He’d gotten better. Flame gushed from the Mando leader’s wrist, forcing Turel to roll laterally over his shoulders. The Knight came up, batting at the midsection of the nearest Mandalorian. The blade found resistance, but the armor went from cool to white-hot in the time it took the Odanite to drive it home. The Mandalorian screamed and went down.
Not beskar. Cheap mercs, then. Teroch observed as he crept closer, the Force bending light and sound around him like water flowing around a rock.
The leader landed heavily, dragging a shattergun into play. Two others held Turel’s attention, as he kicked the knee of one and caught an overhead swing from a vibrosword from another, shearing the blade apart just by blocking it.
Teroch grimaced and tugged the shattergun telekinetically, making sure he was hidden behind the statue of a fallen Jedi. Maintaining invisibility and manipulating distant objects simultaneously was beyond even his capabilities. It was enough, though. The shattergun’s barrel twisted laterally, and instead of creating a crater in Turel’s back, the blast took another Mandalorian off his feet.
Shouts of disbelief and rage echoed throughout the cavernous chamber. The Knight looked over his shoulder, surprised, and caught a boot to the gut for allowing his attention to be divided. If there’d only been three, Turel could’ve taken them, probably. Six, though - Teroch would’ve found that a stretch. The leader, still fuming, crouched down, placing his shattergun heavily against Turel’s chest.
“You little vrelt. You just couldn’t fight fair, could you?”
The Odanite actually snorted, unable to help himself. “Yeah, you’re right. Six against one was totally even. I’ll just lie here whilst you get more henchmen, then we’ll go again.”
Two of the others crouched beside their downed companion, who was writhing on the floor, his moaning muffled by the helmet.
“A’den, it’s not looking good. I’m guessing the saber nicked his intestines. We need to get him back to the ship.”
Irritated, A’den - their leader - waved a hand distractedly, not turning from his captive.
“Hey, I said bring more, not send some away! Now it hardly seems fair. Tell you what, if you give me a blindfold, it might make things a little more interesting. I’ll even give you guys a few minutes to go hide-” A kick to his stomach stifled any further attempts at bravado.
The final Mandalorian got to his feet, his chestplate deeply pitted. He looked winded, but otherwise unharmed. As two dragged their injured companion towards the exit, the others took up position either side of their captive as A’den pulled a shock collar from a pouch on his thigh. One of the others grabbed Turel’s lightsaber and pulled it from his grasp, and the Knight swallowed, his eyes fixed on the collar. If that made it round his neck, it was game over.
A bar of solid orange light blazed into existence. Teroch Erinos stepped from the shadows, wielding the weapon loosely in one hand, his grin colder than Hoth at night.
“Not so fast, ladies. I heard some mention of me being a lapdog?”
Four weapons swung around taking aim at him, and A’den stood, keeping his weapon trained on Turel, but his attention was on the newcomer. The injured Mandalorian was dropped to the floor, causing him to scream in pain. Nobody paid him any heed.
“Another jetii? You lot crawl out of the woodwork in droves. I wonder how much your head will net us.” Their leader sneered, turning to face Teroch.
The youth rolled his eyes. “You made a few mistakes. Firstly, you took the job. Second, you came light. Six redshirts for a Jedi? Shab’la insulting-”
“Well, we didn’t have much trouble with this one. I doubt some kid, probably his apprentice, will be any worse.”
At this, Teroch’s smile widened and he stifled laughter. “As I was saying, you came in light. You had no idea who was rolling with the guy. Could’ve been an entire army. Thirdly, and most importantly, you made the somewhat strategic mistake of pissing Arcona off.”
“Arwhat?”
“Arcona. He’s a Dark Jedi. That’s his Clan.” Turel commented, grinning despite himself.
“Quiet, Sorenn! You’re in the isolation booth! Now, which of you di’kute is first?”
A’den stepped forward, gesturing for the others to watch the Odanite. “I’m looking forward to teaching you some manners, kid.”
Teroch chortled and ran forward. A’den brought his shattergun around, taking aim, but the Arconae was a blur. The Force energised him, pushing him to preternatural levels of alacrity. He jumped, his saber slashed, and landed in a crouch, the blade held out horizontally. A’den’s
helmeted head dropped to the floor between the youth and Turel, the rest of his body telescoping down moments later.
“Next?” He asked, all cheerful bellicosity.
The two who had been hauling their injured comrade stepped up, albeit cautiously. One wielded a grenade launcher, the other a repeater carbine. A grenade was shot out, and Teroch threw his hand up whilst rising to his full (if not all that impressive) height. The grenade, caught in a telekinetic grasp, reversed direction and landed between the two Mandalorians. They had just enough time to exchange a glance before it blew, tearing them both apart.
“That enough Mando-on-Mando action for you, vode?” Teroch asked amiably, glancing over his shoulder at the last two, who were guarding Turel.
With joined roars of inarticulate rage, they yanked up their weapons and opened fire. Teroch flickered to the side, allowing the Force to guide his movements. He skidded to the floor before them, jutted out a hand, and both were hit by a wide blast of Force Lightning. They fell back, twitching and smoking, arcs playing over their armour. The Knight suddenly realised they were lying perilously close next to one another. Obviously, it was no accident.
Teroch glanced down and gave a wide, lazy smile. “I knew you’d come.” He gloated.
Turel ignored him and put out his hand, palm facing towards the charred remains of two fallen Mandalorians-
A blaster bolt bounced off an invisible barrier which covered them both, ricocheting into the face of some long-dead Jedi Idol. Teroch flinched, not having sensed the threat, and looked behind him, over the Odanite’s booted feet, and spotted the wounded trooper shakily holding a blaster pistol.
Teroch’s lip quirked in irritation. He dropped his saber, drew his own pistol and leant backwards, aiming upside down with both hands. A trio of bolts lashed out, one biting home into the dying man’s neck. He choked out a gargle of surprise before falling silent. He then twisted around, facing the two others still groaning and spasming behind Turel. They were similarly dispatched.
Slowly, Teroch leant back, propping himself up on his elbows. From somewhere, he’d procured the shock collar, and was now playing idly with it.
“So,” the youth started, conversationally, that ever-present grin on his face, “We need to talk.”