The Godless Matron was once a Trade Federation battleship, crewed by countless droid workers. Since then, many sections of the ship have fallen into disrepair due to the sheer amount of manpower involved in its maintenance. As a result, parts of the central sphere of the Lucrehulk-class battleship has been left to the ravages of time and the scars of the Clone War itself.

The crew has come to refer to this section of the Matron as The Gauntlet, largely due to the danger it represents. Located in the lower regions of the command sphere, it is a crosshatched network of ruined and damaged hallways, repair bays, and even crew quarters. While most power has been shut off to this section — save for critical systems such as life support — the systems and circuitry still require occasional maintenance in order to keep the entire framework operational. Such tech runs have become a matter of betting amongst the crew, earning it the nickname: running the gauntlet.

A heavy layer of dust sits mostly undisturbed along the debris of the halls, save for the footprints of the few crew that have tread the path before. These previously walked paths are a safety net for those who venture into The Gauntlet unknowingly. It is also thought that the remaining Separatist forces staged a last ditch defense within this area of the ship, and did so by any means necessary. Many traps, ranging from explosives to spring-loaded mechanisms, are littered throughout the untravelled pathways — or even still undisturbed within the known sections. Further still, malfunctioning B1 droids and even semi-active Spy Drones remain, ready to ambush the unsuspecting observer and adding to the dangers of the dark, debris filled tomb The Gauntlet has become.

Countless perils awaited those who ventured into the furthest depths of the Gauntlet. This fact was known to the crew of the Godless Matron better than most. There was opportunity, however, when the right circumstances presented themselves. The Herald had offered safe passage and not an entirely small sum of credits to whomsoever managed to 'run the Gauntlet' successfully. The proof of such a feat lay deep within the labyrinthine halls themselves, with a banner bearing the Herald's crest waiting to be claimed.

The risks of the Gauntlet alone were enough to dissuade most, but the crew of the Godless Matron had insured that the ante, so to speak, was to be raised. Those who entered the Gauntlet would do so from varying access points, and all would gain entry at the same designated intervals until the prize was claimed.

It was cold...and silent. Much like one of the old Sith tombs. Just like those, Kul'tak knew there was more than meets the eye about this place. The Gauntlet. A veritable death trap designed to provide entertainment to the Herald and her crew. Its eerily empty halls held untold horrors for those who would dare to enter its labyrinthine passageways.

If only he'd known just what horror awaited him inside.

The Zabrak placed each step carefully. He had not survived for this long just to get blown up by a false step. He traced a lone finger along the wall, huffing in affirmation when he drew away a clump of dust. His concern was compounded when he noticed a lack of signs of heavy traffic. The trap was still very much just that, he was sure. Most likely ordered to be kept as such for moments like this one, during the Herald’s game of coin collecting. His orange eyes pierced as far into the dark as they could, but he could not make out the end of the current hallway and doubted the goal was just around the bend. One more reason he’d consider putting his saber through the Herald for forcing him into this debacle. His foot suddenly clipped a sheet of metal lying in the walkway and he froze.

Nice and easy, Kul. Prosthetics are a thing, but best to avoid them.

Out of instinct and training he stayed hugged to the wall, eyes probing every inch of durasteel for signs of tampering or possible triggers. A depressing thought occurred to him.

I don’t know anything about explosives…

He tried not to let the realisation get the better of him, but he could not hide from his hearts as they began to beat slightly faster.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to get permission to leave from the Dread Lord and Wrath just yet.

A blurred image of the Wrath of Plagueis, Selika, herself appeared before him as more shadows receded in his march.

See, now I’m imagining things.

He shook his head vigorously and blinked away the image. Only to be surprised when she did not, in fact, disappear. He stopped as the shade smiled, a haunting sight when he knew the force behind the face. His confusion mounted as another shade appeared on the other side of the hallway, bearing the exact same expression. He raised a red hand and pinched his cheek, uttering a groan of dismay when he confirmed he was not dreaming. His ears threatened to crawl inside his head when her voice abruptly floated through the hallway. It did not screech, it was actually a smooth, melodious chord, but it carried dread with it.The shade on the left moved her lips, but the other remained locked in her grin.

“I thought I smelled a mutt.”

The shade on the right then moved, the other slipping back into its original pose.

“A beast seeking to make its master proud. Such a noble cause.”

He nearly jumped when her cackle came from behind him this time, a third shade somewhere in the deeper shadows. He didn’t know how she was throwing her voice, but he was duly impressed.

“If you are truly here, my Wrath, I do not wish to fight you. My goal is the crest further in. Though I find it odd that Plagueis’ second in command would come to such a backwater.”

Kul tried to keep his attentions on the shades, but his focus was divided and it was beginning to give him a splitting headache. Which in turn burned the fuse of his patience a little shorter.

Ha, I guess I do know one thing about explosives.

Her retort came from the first shade he had noticed, an amused glint in one eye as she tapped her chin and pretended to remember something.

“I felt the presence of an old acquaintance nearby, and thought I’d pay him a visit. Unfortunately for you I’ve come for the banner, as well. In order to lure him out. But what’s wrong, my dear Shadow? I’ve never known you to shirk a challenge before.”

Only if they’re the suicidal kind. Which this would be.

He sighed and grabbed his head with both hands. Two people in the galaxy he feared, and one of them was here before him. Her disarming appearance in her sensual, purple robes did nothing to alleviate that.

Selika kept the look of bemusement on her face as she examined her opponent. She had told him that she had come here, like him, to claim the Herald’s prize, but that was a lie. She had followed Kultak Drol to this time and place for one reason, and one reason alone: to test his strength. The Zabrak had recently been stood down as leader of The Circle, a training unit for new inductees to Clan Plagueis. Teylas, always the more pragmatic type, had allowed the failed leader to simply reassume his prior standing as a warrior pledged to the Dread Lord. He had done so with others before, he would likely do so in the future. Selika, however, possessed more stark views on the subject. The strong prospered, the weak perished. Teylas had taken the measure of the man and found him weak, but it would be up to Selika to make the final determination. If she reached the same conclusion, she would kill him.

Kultak’s reticence to stand against her was already noted in her mental ledger, leaving him at a disadvantage already. She had studied the Zabrak in depth as part of her responsibilities as the second in command of the Ascendant Clan, and he had always been one who seemed unwilling to stand down. He would stand facing odds that would make even the most ardent warrior pause, yet now he demurred.

Weakness, she thought to herself, even her inner voice dripping with disdain.

With Kultak seemingly unwilling to begin, Selika seized the initiative. Allowing her projected illusions to fade, Selika instead reached out with her left hand in a grasping gesture. Her telekinetic grip closed around a battered torso of a B1 battle droid atop a junk pile behind Kultak and tugged it forcefully into the air. The slight clatter it made as it moved caused the Zabrak to turn slightly, but the metal still hit him with enough force to drive him to a knee.

A crooked smile of resignation tugged at Kultak’s face as he rose to his feet. The realization that he would have to fight her finally settled home as he detached his saber from his belt and thumbed the activator. Selika readied her own weapon, the violet glow mixing with the ruby of Kultak’s blade to cast odd shadows in the darkened corridor.

Knowing that Selika would likely continue her telekinetic assault if he remained at a distance, Kultak moved carefully to close the gap between them. Once he was close enough he struck quickly, moving with speed and power that Selika could not physically match. It was only the subtle tingle through the Force giving her a heartbeat’s forewarning of his strikes that allowed her to meet his blade and deflect it away. Able only to act on the defensive, Selika gave ground to her foe as he continued to rain blow after blow down upon her. Suddenly, with a flick of his dominant hand, Kultak slide his blade within Selika’s defensive bulwark and wrenched the weapon from her hands with the application of sufficient leverage. Selika’s weapon spun away, the blade extinguishing itself before the hilt clattered to the deck several meters away.

“Stand aside,” Kultak ordered, his blade pointed at her chest.

Selika shook her head, not in refusal, but in disappointment. A true Sith should have taken the opportunity to strike her down, or at least made the attempt. She could still see how he was hesitant, how his desire for victory was clashing with his sense of loyalty to Clan Plagueis. Teylas had been right to strip him of his position, though he should have done more.

Kultak’s eyes narrowed at her apparent unwillingness to yield, but before he could decide on a course Selika once again acted first. She closed her left hand into a fist and an invisible vice contracted around Kultak’s wrists. The unseen force jerked his hands, and the weapon they held, up above his head, leaving him open to attack. Electricity leapt from the open palm of her right hand and hit the Zabrak in the chest. He dropped to his knees as the energy continued to dance across his body, Selika standing above him with a wicked smile on her face.

“Just as I thought,” Selika said, barely audible over Kultak’s screams. “Nothing more than frailty wrapped in the appearance of strength.”

His hearts beat a forceful bass, while his nerves collected themselves after the electricity surged its way to the ground. It appeared the Wrath had come duly prepared to kill. The condescension was certainly nothing new, either. For the entirety of his training in Plagueis he’d been forced to overcome many challenges since he had arrived bound in stuncuffs. However, none was so daunting as proving himself in the eyes of his leaders. Through sweat and blood he’d fought for them, his body forged into a weapon that served but one purpose: to allow them to remain on their thrones. During Pravus’ attack on Plagueis, Kul had finally realized his position within the dark Clan, where power ruled through fear and hate.

He was merely a tool.

He should have seen it sooner. The strive for that stronger opponent, the thrill of combat...it had blinded him to the watchful eyes of his leaders.

Kneeling on the ground, Kul cursed himself for feeding their doubt. If the strength that made up Plagueis was to be defined in blood, then so be it. He would give them plenty of it. Because in the end, Plagueis was all he had.

He raised his eyes and they bored into Selika’s own with newly refined malicious intent. His blood thirst became almost tangible.

“Be you Wrath, or Dreadlord, if you call me weak once more I will not hesitate a second time.”

A faint twitch of her face occurred as Selika raised a single eyebrow. There was still doubt within her, though, as the Zabrak rose to his feet and steadied himself by taking a few steps back. She sighed despairingly.

“They say a cowardly beast cries all the louder. If you were planning to offer me even an iota of a challenge, save your tongue and show me, Shadow.”

In order to spur his decision, she sent him another blast of lightning, the blue tendrils stretching towards him in jerking arcs. His orange eyes seemed to smile as the reflection of the lightning lit across them. Drawing upon the memories of his training, Kul extended his left hand from beneath his cloak, where a small current had already began to climb his arm as the Wrath spoke. From his fingers his own tendrils lashed out, and burst into Selika’s, their combined power forced into a small area. The convergence of energy repelled each other, resulting in an explosion of electrical energy that lit up the hallway in a blinding flash.

Selika blinked as the sudden increase in light cut into her dark-adjusted eyes. When they cleared she noticed Kul had disappeared. She scanned the hallway, but thought better of the wasted time, instead drawing her attention to his presence in the Force. Sensing a ploy, she turned so her back was to the wall and she had a view of what was her rear before.

“Did you truly think you could hide?”

The tingle of warning in her senses pointed to the other side of the hallway. Indeed, his presence lit up in the shadows of the wall. He was crouched, but clearly there. The fool.

“Who said anything about hiding?”

She could hear the smirk on his face, but was unclear as to his intentions. She realized what they were when he leaned further back, his feet planted to position his body like a spring against the durasteel. She felt the sudden pull of energy within him collecting in his legs while her senses were sharpened, but even as athletic as she was, she wasn’t quite fast enough as he propelled himself towards her.

He was on her before she could prepare a proper defense, but she saw his arm move. A blade slid forth from underneath Kul’s left wrist, heading for her throat. She bent her head back, dodging the blade easily, but that meant being open to his other hand. As he caught himself upon the opposite wall with his amplified legs, metal screeching when it dented from the impact, she tried to throw a block with her outside arm. His momentum provided him with leverage and he caught her with the butt of his saber. The hidden blade had snapped as it struck the wall, but he grinned as he shook out his aching legs.

“So...you can bleed.”

Selika reached up and felt the trickle sliding down her face where he’d caught her.

Selika swore to herself as saw smeared blood on her fingertips. What could have possessed her to try to face down a physically superior opponent with nothing more than what laughably passed for her hand to hand combat ability?

Overconfidence, she thought to herself. The kind that gets a person killed.

She was lucky that the Zabrak’s blade hadn’t found itself in her throat. And, luckier still, that he had attacked with the hilt of his lightsaber. The blade would have likely cleaved through her skull instead of merely drawing blood. Selika gritted her teeth, resolving not to make another thoughtless mistake.

“You won’t beat me to the banner,” she spat to keep up appearances, shifting her gaze to locate her lightsaber.

As her opponent once again began to move Selika gestured with her left hand to focus her telekinesis. The concentrated Force energy caught Kul’tak square in the chest, driving him backwards into the bulkhead. The rear of his skull hit the metal with enough force to nearly concuss the knight, his vision overwhelmed by the stars that seemed to explode before his eyes. Selika took the momentary lull as an opportunity to retrieve her lightsaber, her telekinesis depositing it into her outstretched palm.

Kul’tak shook his head to clear his vision as he raised his lightsaber once again. Selika focused her senses, both mundane and Force driven, on her adversary. His mental defenses were not especially well developed, putting many of his surface thoughts within Selika’s sphere of perception. His singular focus on the fight made the task easier as there were no peripheral thoughts creating any mental noise that could making sensing his mind harder. That, coupled with his fairly straightforward style, made him much easier to anticipate this time. He demonstrated more understanding of his form than most, but favored physical power in place of finesse.

He is simply a blunt instrument, Selika scoffed to herself. Still the bully that so many Sith never grow beyond.

Selika’s eyes narrowed, convinced more and more that he was one of the Sith who would always fall prey to their own weakness. Kul’tak, like so many others, saw strength and power as measures of what they could smash or destroy. His ability with the Force was nothing more than another weapon he could use to cave in the skull of an enemy. True strength, however, came from recognizing your true power and using it to dominate those around you and bend them to your purpose. The former leader of The Circle was coming up short in nearly every metric that mattered. First he let things like loyalty overwhelm his own drive for power, and then was incapable of seeing his abilities as anything more than a hammer.

And when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.

As if their thoughts were in sync, the Zabrak began to pepper Selika’s defenses with a series of wild, overhand slashes with his lightsaber. It almost appeared like he was trying to drive Selika into the deck with his two-handed blows. Selika wormed her way inside his mind through cracks in his mental walls, fissures made wider by his growing frustration. Placing a thought in his mind as if it were his own, Selika simply wound him up and let him go.

Unchecked rage filled Kul’tak, amplifying his muscles even more than before. Throwing himself forward through the air, he drove at his opponent with his blade leading the way. Selika, knowing full well exactly what was coming, effortlessly sidestepped the wild attack. As he passed by, Selika let the Force ripple through her own muscles as she brought her own blade’s hilt down on the back of his skull in a blur. Kul’tak continued forward, crashing to the deck and sliding forward several meters before coming to rest up against the bulkhead walls. Selika smiled as she turned and moved to follow him, ready to deliver a finishing blow.

However, as she took her second step, a loud click issued from below. Selika wanted to pound her head against the wall as her Force senses told her what had happened. Her foot had found a pressure trigger linked to an explosive device below, one that would detonate once the pressure was released.

“What was that about not making thoughtless mistakes?” Selika murmured to herself.

The Matron was crashing. Well, that’s what it felt like. Kul’s head spun with pain and fatigue as he willed his rage to recede. Mini Selikas spun around him, her taunting smile only exacerbating his need to finish this fight. The longer this dragged on, the lesser his chances of victory.

He placed a hand upon the bulkhead, supporting his rise to two feet again. He attempted to rub away the sharp aching in his head, but to no avail. A sudden illumination triggered in his mind, an instinctual defense mechanism formed through years of survival training on Iridonia. He spun (regretting it as the headache spasmed) in search of his opponent.

Why did she not move in for the kill?

The Wrath stood before him, a look of agitation upon her usually serene face. But it wasn’t her face that drew his attention, it was her stance. She had placed her feet too wide, an obviously novice mistake.

A trap?

Kul wouldn’t put it past her. Her entire combat repertoire seemed to necessitate the use of deceit. There was something else, though. Something that kept her from finishing him just before...a thought occurred to him. He peered at her left foot, its leading position tense with applied weight. She was forcing herself to maintain a steady balance regardless of her un -balanced stance. He now understood. He returned her sly smile from earlier with one of his own.

“My dear Wrath. Pausing for a break?”

He saw her stifle her desire to lash out as his remark. While it brought him a sense of victory, it also reminded him of his duty.

“You know what the problem is, Drol. You have your chance, now take it. The banner is yours.”

Kul guffawed, but ended up coughing as his chest heaved from a jabbing pain in his torso. He must have cracked a rib at some point. His exhaustion and dwindling adrenaline supply were unable to help dull the pain. He grimaced and glanced at his saber, still resting in his hand. Selika nodded in approval.

“Yes...you preach of strength, Drol, but balk when the time comes for the final blow. Take the next step into becoming truly powerful. You must be prepared to kill all of your enemies, even if they are clanmates.”

The Zabrak began approaching her slowly, his predatory eyes flicking between her and the pressure plate holding her captive. She could see the truth in his orange eyes. He wanted to kill her. His grip tightened on his saber’s hilt, his red skin pulled tight as he struggled with some inner demon.

But don’t expect your enemy to hesitate.

Selika connected once more with the Force, turning it into a mirror through which she could gaze into Kul’s passing thoughts. Waiting for the right moment in which to strike. Flashes of images swept past as the Shadow debated his different paths available.

Her mouth nearly dropped open as he decided. Instead she *tsk*ed and snarled her reprobation.

“And we had such hopes for you, Drol. A pity you would throw that all away, for duty.”

One final step placed him in front of her, his own boot landing parallel to hers on the trap. He growled at the callous disdain in her voice.

“You seem to forget just how you came to power, my Wrath. Upon the backs of those like me. Strength comes in many forms, and while I enjoy the fight itself I understand that. If the simple-minded mutt can, why can’t you?”

He slipped the saber back into his cloak, and lowered his center of gravity. He didn’t have much left in the way of energy, but he had enough. He was prepared.

“Choosing to die is harder than choosing to slay another.”

Pivoting on the foot resting on the pressure plate, Kul dug deep and swung his body in a low kick. As he reached the end of the cycle, he drove his boot into Selika’s chest, launching her from the trap towards the banner. As their weight shifted the trap clicked home and area around Kul became engulfed in flame as a detonator went off. His shout was cut brief as he was immolated. Selika was out of the kill range, but patted quickly to put out the flame eating at the edges of her outfit. She frowned at the banner as she grasped it, hand shaking slightly.

Selika’s mind raced through each possible course of action. Her telekinesis was not an option as her skill with fine mechanisms was still lacking. Nothing littering the corridor was of sufficient weight to take her place on the pressure plate. A foolhardy option would be stabbing downward with her lightsaber to destroy the mechanism before it detonated, but that would likely trigger the explosive anyway. Each choice was discarded quickly, yet nothing that promised even a slim chance of success took their place.

Her opponent, lying several meters away, began to stir. What she really needed was more time. Time she did not have.

Unless…

An idea flashed into her mind, galvanizing her into action. Selika quenched her saber and then burst into Kul’tak’s mind. His head’s impact with the bulkhead had left him groggy, his mental defenses fractured. This time, instead of creating apparitions, she worked to remove things from Kul’tak’s perceptions. Her visual appearance, the sound of her breathing, and even her scent disappeared from his consciousness, and Selika projected the illusion of an empty corridor in their place. Finally pushing himself to his feet, as far as Kul’tak was concerned Selika was nowhere in sight. As he surveyed the surroundings his gaze seemed pass through her and focus well down the corridor. She could sense him pull the Force into himself, closing his eyes to focus his senses.

“I can feel your presence, Wrath,” he called out. “You cannot hide forever.”

Flicking two fingers on her right hand, Selika used the Force to topple a small tin to the deck behind her adversary. Kul’tak whirled, his lightsaber flaring to life as he faced a perceived threat while turning his back one that was all too real. Selika wove threads of the Force to project an image of herself stepping out of a doorway ten meters down the corridor, a smirk on her phantom’s features as she gritted her teeth with the strain.

Beads of sweat formed on Selika’s forehead, threatening to trickle into her eyes. Wiping her left hand across her brow, she allowed the illusion of the vacant hallway to dissipate, unable to divide her attention between two complex illusions for long. If Kul’tak were to turn around, he would see that he had been tricked. If all went as planned, however, he would never do so. Now able to focus, Selika had her illusion throw bolts of Force Lightning at her opponent. His weapon moved to intercept them, though Selika was careful to make sure none of the bolts connected with their target. Always close, near enough that Kul’tak thought he could smell ozone faintly in the air from their passing, but never close enough to touch him. He grunted as the illusion cast its lightning at him repeatedly, more times than Selika herself could have managed. The illusion drove the Knight back down the corridor with repeated attacks, closing in on where Selika herself stood.

Finally, he was near enough. Selika cast her illusions aside and wrapped a telekinetic grip around her foe’s midsection. As his eyes widened, realizing he had been fooled, Selika yanked Kul’tak towards her. The Zabrak crashed into her, pushing her off the pressure plate while also interposing himself between Selika and the trap. The blast filled the corridor, its concussion alone nearly driving awareness from them both. Thrown through the air, both combatants were tossed into a bulkhead. Selika, spared the full force of the blast, was smashed between the Zabrak and the metal wall.

Pushing the Zabrak from atop her, Selika used the bulkhead for support to pull herself to her feet. Patting out a smouldering section of her robes, she reignited her weapon and turned it on her opponent. Kul’tak had weathered the blast poorly, entire parts of his body now scorched. In his eyes, however, she did not see fear. Instead there was a fiery passion there even now.

“Do what you will, witch,” Kul’tak spat through the pain.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

The words of the Sith Code seemed to leap into her thoughts unbidden. She filled in the next line herself.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Perhaps here, in this place, he had finally shown the strength she had been looking for.