Elevated over a ravine, the Massassi Arena has withstood the tests of time. It is arranged in a circular formation and made by a slab of stone that connects the opposite slopes of the ravine. On its eastern side, the floating arena leads to a staircase and into a near-vertical cliff face. Because of its nearly unsupported vantage that overlooks a several hundred-meter fall, even the smallest creatures can feel the occasional motion the platform makes as the breeze brushes across its cold surface.

Adding to the adrenaline rush of standing within the slab’s concentric patterns carved into the rock, barriers and obstacles echo the Massassi’s commitment to taking every advantage over their opponents. Pillars ring the outer edge without guard rails between them, some remaining intact and others having toppled into the arena or over the perilous heights. Weeds and other fauna cover each surface as nature seeks to reclaim the ravine and eventually send the arena itself to the depths.

Laren awoke with a start, unsure of where he was. In order to try and examine his predicament, Laren opened his eyes. Blackness met his golden orbs, and in moments he realized that his entire head was covered with an opaque, black bag tied around his neck. He also quickly realized that his hands and feet were bound around his wrists and ankles, respectively. Furthermore, his head was pounding, signs of a head wound he had received some time ago. Laren couldn’t recall exactly what circumstance had led him to be bound in such a way, but he had to find a way to release his bonds.

As Laren attempted to roll counter-clockwise onto his back, he stopped abruptly and paused. He felt a large bulge on his left thigh, and he took a moment to gauge the size of the object before finishing his initial action and lying what he assumed was face-up. If he wasn’t mistaken, his blaster was still holstered. In order to further concentrate, Laren blocked out the intruding sound of what sounded like a nearby waterfall, focusing his thoughts toward his current goal. If they left the blaster – he paused in mid-thought and shook his left boot. There, inside, he felt the sheathed shape of his dagger. With a relieved smile left unseen, he managed to remove his boot, recover the dagger and destroy his bonds in quick succession.

When he finally removed the barrier to his sight, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the mere flecks of intense sun that peaked through the immense cumulous clouds overhead. But when his vision returned he was taken aback.

Among the gargantuan trees and other jungle flora of Kalsunor, the Massassi Arena remained as a powerful shrine to the worship of battle. Laren recognized the location from various Plagueis archives. It was clear that regular use had long since subsided, its rock-carved pathways slowly crumbling, and the Eastern footbridge left in extreme disrepair. The Arena itself, struck upon a massive slab of powerful stone, was slowly being overtaken by the aggressive and vibrant undergrowth of the vast oasis of which it was surrounded. The intrusive shoots, sprouts and moss were aided in their deliberate and unyielding advance by the mist of a magnificent waterfall, which flowed freely into the narrow pass below. Most people would see nothing but a vibrant and bewitching paradise surrounding the simplistic beauty of the Arena. The animals would recite their songs and calls among their homes in the trees above, adding their voices to the soft and complex orchestra of the local habitat, and the damp breeze would gently embrace the skin of all those who found themselves gazing upon the exquisite view.

Though his location was breathtaking, further observation revealed a more sinister and distressing plot. Laren’s trained eyes were scanning the area from his western vantage point at the foot of a staircase, looking for anything out of place. At first all he saw was pieces of moss turned up in odd and bipedal shapes, but sight was unnecessary when he heard the hum of a weapon he always dreaded to hear activate.

In front of him, on the stairwell leading from the opposite side of the narrow ravine, was an Umbaran. In his deceivingly delicate hands there was a lightsaber, a blade of gold emanating from its silver hilt. Laren thought the man looked similar to him in many respects. He was clearly thin under his robes, though his demeanour spoke of power and prowess rather than petite weakness. But what struck Laren most was the man’s colourless, yet undeniably confident gaze that felt as if it were piercing through the Pantoran bounty hunter’s soul. Experience radiated from the Jedi warrior before him, and Laren could only react by tracing his left hand down the side of his brown robes and to his holstered DC-17 blaster.

“If I had to guess, you’re a Jedi,” Laren said over the rumbling of the churning waterfall. His face was contorted in concentration, and his eyes slightly squinted and focused on what seemed to be his opponent.

“Your capability to observe your surroundings is astounding,” came the scathing, sarcastic reply. “It’s quite a shame that only one of us will leave this battle victorious."

Laren’s mind was racing. Battle? This is a battle? We’re champions? However, Laren's broken thoughts could no longer be occupied by the reasons for his being where he was.

The Jedi took up an aggressive stance, clearly preparing to strike. In response, Laren drew his blaster, blue plasma emanating from the tip and firing upon his lightsaber-wielding opponent. His shot missed, blackening the intricately carved stone steps his adversary had been standing upon earlier. Laren looked to his right and saw the man, lightsaber held to his side, his stance seemingly relaxed. He was testing me, the Pantoran thought to himself. For the second time that day, the scarring on his face contorted and his lips curled into a mischievous smile. If it was to be a challenge, so be it.

The Jedi was next to charge, his movements enhanced by his strength and abilities with the Force. Crossing the open space between them in short time, Laren found the Jedi aerially bearing down on his position. All Laren could do to avoid being chopped in half was jump out of the way, landing near the edge of the platform. Turning to look at his opponent, he once again found that he was moments near death. Rolling aside, Laren’s left arm was grazed by the glowing hot blade of his opponent’s weapon. He wasted no time getting up and firing a few shots wildly behind him, which were easily deflected by his opponent.

Laren ran for his opponent’s former location. He wanted to use the high ground and environment against his enemy. It was his only hope for survival against such an enemy.

Adem channeled the relentless menace of every revenge-tragedy villain he’d ever watched or played, his lightsaber blade viciously raking the ancient stone of the platform in a few superfluous, hopefully intimidating moves. He prowled across the platform and waited for Laren to fire another shot as he continued his aggressive approach.

Of course, Adem had no intention of killing the Pantoran, but he wasn’t about to tell him that. So far, Laren was reacting as Adem had hoped he would to his “maniacal Sith with a penchant for drama” act, and the fight had started smoothly. Adem enjoyed playing to the expectations created by cheesy old stories soldiers were told about Jedi peculiarities, and Laren had bought it for the moment. The Umbaran wondered if lightly wounding Laren’s arm so quickly might have been hasty, but it was undoubtedly feeding into the positively electric tension in the atmosphere.

Several minutes before Laren had freed himself, Adem had awoken just outside the arena. He had been similarly bound and blinded, and just as confused as Laren. Upon freeing himself with his lightsaber and some very careful telekinetic maneuvering, he had taken the opportunity to examine his surroundings, noting the prostrate man on the stone platform, and made his way down through the foliage. As he had done so, he had noticed thin wiring intermingled with the vines along some of the trees and traced it to what appeared to be a directional microphone. It was rather unlikely that the ancient Massassi had any need of such a thing. That skin-crawling feeling of being watched had started to creep up Adem’s spine, and he could have sworn he had seen a drone of some kind dart through the trees. They were not alone, that much was certain.

The Umbaran had decided that if someone was indeed watching him, he was going to give them a show. Laren looked like a reasonably well-trained soldier, but also someone with the good sense to know that lightsabers hurt people very badly and that he should do his best to avoid them. Could Adem have killed him while he was unconscious? Probably, but the thought had curdled his stomach, aside from being boring to watch for their invisible audience. No half-decent, let alone self-respecting, trouper put on a boring show. No, he had decided to craft a charade that would make men weep.

Laren fired twice more, breaking the Arconan’s reverie, and Adem promptly sidestepped the volley, then continued the movement into a twirl. He punctuated the turn by hurling his lightsaber in a wide arc, the blade a whirling yellow disc bearing down on Laren’s left flank. The Yeoman ducked with ease, then looked back down the stairs to see his opponent had moved to their foot while he wasn’t looking. Adem’s weapon loyally spun back into his hand, fingers closing around it as he filled his bones with the Force, muscles pulsing with unnatural strength. A powerful jump carried Adem up the stairs in an arc, and he coiled his body around to prepare to kick Laren back down to the platform below.

Adem was more than a little surprised to find that the Pantoran was ready for him, catching Adem’s leg in the crook of his left arm. Laren’s free hand suddenly produced a dagger, and he reached around Adem’s thigh in one swift motion to jab him in the back of his leg. He then used Adem’s momentum to send him crashing into the ground, pulling on the Umbaran’s leg, dragging the stunned Jedi around him and sending him tumbling back down the stairs like a trash bag.

The trouper mentally swore very loudly with each painful thump against the stone. Adem saw clearly, for someone falling down a staircase, anyway, that he had woefully underestimated the strength of the Force-blind soldier.

Laren did not spare Adem a moment to get his bearings. He pounced from halfway down the stairs, intent on plunging his dagger into the reeling Umbaran’s spine. Fortunately for Adem, he rolled over just in time to telekinetically push Laren away from him. He went sailing over Adem and tumbled across the center of the platform, rendered prone for a precious few moments. Afforded no time to heal his wound, Adem instead numbed it with the Force so his body could inconvenience him later, when his life was in less peril.

The platform gave a baleful shudder with the impact, and the wind did nothing to help the feeling that it was far too unstable to stand on safely. Both men struggled to their feet, albeit very carefully.

“Wh… What kind of pathetic throw… was that?” Laren grunted, his eyes shifting around the arena, looking for his knife. The lucky bastard found it only a couple meters away. He snatched it up and fixed his eyes back on Adem.

“You... doubt my powers?” a slightly woozy Adem shot back.

“Oh, spare me. It was too slow. You’re holding back. I don’t like having my intelligence or my ability insulted.” Adem swallowed at the remark. His act wasn’t good enough. Laren was onto him.

“Well, you know… wow the crowds, right?”

Laren’s eyes narrowed and he caught his breath. “So just who are you showing off for?”

“Same people you are, I’d suspect. The trees have eyes and ears, apparently.”

“A staged, monitored fight against a Jedi? Wonderful.”

“Who’d you peeve enough to get a matchup like this, I wonder?” Adem tried to keep up the stall long enough for the platform to stop shaking with their movement.

“Well, what kind of thing would you say now? ‘There can be only one!’” Laren mocked. His eyes showed no indication of holding back and Adem doubted that he could do so any more. He tightened his grip around his lightsaber, let that familiar snap-hiss comfort him once more, and steadied himself for the next attack.

The bounty hunter's mocking tone spoke of confidence, numerous questions were blasting through his focused mind as he prepared for his next strike. Laren had too little information to understand the situation fully, but in one form or another he was an unwilling pawn in someone else's game. But something was still amiss, and missing part of his memory only added to the intrigue he had no time to dwell upon. Answers came about by action, and the moments passing left the Pantoran unsure whether he would leave the arena alive in order to find out.

Laren took a step forward and abruptly sprung into action, utilizing his knowledge and instinct as a former soldier in his next assault. Drawing on the adrenaline and aggression of the moment, Laren began sprinting toward his opponent while h simultaneously seized his blaster from its holster with his injured left arm. Seemingly he was spraying wildly, his knife-wielding right hand being used as support for his throbbing left arm. Quickly the Umbaran realized that Laren had not chosen him as his target. The bounty hunter's target the ground around him, hoping to distract the Umbaran and possibly even collapse the Platform. The stone structure trembled in response to the hail of blaster fire, stone debris spraying wildly in front the Force-wielding foe. Though Laren was disappointed to see that the platform was still in one piece, he had managed to cast enough dust and debris that the Umbaran was physically blinded by stone dust. Laren could still see the Umbaran through the cloud, his yellow lightsaber emanating for a few moments before Adem deactivated it.

"You fight dirty, bounty hunter," came Adem's voice through the cloud.

"Dirty is a matter of perspective, Jedi," came Laren's hushed response, doing his utmost to keep his location hidden for another few moments, hoping to draw the Jedi toward him.

Laren's wish was quickly realized. From behind him, the familiar snap-hiss of the ancient weapon was too close for comfort, and the golden light penetrated the thick cloud of stone dust. Once again Laren found the Umbaran descending upon him, using the heightened momentum of an acrobatic spin to bring his lightsaber to bear on the unsuspecting Pantoran. Instead of jumping for dear life, Laren turned to take a stance head-on to the Jedi. Laren's only hope wasn't to escape as he had originally, but rather to fight the Jedi head on. As the Umbaran closed the gap, Laren took a small side-step to the right, lowered his center of gravity, and met his opponent head on.

The duo of bodies crashed to the ground, but Laren dropped both of his weapons and had managed to save his own life - barely. Adem was atop him now, his lightsaber being held back with all the strength of the Pantoran's weaker right hand. Laren was on the bottom of the unruly lump of grappling flesh, holding back the impressive strength of the Jedi before him with everything he had and slowly failing. Laren's own left hand was pinned against the knees of the wiry Umbaran, the strong bones of his knees crushing the area of Laren's arm that had been sliced and promptly cauterized earlier. The Umbaran's free hand was landing powerful blows on his exposed torso, all the while his left arm was roaring with a piercing pain akin to thousands of knives making their mark at once. Laren's scream of pain was primal, a representation of his desperation in his current situation. I can't hold this guy forever, thought Laren, the air of defeat slowly falling over his morale. The light of the blade was mere inches from his neck, now, and Laren's breathing was coarse between the sounds of his guttural grunts. There was, it seemed, no escape.

"I don't want to kill you."

Laren's eyes widened slightly at the words, and his mouth twitched in what could have been conceived as a smile. The honesty of the words oozed across Laren's mind, filling him with a new, yet distant hope. There's my opening.

Though he knew he was no match for the Umbaran's Force-enhanced strength, he had one last chance to save his life for yet another bout. He wiggled with the last ounces of his strengths, freeing his left leg from under the crushing power of the Umbaran. He curled his leg so that his wiry knee could make its mark on the Umbaran's own exposed torso. He feebly brought up his knee, but the strike barely caressed the skin underneath his opponent's robes. However, the surprised reaction of the Umbaran was enough for Laren to take the initiative.

Laren pushed the blade-wielding hand away with most of the strength he had left. Adem's arm angled upwards, and the Pantoran only had a few desperate moments to grab the dagger within reach of his now-free right arm and smash it into the centre of the Umbaran's chest. However, it seemed this bout would be a draw of deadly proportions, as the Umbaran managed to drive his blade through clean through his torso simultaneously to Laren's own actions.

The Umbaran dropped beside the Pantoran, his colourless eyes facing the Pantoran's own. There was a knowing look in the two warriors, a look of defeat and acceptance. Though they were unsure of death's embrace, they knew their pain would at least make them drift off into a sleep that could have been their last.

"You sh - should have - killed me."

"That was another's goal," Adem responded, his eyes closed now. He was channeling what little of the Force he could now wield, hoping to hold the pain at bay.

The missing piece fell into place for Laren. As the drones whizzed and whirred above the life-fading sentients, he knew he wasn't just a pawn in a game. Someone wanted him dead, and as he drifted into unconsciousness from blood loss, he thought stubbornly, I hope they don't get their damn wish.

Adem made his move, swift and low across the ground using his free hand for extra support, loping towards Laren like a wolf closing in on a deer. An unfazed Laren held his stance, his dominant left leg held behind him. He struck from the hip and turned a quarter to his right on the other leg. Adem passed underneath the kick and pivoted in the opposite direction using his hand as a fulcrum, his blade trailing behind him. He brought the lightsaber around to complete the spin, but Laren dodged, the tip of burning yellow plasma missing his thigh by centimeters.

Their positions had reversed. A flash of danger darted across Adem’s thoughts, only a split second too late to warn him that Laren was taking the initiative. The Pantoran swiftly turned clockwise, grazing Adem’s chest with the tip of his knife. The Knight grunted slightly as he backpedaled away from a kick aimed for his middle, then backflipped over another low kick meant for his legs, landing on his toes.

Adem found himself backed against the northern pillar. It was time-worn and heavily eroded. His pain was numbed into an afterthought, and he was afforded a precious moment to think by the several meters between himself and Laren. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to presume a lightsaber could, with an effort, tear through the dilapidated stone.

No sooner did Adem finish his thought than Laren renewed his assault with vigor. The Umbaran darted backward, his feet perilously close to the edge of the shuddering platform. He felt his arms pulse with the Force and he slashed the pillar with all the strength he could manage. The blade struggled to cut less than halfway through before Adem pulled away, but the pillar succumbed to its own weight, tilting inward to the center of the platform. He planted a foot upon the falling column and ran along it. Laren sidestepped the catastrophically failing architectural staple, only to see the Jedi bearing down on him from the air after he had leapt off the pillar. The lightsaber left a ragged gash in the stone where Laren’s feet had just been, and the trouper initiated the finale of his show. Tired and off balance, the Pantoran was forced to backstep away from a barrage of acrobatic attacks. Adem’s bones resonated with the Force, and he directed his strikes to make sure that Laren was dodging towards another of the few pillars that still stood.

As Laren backpedaled into position, Adem pivoted on his hand and spun around Laren so the Umbaran’s back was to the pillar. Laren responded in kind, whipping around with another knife strike, only to find that the Jedi had shifted around him once more. A burst of invisible force smashed the Pantoran’s face into the pillar. He staggered backward, his forehead and teeth throbbing, and wiped the back of his hand across his split lip as his nose bled freely. Dazed, he had lost track of Adem, and his eyes darted around the platform to reacquire the hazy figure of the Jedi standing on the far side of its edge. Laren drew his blaster, not too shocked to fire a few shots instinctively. The dark figure of the Umbaran ducked and shifted, suddenly struggled for balance, and then lurched backwards into open air. The Yeoman cursed himself, and, without thinking, dashed as fast as he could across the platform and dove onto his chest to reach his hand over the edge — but he was too late. He watched the Jedi plummet hundreds of meters to his doom.

Crouched behind the fallen pillar and peering over its edge, the true Adem Bol’era could scarcely believe his eyes. He was positive that it would have gone the way he remembered the holonet revenge tragedy, “The Cycle”, when the hero was finally assured of the evil of his nemesis and could feel justified in letting him die. Instead, he watched the soldier who had surprised him with his skill time and again risk his life to save a Force-based simulacrum of the man he was trying to kill moments earlier.

He quietly slipped over the pillar and skulked up on Laren, who had just smashed his fist against the platform, seemingly in frustration. Grief? The Pantoran tensed at the sound of a lightsaber snapping to life. He looked over his shoulder to see Adem standing over him, quickly realized what had happened, and laughed weakly.

“Nasty trick. That a Jedi head game someone taught you?” he asked, figuring it was his last chance for an answer.

“Why do that?” Adem asked, his voice clear and without any false pretense. “You’d won, or at least you thought you did. Why try to save me?”

“It seems a bit silly now, doesn’t it?”

“Answer first, snark later, I’m still pointing a saber at you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to actually kill you. Part of me wanted to look you in the eyes when it happened. You didn’t kill me when it would have been easy, and I guess a really stupid part of me thought it would be a shame for you to go that way. You’re not what I expected.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” Adem shrugged, deactivated the lightsaber and turned to walk away.

“What? You’re done?” a puzzled Laren asked.

Adem gestured around at the air. “They have their protagonist now. Show’s over. That, and I’m not inclined to keep standing on this rock. I suggest you do the same. When you get home, consider having a long conversation with whoever dumped you into this mess.”

“Ha! Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Adem let Laren pass him at the base of the stairs, but the Umbaran remained a moment longer. He saw a holodrone slowly drift out of the treeline. Looking directly at it, he gently took a stage bow, then turned, and left.