You enter one of the dozens of sparring chambers within the Shadow Academy of Lyspair, the simple square room utilized mostly by those learning the ways of the lightsaber. This five hundred square-foot room, rectangular in shape, is nearly barren. The floor is lined with simple padding, while the walls are made of dull, grey durasteel, gauged by innumerable lightsaber strikes, scarring the metal permanently.

The ceiling towers above you, nearly twenty feet in height, allowing for plenty of movement from the more acrobatic of Force users. There are no other adornments within the room, save for the entrance and lighting that bathes the entire room, yet seems to come from nowhere. All corners of the room are perfectly lit, with no visible shadows to speak of. There is nowhere for you to hide within the room, but… there's no room for your opponent to hide either.

...one of the primary goals of the Long Family is to preserve art; Faethor and I have always been artists by passion, rather than trade or circumstance. You, however...

Shi Long paced, his steps tracing a path spanning the breadth of the nigh-featureless sparring chamber, and his teeth were set on edge as the rumbling of Shan Long's "dragonspeak" faded from his consciousness. Ever since his host's death whelped him into existence, the Dragon of Stone had largely enjoyed the boon of silence within his own skull, his mind blissfully free from all but the strongest of those Dark Jedi around him who were wont to invade another's thoughts. The Thunder Dragon would always be in the minority, and the encroaching headache from the unexpected palaver reminded Shi of that. The Primarch stopped his pacing, grounding himself in his surroundings and focused on why he'd come.

A deep inhalation filled his nostrils with the faded smell of copper from blood spilled and the flavor of charged ozone delicately alit upon his palate. Shi closed his eyes, savoring the rich cologne of battles of the past that had transpired in this very room. He himself had come here as often as he could, breaking initiate and battle-droid alike while he honed his bladework, in preparation for...

Exactly what, he could not say, but what he did know was that the Brethren had all felt it, like the stillness in the air before the breaking of a summer squall. The numbers of members seeking similar training had dwindled - at least, to his queue - as word had spread at his ferocity and mercilessness. Still, his heart quickened at the prospect of someone confident enough to join him for this session. In his head, he'd felt Shan Long's impossibly white teeth shining from his psyche's darkness in an ethereal smile. Impatience threatened to overtake the Long and his bronzed hand strayed towards Nenshogeru, tucked into the sash at his waist.

Shi Long, prepare thyself...

Shi shook his head to clear Shan from it with finality and, as if on cue the hatch to the chamber slid open and shut with a whisper. Shi jerked his hilt from its resting place, allowing a heartbeat to pass before he opened his eyes to greet the newcomer.

And his heart leapt with equal parts excitement and disquiet upon seeing him.

Atra. Xue. His Brother in Flame, the Dragon of Snow.

The Umbaran approached Shi with sure steps and free of fear, his right hand closing around his own lightsaber hilt; it seemed that in the years since they'd last seen one another, both men had experienced profound changes. Yet, no matter which face one or the other had worn, the cosmos had always seemed to conspire to pit them just so.

"It would be you," Shi spat, Nenshogeru's blade violently birthing itself into existence. The sunset glow played across his features. In reply, the Battlemaster's own weapon blazed to life, steady and as inexorable as the coming winter.

Xue was born to end that which Shi had embodied. A bringer of death, an ender of strife. 'Never without a fight,' Shi thought and bounded forward on corded sinew and bunched muscle, closing the distance between them at a point where Atra would be caught mid-step. Shi's sword arm rose and fell as if seeking to end the fight in one decisive blow; Atra's blade caught Shi's downward rending stroke with a crash, and despite his being momentarily caught off-balance by the Primarch's tactic, his cerulean blade held firm. Shi leaned into the lock, and their blades threatened to skip along each other's lengths due to Nenshogeru's inherent instability. To Shi's mounting delight, Atra grit his teeth and pushed back, nearly unbalancing the Primarch. Shi couldn't suppress his own smile at his forced exertion, and stepped adroitly away from the Battlemaster, breaking the lock. Regarding his worthiness to meet the Stone Dragon in battle, Xue had satisfactorily answered Shi's unspoken question of strength, and was now addressing skill, immediately pursuing Shi in retreat; Shi felt a chuckle rising in his throat as he fended off Xue's chops, stabs and aggression with his own intercepting swipes, strokes and fervor.

Pandemonium.

Such a simple, yet elegant word that more than sufficiently summarized the fallout brought forth by the clashing forms of the two Longs. Atra’s muscles coiled and pulled, sinew straining against bone as the kinetic reverberations of their relentless exchange pulsed through their bodies. Finesse and elegance embodied Shi’s every action, each step calculated and trained to the point of pure instinct. The Stone Dragon was indeed a bringer of death, attributing a sense of true beauty to the morbid dance. As Atra focused on matching pace with his opponent, sweat beading steadily upon his brow due to the sheer intensity of the exercise, his own precision – though impressive – failed to match that of Shi’s. With each sweeping arc of the Obelisk’s unstable blade, Nenshogeru, it felt to the Sith like he was fighting against the insurmountable wall of experience. Each life cut agonizingly short had added to the experience of that blade, of the man holding it, and tempered him further.

Grunting with effort, Atra caught the tip of his opponent’s sunfire blade, his own cerulean blade sparking with fury at the point of contact. Rolling his wrist with a quick flourish, the Umbaran managed to redirect a potentially fatal strike and force Shi into another saber lock, pressing his weight into the clash. “Has it been so long,” Atra managed through gasps of air, “that Sai is truly gone?”

As Atra’s mismatched eyes met those of his opponent, he was able to recognize something unmistakeable beneath the mixture of glee and aggression that formed Shi’s façade. There was madness there, all the more readily perceived because it mirrored Atra’s own.

...He has embraced his role, cast aside the unnecessary. The Dragon of Stone is conflict itself, yet what are you; he who ran from his existence until loss and grief granted you rebirth...

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, old friend,” Atra continued, his face an icy surface in stark opposition to the fire burning within his core, “now I see you, brother.”

…As the snow falls upon death and decay, the rot will freeze so Life may begin anew... Before you stands strife, thy unending dissonance. Thou art the snow, Xue Long, you were born to end this...

Atra’s head snapped to the side as he jerked his mind free of the ethereal words, an audible growl escaping his barely parted lips. The words embodied riddles upon riddles, echoing at the fringe regions of sanity just beyond his reach. There was a time he would have listened, a time when it was so much easier to hide within the shell of his own fractured psyche. That time was past, shed away like reptilian skin alongside a plethora of emotional baggage. The Umbaran’s focus snapped back into place, locking in on Shi Long as the Human charged him once more, the man clearly enjoying such a worthy offering of opponent with sociopathic levels of zeal. Shi kept his positioning leashed to Atra’s own steps, keeping as close as possible as their blades writ calligraphy upon the air. Burning ozone tinged at their nostrils whenever the weapons clashed, their contained plasma within the shielding of the blades surging with heat upon contact. Atra deflected a glancing blow, bringing his own weapon high and to the side, leaving an opening that Shi was more than willing to step into.

The younger Long reacted quickly, crashing a metaphysical fist through the icy surface of the lake at his core, a mental projection that represented his own connection to the Force. As he opened that connection, plunging into its dark depths, Atra felt an exhilarating surge as the power scorched through his body and coalesced within his left hand’s clenched fist. The Umbaran thrust his clawed hand forward, palm out, just as his opponent’s own fist was racing for a sudden meeting with Atra’s face. The Force concussed between them, hammering against Shi’s gut and forcing him several steps back as the man winced, his body curling ever so slightly inward towards the sudden source of pain. Atra moved to capitalize on the opportunity, gripping his weapon with both hands in a clasping hold and bringing the arctic blade down with a heaving cleave.

Shi reacted as one would expect of a being devoted to combat. He was ready, despite his own discomfort, and pivoted back on his hind leg, droplets of sweat shaking free of his flowing hair and evaporating into sizzling smoke that relayed just how close the deadly plasma had come. Shi Long couldn’t help it as laughter escaped his throat, a mixture of joy and vicious glee just before he came about to lock his gaze upon Atra once more. The Sith rose to his full height, keeping his weapon half raised with the tip aimed towards his opponent’s core. Using his free hand, Atra wiped his sweaty, clinging hair away from his eyes, unable to keep from grinning himself even as his eyes twitched in defiance as salty liquid dripped down his brow.

Shi’s breath came in painful jerks, his body momentarily betraying him thanks to Atra’s telekinetic assault. The men appraised one another appreciatively, both enjoining the Force to burn away the fatigue poisons in their muscles to stave off any cramping which could unceremoniously end the fight for either one. Across the way, the Battlemaster’s chest heaved as he struggled to catch his wind, but to his credit his weapon’s tip did not waver, continuing to trace an invisible line towards the Primarch’s midsection.

The Force continued to wash over and through Shi. He doubled over with a grimace as he felt something inside of him shift, the Dark Side acting more like a battlefield surgeon conducting triage than a gentle babe-soothing wet-nurse. He groaned and a cough escaped him; bright, claret flecks spattered the floor at his feet. “First blood to you, then,” Shi grinned genuinely, smears of pink marring his otherwise perfect teeth as he relished facing someone cut from a similar cloth as he. Giving himself fully to his blood-lust, Shi, too, straightened, but instead of bringing Nenshogeru similarly to bear, he allowed the tip to rest upon the matted floor. The thin padding at the point of contact flared briefly before vaporizing, and the durasteel beneath formed a small, bubbling caldera at his right foot.

“You say you ‘see’ me?” Shi began, his voice booming and his breath coming much easier now as he continued to hold the Dark Side. “And, what, exactly, do you ‘see’? Warrior? Beast? Something you need to become, but cannot? Someone you could never hope to be?” His broadening smile belied the sensation of thousands of nettles stinging his skin; for many, the Force was a costly mistress, indeed, ravaging the body as it gave up its gifts. The Snow Dragon swiftly drew his forearm across his brow, attempting to clear his vision. An exercise in futility, really; the sweat was back as soon as it was wicked away, and Atra blinked rapidly to keep Shi in focus, who continued.

“See what you will, but I know you, xiâodì,” he chided, using the ‘dragonspeak’ for ‘little brother’. “You pause when you should press; you analyze, without annihilation.” He laughed throatily, suddenly drawing upon such an obscene amount of the Force with such violence that Atra seemed to flinch; in reality, the brine that drenched the Snow Dragon’s face had stung his eyes at almost the same time. Either way, Shi leapt at the opening. He whipped his blade forward and across his body. Molten gobbets of durasteel trailed the ‘saber tip obediently, flying towards Xue in a reddish-yellow trail of burning ruin.

The metal globules splashed harmlessly against Xue’s hastily erected barrier, but Shi pressed his attack, hammering his blade cross-wise in a back-handed bisecting stroke. Xue’s defense held, but only just so; the Umbaran skipped sideways just as he brought his blade around to meet Shi’s, taking some of the momentum out of the blow.

“We cannot hide from our true natures! You wax and wane, vacillating...like seasons,” Shi roared while he continued to attack. “You think you can stand with me? The winter comes, and goes and so can be outlasted, but I...I remain!” With that, Shi’s speed and ferocity seemed to increase, as if their earlier exchange never happened; truly, the Stone Dragon became as a perpetual motion engine of destruction, using the Force to replenish his body even as the Force exacted its toll on it to grant him his speed and strength. The more he drew, the more of him it required, but Shi’s body was itself being healed by its eldritch flows. The fight, begun in pretense as a training exercise, would now denigrate into a full on brawl.

If the difference between them was scant before, the evidence of inevitability was glaring now. For every two strokes Xue threw at Shi, Shi’s singular responses would serve as both parry and riposte. Their grunts and shouts reverberated in the bare room, punctuated by the dissonant harmony of their singing weapons. Snow was hard-pressed to defend against Stone, whose footwork would cut-off any escape vectors and render Xue’s counters awkward and underpowered due to his proximity. Shi’s advance was dogged and tireless; his aim was to beat his opponent into desperation, and if Xue would not yield, then he would be hastened to his destruction.

Time was not Xue’s friend; Shi’s technique would need to falter, or his resolve would need to break, if the Dragon of Snow was to leave the chamber whole. “You’re not ready to stand with me,” spat Shi, the judgment a succinct summation of their battle. In response Xue lashed out, his 'saber quick as an adder, the point of the blade lancing straight for Shi's eye. The Umbaran sought to core Shi's skull and end his prattling forever.

Inexplicably, Shi moved into the blow. Whether he was saved by his relishing the utter enjoyment he got from the fight or from being touched from On High, neither Xue nor Shi could say. What they did know was that Shi moved his head at the last possible moment. “Too slow!” the Dragon of Stone declared, sure of victory. Both men’s eyes widened - Shi’s, in delight, Xue’s, in sudden alarm- as the artic-hued blade missed Shi’s head by a handful of microns; the pain as Shi’s cheek and ear were seared by the Vestigium of Duriel’s passing was, to the Dragon of Stone, quite delicious and honed his already sharpened focus to a razor’s edge.

It was at this moment that time slowed to a crawl for Shi. It was as if he was a part of the fight, and apart from it simultaneously.

The sickly-sweet aroma of his burning flesh filled his nostrils even as the sizzling of his own flash-fried cartilage crackled in his ear. His sweat flowed from every pore and left salted trails on his parched lips. Distantly, he felt more than heard their lightsabers’ humming, the combined pitch somehow anticipatory and expectant.

Xue’s side was open; his guard useless. Shi’s base was solid, his feet planted and body coiled to put every ounce of his strength into the killing blow. All he had to do was drag Nenshogeru’s ragged length along Atra’s midsection and end their primal struggle once and for all.

If the Force possessed a voice with which to scream, that would be the sound permeating through Atra's skull. Time seemed to slow, so far as the pair's perceptions were considered, as the fatal puzzle pieces slipped into position. The muscles of Shi's arm shifted beneath his bronzed flesh, veins popping in protestation against the sudden force being exerted. Contained within the clenched fist of that arm, Nenshogeru carved a glowing path through the near non-existent space between the two Dragons. With each beat of Atra's heart, the pulsating blade of plasma grew ever closer.

...How disappointing... You showed such promise...

In a show of defiance, the Dragon of Snow's will lashed out, manifesting itself alongside his power as the invisible presence of the Force solidified into a barrier at his side. A triumphant growl hissed from between Shi's parched lips, his blade crashing into his opponent's metaphysical resistance. The sheer force of contact was inhuman, the wall of energy collapsing in upon itself but the momentary resistance it offered managed to throw both combatants off balance. Shi's long strides, pushed onward through his body's momentum, carried him past Atra completely, while the Quaestor's knees buckled and forced the Umbaran to the ground. What would have been most assuredly a fatal blow turned into a cleaving strike; the barrier shattering under the weight of the attack and allowing the sun kissed blade to cleave through cloth, flesh, and muscle.

Atra let out a long howl of pain, rolling in obvious discomfort upon the ground with his left hand pressed firmly against the faintly smoking wound. For what it was worth, the wounds of both men agonizing but not messy. As was so often mentioned, lightsabers were a more civilized weapon, the plasma neatly cauterizing any wound they created. Still, it was an experience far from pleasant for even the most masochistic of individuals. Planting his feet, Shi Long managed to halt his momentum before spinning about, his free hand gingerly exploring the fresh wound on the side of his face. "Maybe not quite that slow," the crazed man said with a glimmer of chaotic joy in his eyes.

After all, it meant he could play with his toy a little longer. The others broke so easily.

Vestigium of Duriel clattered across the floor of the training room, released from Atra's previously steady grasp as he struggled onto his hands and knees. The pain searing from his side like liquid fire fought to consume him, making his muscles weak as he fought to stand.

...You fail yourself, like you failed them all... Your parents died, you remained. Your daughter died, you remained... Perhaps this time it would be best that you did not remain, and the cycle continues...

Atra could feel Shi stalking ever closer, his aura of deadly intent preceding his coming. The pain was becoming too much, however, and Atra couldn't summon the will to silence the voice in his head, let alone focus on combat. He could feel himself standing at the precipice, staring into the void... or was he? Was that merely a lagging sensation? Had he already fallen into the darkness awaiting him?

Unable to control himself any longer, or unwilling to, Atra felt the last of his control slip away as a red-tinged fog fell over his thoughts. The heady rush of power consumed him, feral rage scorching through the fatigue and pain that ravaged his body. Taking a deep breath, Atra curled inward, his muscles coiling for several heartbeats before throwing his head back into a savage howl. Xue Long spun about and sprang to his feet, surrendering completely to the darkest depths of the Force whilst charging headlong towards Shi. Commendably, considering the abruptness of the change, Shi reacted impeccably, bringing his saber down like a cleaver. Xue kicked to the side, his body shifting just to the side of the blade.

Still, the weapon carved a glowing line through Xue's left arm, the cybernetic limb falling to the ground in a twitching mess. Within a breath, Xue was inside Shi's guard with his hand firmly grasping the human's throat. His grip was hard and vicious, gripping more with his nails than his fingertips as evident by the crimson stains that were forming around them. The momentum of their collision sent them several steps back, slowing as Shi found his footing once more. The Stone Dragon flexed the tendons of his neck for a moment, fighting against Xue's grip even as the Umbaran pressed forward with another show of might, slamming them the final few feet towards the wall. The sudden impact sent Nenshogeru falling from Shi's grasp, the fight quickly devolving into a brawl.

With a grunt of effort, Shi brought both of his hands up and slammed them against each of Xue's ears. The impact sent an obnoxious ringing coursing through the Umbaran's brain, his grip loosening against Shi, who seized the opportunity to slam his forehead against the Quaestor's own. Xue's legs buckled for a moment, forcing him down to one knee for support. Saliva sprayed from his lips in a snarl as the Umbaran shook his head hard before spinning about with a low kick that Shi managed to hop over. He kept the momentum of the kick going, planting his remaining hand hard against the ground and using it as a pivot point to swing his other leg into the air like a club. His strike connected, bringing Shi crashing to the ground as he was no longer supported by his firm stance.

Xue half hopped, half crawled towards Shi as he fell, as best he could with one arm and a crazed look consuming his gaze. As he did so, klaxons and flashing red lights filled the sparring room. It would seem that the powers that be had taken notice of their rather spirited match. Shi Long already had his arm outstretched, Nenshogeru sliding with haste into his waiting grasp, even before Xue was upon him. Even still, before either could finish the bout, the entry way hissed open and several troopers poured through the opening, firing a series of shots towards Shi and Xue alike. The shots were non-lethal, as clearly evident by the unique blue circular shape of the discharges. The stun blasts struck home, causing both men to cry out in frustration.

"What in the—" one trooper began to exclaim as his eyes traced the trail of havoc that had painted the chamber.

"They're still moving," another trooper interrupted in response to Shi struggling to raise his head. Another sequence of shots brought silence to the room once more. An officer pushed his way into the room, surveying it with a sigh of exasperation that was accented by the look of annoyance in his eyes. The man's fingers flicked over a datapad as he pulled up the records on the pair of Sadowans, letting out another audible groan as the data spread across the screen.

"Contact Consul Sonjie at once," the officer stated towards his second in command, "have him come deal with this mess."

The other man nodded in compliance and disappeared from the room, leaving the officer to figure out a way to keep the two men from continuing their rampage when the effects of the stun blasts wore off.