staring at each other while the energies sparked to their sides, flares of black, red, and blue illuminating their features.

The last the two had seen each other, Azler had been going by a different name. They served different masters, aided different causes, but had stayed fairly consistent sparring partners. Perhaps that was why he had swapped to dual wielding so quickly, to avoid the knowledge that each already had, and to see what new tricks could be presented.

A flicker of light is the man’s only warning as his arms begin to expand outwards, the higher ranked Sith having once more deactivated his sabers. Quickly the Human’s leg lifts and a hard boot is slammed into Azler’s chest, throwing him back again, but this time is immediately followed up as his arms raise, the sound of metal screeching across the ground.

Barely managing to land on his feet, Azler heaves hard before controlling himself and forcing his attention upwards as a slew of objects begin flying his way - tables, chairs, remotes, spare parts, anything not nailed down within the room. Gritting his teeth, the Equite crosses his arms before him as a sphere of shimmering silver light envelops him just before it was too late, the impact of metal against something solid but immaterial ringing out.

“Better.” Mako says with a flat tone.

His attention drawn back to the Proconsul, Azler merely sees a fist reared back and subsequently thrown forward as an invisible force hammers into the globe and shatters it , pushing the Echani further back, slamming into one of the consoles.

The broken glass and bits of metal that had jagged their way into his skin only further annoyed the warrior’s mind, though grateful his small bit of armor had stopped at least a portion of it.

~Of course he’s gotten more advanced in the Force, he hasn’t had to hide it.~ Mutters Azler’s mind to himself.

Leaving the Brotherhood had presented him with many opportunities, most of them credit oriented, but had come at a steep cost - presenting himself as a Force User would only draw attention, let alone the spotlight of having ‘Sark Side’ labeled upon him. Only in case of emergencies did he allow himself to pull upon the Force in any visible way, and his saber was an absolute last resort. He practiced often in private, ensuring his skills did not decay, but they barely advanced.

The Human’s words ring in his mind again. ‘Credits, not words.’

Again the brow furrows. Whether fair reasons or pointless excuses, it didn't matter. Fight and prove yourself.

Distance was his enemy, always had been, probably always would be, and for someone as trained in the Force as Mako was now, that was only to his advantage. Fighting him using what basics he had learned in the Brotherhood was only going to make him lose. It would come down to if what he had learned fighting in the wild would be enough.

What few seconds the fighter had been given to catch his breath, whether a mercy or if the higher ranked man was in his own thoughts as well, were quickly broken as Azler’s mind screamed at him, a mental flash of light drawing his attention a split second before the real one followed, the Krath bracing his limbs and shoving himself away with a quickened speed as lightning traced across the console he was just laid upon, blowing apart the station.

Bringing his sabers back to bear, Wilder quickly closed the difference between the two as Henymory’s own reactivated, bringing them up to block his incoming double strike, then swiping one down the length of Azler’s blades in an aim for his head, narrowling missing as the man dodged beneath it.

Azler’s gloves hands kept a loose grip onto his hilts while he moved, doing his best to dodge blow after blow from the physically stronger individual, using the acrobatics of his own forms to dodge as best he could, deflecting glancing blows rather than meeting might against might. Unfortunately, the faculty’s inner design was less to his favor than Mako’s, who had clearly practiced in his ability to use the terrain to his advantage, many of the Sith’s swings merely damaging the computers that Henymory jumped upon and lept from.

Neither of their forms were very defensive, and both used very different physicality to get the upper hand, the two adapting quickly to prevent the other from gaining an advantage. In a way, their history together shone through clearly regardless of how they had expanded in different ways.

However, one thing started to stand out as the fight continued and more of Azler’s attacks began to connect, blocked, but connected nonetheless - his time spent dual wielding weapons, even before he had earned his first saber within the Brotherhood, had led him to gaining more practice in total than the Elder; between his honed talent with Jar’Kai and his off-hand saber being equipped with a crystal that made his landing swings hit even harder, what small difference existed between the two was beginning to show, slowly but surely.

Unfortunately, Mako noticed this showing, and thus this would not continue under his watch.

The screech of metal echoed within the chamber again as several chairs flew Azler’s way, his combat-entranced mind immediately turning to slash away the obstacles, but this was enough as the Proconsul dashed forward once more, his second saber deactivated and his main now swinging with far more precision and speed, forcing the lower ranked man to grit his teeth as their blades connected, the pressure pushing him a step back as the single blade user drew upon far more strength than he had previously shown.

”More.” Demanded the Adept, his eyes flickering in the light of their tri-crossed blades.

The crackling of energy and the smell of ozone mixed with the factory's normal sounds and smells. The two men strained against the other, both attempting to push the three locked lightsaber blades into the other with Azler slowly losing the ground. The heat of the place was taking its toll on them both, labored breathing, sweat pouring forth.

Mako staggered back as a quick kick connected with his chest. The red blade dropped and deactivated from Azlers hand as his fist connected briefly with Mako’s cheek. An electric shock poured forth into Henymory. The exhaustion and pain sending the man to a knee, his lightsaber to the ground.

Azler’s remaining blade arced toward Mako, victory filling the Marauder's mind. His heart dropped briefly as the black core black blade lifted from the ground on its own and parried the incoming strike.

“Resourceful and resilient, you pass, Wilder.” Mako rose to his feet, his lightsaber returned to his hand.

“Then we can leave this forsaken place.” Azler spoke between labored breaths. They had both drawn upon too much power, moved too quickly. The half Echani knew their bodies would pay the price soon enough.

“No, I’ll stop holding back.”

“Holding back, I bested yo-” Azler’s words caught in his throat as he could feel the Living Force around them swirling and flowing into Elder Archanist like a torrent, becoming the Human’s own power. A mere moment or two and Mako’s breathing had returned to normal, in the next moment the bruising on his cheek vanished.

“I was testing your longevity against my unaided own. Your wit, your strength, your prowess. We will have to retrain you, refine you within the halls of Vizsla. But the starting material is good. We proceed until you yield or your body fails you.” Mako’s voice was stern, cold.

Azler gritted his teeth and raised his blade in response. He reached out calling to his discarded weapon, but felt no familiar pull in the Force. The Warrior strained, resolving his mind and forcing his will, the hilt twitched but remained. Before he could try again Mako was upon him. The flurry of strikes pressed Azler backwards. His tired arms barely able to keep up the pace.

Without warning, like before, the Force returned to Azler. His mind flooded with information, the crack of metal from above, the urge to move away from the Force. Then it was gone once more, replaced with a slight feeling of disorientation.

Mako circled around, pressing the attack and forcing Azler back the way they had come. His mental count to five seconds over, he released his hold over Azler’s connection to the Force. The half Echani flinched slightly as it all rushed back. The Equite’s blade became more focused, his strikes and blocks sharper, faster. Mako’s mental count reached four, and he took it all away again while pressing the attack.

The slightest smile crept over Henymory’s lips as he watched the half Echani struggle to regain his focus, his mental clarity. It didn’t take the man long but it was taking ever so slightly longer each time.

Their blades going into a bind once more, Mako released the Warrior’s Force back to him and swept the man's feet out from beneath him at the same time. Azler gasped as his back hit the metal floor. A deafening scream issued forth from Azler as Mako stepped on his forearm, pinning his lightsaber down, and drove the black core blade through the Equites shoulder. As he lost consciousness Azler’s scream died out.

Mako dropped Azler onto a nearby cart and opened a comms channel. “Sylvia, prep the operating room, lightsaber wound, right shoulder, passed clean through. We are returning to the Claw now.”

”Neverending with us, isn’t it?” was Azler’s response, a light smirk aimed at his old friend.

While Wilder had indeed stagnated his own training in the Force, compared to most anyways, that had not meant that he lacked in practice combating against them. Years spent chasing credits had led him to numerous battles against all breeds of Force User and knowing he couldn’t risk exposing himself, it had led to the warrior experimenting in many improvised tactics.

As the Adept kept applying more and more pressure, using strength beyond his frame’s natural ability, the straining Priest purposefully buckled one knee and tilted his body, sending the black blade into the floor as he spun round and swung with the bent knee, extending it at the last moment in an attempt to sweep the Human’s legs, but was jumped over by Mako, landing nearby.

The moment stood still, the air itself seemingly changed with the Proconsul’s back to Azler while he stood up, the black blade disappearing within its hilt. The electrical sounds in the background were barely white noise, the two unmoving just yet.

”I revisited your history before contacting you.” Mako says calmly, hair shifting as he glances about the room for a moment. ”I know you’re a decent fighter through our training together, even a moderately capable leader when given the chance, but it was your displays of proactiveness that led me to reaching out.”

”Knowing your trust issues, I suspect that isn’t the compliment it sounds to be.” Responds Azler, a light scoff leaving his lips.

”No, it’s not. I won’t insult you with beating around the bush, you’re still a few rungs above others I’ve met since, but the reason I followed through with seeing your interest in rejoining the Brotherhood was to utilize your talents to aid the Clan. The Brotherhood is as volatile as ever and our group is relatively new. Your talents are useful, not only in your ability to rally others, but as an asset who can get things done, your accolades and praise from others in the past are a fine example of that.” Henymory explains with his back still turned. ”However, as I stated at the start, I am here to assess that your usefulness has not decayed in the years since you last left. I don’t bother with ‘trust’ as within the Brotherhood that is a deadly thing to give someone, yet I do still need to know that you won’t die the moment I send you forth on a mission.”

”The usefulness is mutual in testing. I’ll return the favor in stating that a desire for progress a large portion of my own reason for being here; I know the Brotherhood is a good source to pull power from, both in strength and in knowledge, yet I need a station above my own to reach what I seek to grasp. If this was merely about past ties or money, I’d have offered aid, not to join. Not that I am against rebuilding and strengthening that relationship, even I can admit that we work quite well together, but back to the point - so long as you supply the opportunities to resume my growth with the Force, I’ll make damn sure what needs to be done is done.” Wilder states, the conviction clear in his voice. ”But as you said so yourself - credits, not words.”

A chuckle leaves the Adept. ”Now you’re getting it. I have business to attend to, and we must get you situated within the ranks, so our warm-up must come to a close. With that, these next blows will make my decision, and do not underestimate these words my friend - show me you are worth the credits.”

Electricity continued to crackle around them from the broken equipment, the hum of Azler’s sabers filling the air, yet it all seemed so quiet for the following seconds.

A louder crackle of energy popping, echoing around the room, kickstarted movement from both of them.

The Adept spun on his heel, his black beam coming to life once again as he turned to see the Warrior charging forth, a wide slash aimed for his head at a far faster, heightened, speed than previous strikes. Bringing his blade down, aiming to stop the swing dead in its tracks, eyes already beginning to move to the second saber, preparing his body for the movement required to block whatever second attack was coming, Mako noticed the lack of red light. Eyes flick back to the incoming blue, noticing the emanation of it seemed off, and immediately his mind broke through the illusion, yet the increased speed of the assault gave it just the edge that second of distraction provided as the image of the saber swing melted away to the crackling energy of a now activated shockbox glove - where the black blade was blocking a fake blade, the hand position was real and continued past, connecting the fist into the jaw of the Proconsul, energy expelling across his skin.

Pain and force smashed into the man, a veritable hammer to his cheek, sent him stumbling back several feet, but years of training paired with the control required of an elite fighter, his eyes swept back to the Warrior with focus and determination.

Lightsaber swung wide towards him, but Azler ducked under it, pulling his hands up close to his chest before thrusting his left arm forward, catching a shoulder and pushing his balance yet Mako moved with it, his body and reflexes allowing him to stay centered and follow another attack, yet Azler’s sidestep was just wide enough to avoid it.

Blue-tinted steel colored eyes focused like a sharp blade upon the Adept as he moved, the saber swings moving at an increased speed to attempt to match the Warrior, yet as one adaption was made, a mirror was quickly enacted, the silver-haired man dropping his body down even further this time, the palm of his inactive glove hand catching himself as he pushes against the ground, strength enhancing the rotation, his feet launching out and slamming against the Elder, pushing him a few steps to the side.

The analyzing mind of Mako raced as the two battled, watching as the lower-ranked man as he blends together the power of shockbox strikes, the speed of Echani, and the erratic adjustments of K’thri into a constant blur of movement, all four of his limbs undeniable weapons, striking from unpredictable directions and with powerful momentum behind each impact. His instincts and reaction speed were allowing him to dodge or make an attack to dissuade most of the incoming blows, particularly a large amount of the hand-based assault that seemed to be dealing an incredible bulk of the damage, but the point was undeniable - once more the Warrior was displaying a disparity in their training, his martial ability proving to be even greater than his talent with dual wielding, and the slight edge was showing itself in a similar repeat of earlier.

However, there is still one great discrepancy that his mind latches onto with a stranglehold.

Swinging his blade at Azler horizontally, the man once again ducks beneath it, letting himself contact against the floor beneath them, but this time, as he attempts to rotate his body in another attack, Mako’s mind focuses just long enough to cause a chair behind him to rise up as he leaps backwards, dodging Wilder’s strike and landing upon the elevated object.

”Credits well spent.” Announces the Proconsul, a smirk upon his face, the damage of the battle seemingly wiped from his face and mind, a look of malicious focus upon him as he pulls back his empty hand.

The words catch the Krath off-guard, his fluid movement halting as his attention is diverted for the briefest moment, and that is all his old friend needed.

”But I shall continue to invest in making sure you are worth it!”

Before Azler can figure out the meaning of the words, Mako’s hand flings forward as a storm of lightning rains down onto the area from his safe position, not only coating almost the entire space around him, but racing across the metallic ground and hitting the agile combatant’s point of contact, tracing up his arm and electrifying his body, a rage-filled roar of pain escaping his lips.

Holding the power long enough for the echoes to stop, eventually the rain of power is cut and the smoke rising from Azler reaches Mako’s chair. Slowly, it descends down to the unconscious man.

Perhaps his focus on the Force had allowed the lower-rank to catch up to him, even slightly surpass him, in some aspects. On one hand, that was good, means he was useful in different situations that Mako himself may want someone to cover.

On the other hand, it didn’t mean he had to like it.

Telekinetically lifting his knocked out rival, Henymory began to make his way towards his next destination with Wilder in tow.

The Warrior had shown that he could indeed step up, but the Proconsul had made clear that the ladder upwards was not a short one.