Quo woke feeling very strange. Not only did he feel like he was about five years younger than he had when he had lain down to rest, but there was a weird feeling about the place. Raising from his litter he showered and dressed, not able to shake this feeling of foreboding that was filling every part of his being.
Crossing the courtyard in front of his quarters it niggled at his awareness again. What was that? It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jedi! A lot of Jedi! Usually he could feel a couple of them, Sang and Malik, with all their light side goodness purveying his consciousness, but there were more than fifty of them here. His mind felt like it was covered in sickly sweetness, and it was not a feeling he liked at all. His mind was reeling with all the goodness that he was feeling.
Heading towards the training area the feeling got even more cloying than it had been in his accommodation. Entering it hit him like a wall of oddness that made him feel physically sick. The younglings inside the training quadrangle were concentrating on the drills that were being given by their instructor.
“Deflect the blows, and immobilise. We are not here to kill the enemy, remember we are guardians of justice throughout the Galaxy, we do not wantonly slay those that stand before us,” the instructor continued his mantra as the young trainees attempted to stop the bolts randomly generated by the drone from hitting their bodies, jolting them if it should do so. “We are negotiators, not executioners, we attempt to achieve a diplomatic solution to our problems, however the opponent may not, therefore we must be able to dissipate his attacks without bodily harm if at all possible”
Quo stood, bemused at the rhetoric that the instructor was spreading to his pupils. What in frell’s name was he talking about? The clan stood for domination. Domination of those that could not resist. It stood for gaining power through whichever means was the most practical. The Sons of Sadow were interrogators, torturers, inveiglers and infiltrators, they were not diplomats. Inside his head he knew what they were.........and they definitely were not this!
The instructor turned, and Quo finally got a look at the face behind the twisted monologue being delivered. Bentre? At least it looked like Bentre Stahoes, but there was a smile plastered over the Corellian’s face. What the.....? Ben was a Sith, through and through. What sort of warped power had caused this? Reaching out with his feelings Quo probed, only finding lightness and conscience inside the human.
“Sith!” Stahoes started making his way towards the Zabrak, his pace quickening with every stride. His blaster leapt from its holster into Bentre’s hand, the big paw folding around the grip precisely, muscle memory guiding his movement through years of repetitive exercise. As his arm came up in front of him he squeezed off a couple of shots, dead on target. Quo’s Lightsaber leapt from his belt a split second after Bentre’s blaster, igniting in a crimson flash as the pommel slapped into his hand. Reacting to the double blaster bolts his wrist and fingers guided the weapon in a short arc intercepting the shots, their paths deflecting away from his body. Almost immediately there were three more blasts, a single followed by a double zeroing in on his body. Rolling the first away over his shoulder Quo flipped to avoid the second volley. The gap between them had narrowed all the time as they both covered the open ground. With just a few yards left between them Bentre’s own saber replaced the blaster in his hand, the familiar ‘snap hiss’ of the blade’s inception in juxtaposition with Quo seeing the light blue blade, rather than the expected red.
The blades clattered together, the air around them smelling of ozone, each blade trying to interrupt the flow of the other. Quo had already softened the impact by letting his wrist be pushed back towards his own centre line, allowing Ben’s to slide down it slightly, the Jedi increasing his own push against the stasis. Quo snapped backwards half a step allowing Ben’s own press forwards to over extend the Jedi, the young Sith shifting his weight first to the right, pushing the azure beam of light downwards and away from his body as his blade slid in a curve over the top of it as he moved his centre of gravity to the left. Quo’s right hand whipped forwards, his wrist cocking, bringing the scarlet blade down towards the Corellian’s head. Even as the blade began it’s decent Bentre’s left hand gestured, shooting forwards in front of his body. As if struck by an invisible wrecking ball the Zabrak warrior was thrown backwards, landing on his feet mere inches from the perimeter wall.
A snarl of rage escaped Quo’s throat, guttural and animalistic. His feet gripped the floor as his muscles tensed powering him forwards with superhuman speed, Bentre only just able to adjust his position to meet the new attack. The savagery of the Zabrak’s attacks forced the Light Side Jedi back step by step, blow after blow raining down on the defence that was being offered. Quo’s own anger and confusion fuelled his grip on the Dark Side, his gold and red eyes gleaming with the intensity of the feelings surging through him. The sheer speed and fluidity of the attacks were breaking down the beleaguered fendings of the Jedi before him. Whirling like a dervish he drew out his vibro sword with his left hand as his right continued the hammering blows with his lightsaber, the doubling of the attacks wearing his opponent down even though Bentre was summoning every trick that he knew to avoid them.
A reverse strike with his vibro sword jarred the sapphire coloured blade to a standstill, preventing the parabola of it’s path. Quo’s arc continued, the red saber slicing through flesh and bone, decapitating the human warrior, the head falling to the tiled floor of the training yard, the eyes rolling into the back of their sockets. The body fell where it stood, crumpling backwards into a heap, separated from its cranium by a couple of feet.
Quo looked down at the corpse of Stahoes. Shutting down his saber, and returning his vibroblade to its scabbard, his eyes took in the sight. A single thought crossed his mind. Ben wouldn’t like to live like that, better to put him out of his misery. Turning he strode away. This was going to be a busy day.