History speaks of the origin of the Clone Wars on Geonosis, and the first major clash between the Jedi and the Sith. The Colosseum draws inspiration from the fabled Petranaki arena, certainly, but was built with a more contemporary audience in mind. Located on the planet that serves as the new seat of the Brotherhood's central power, [REDACTED], the structure was rebuilt and renovated from the shell of an ancient foundation that had barely weathered away against the planets ever-changing climate.

High walls, tall enough for even the most savvy Jedi to find unscalable, line a large field of ancient sand and sediment the size of a holoball field. The spectators' chairs are divided into neatly organized sections with seats bunched close together to accommodate anywhere up to a few thousand people. At the center, an elongated platform “box” has been constructed with a central throne of stone with various seats of smaller scale lined beside it in both directions.

Two large holo-projection screens are set up on each side of the Colosseum, offering different angles of the fight via Holocam Drones.

While unassuming at first glance and looking very much like an archaic gladiatorial arena, the Colosseum features a medley of traps and surprises built into the floor and walls at random intervals. These obstacles include, but are hardly limited to: retractable nozzles that can shoot out gouts of flame; battery-coils that can spit out tendrils of electric current; receding floor panels with electric shock panels; deep pits with sharpened spikes and more. At some points, the ground can simply erupt upwards and create a concentrated, if not impromptu angular-platform that could be used as a springboard or temporary high ground. While seemingly random, these obstacles are handled and triggered by a manned-operator in a control room within.

Outside the fighting arena, the Colosseum features on-site, state of the art medical facilities that can bring nearly anyone back from the brink of the death and offer a full team of trainers, doctors, and rehabilitation units. There is also a neatly kept armory a basic training center with mechanical-dummies, and private sparring chambers.

Two men stood at the ends of the arena, the remaining champion of their respective Clans. Halcyon Rokir Taldrya, Prophet of Taldryan, was motionless as the wind whipped around his black and green attire. Timeros Caesus Entar Arconae, Elder of Arcona, mirrored his opponents posture. Their surroundings were a polar opposite, as the crowd that watched the two men had been whipped into a frenzy, fueled by bloodlust and all manner of vice.

The crowd was filled with members from the Clans of the champions. Plagueians called for blood to be spilled, contrasting the stoicism found in the leaders from Taldryan. Those from both Arcona and Odan-Urr had decided to both cheer on Timeros, their chants of “In Tim we trust!” drowning out much of the other cheering and jeering that rained down around the arena.

The two combatants were impervious to all the outside distractions. Their will and focus, born of countless battles and wars, were pointed directly at one another. In the distant past, they had called each other clanmates, but that memory only added to the animosity that had grown through the years of conflict between their Clans.

Here we are again, Halcyon sent through the Force, flavouring the words with the disgust he allowed himself to feel inside.

You are finished. The response was sent as a statement of fact, void of emotion. The matter-of-factness cause Halcyon’s lip to twitch ever so slightly, hinting at the smile that lay beneath it. Timeros was not one for boastful statements.

We shall see, Halcyon acknowledged, his emotions now tamped down and at the same even keel as the Arconan.

To the audience at large there was no indication of the Elders’ brief conversation. Instead, without any apparent preamble or visible cue the two former Champions of the Antei Combat Centre exploded from their standing positions. To the untrained eye Halcyon moved at speeds belying his own advanced age. In contrast, to even a trained eye Timeros was in a league of his own. His body and the Force had melded into one, propelling each of his steps beyond the grasp of nearly all other beings.

Tactical acumen would do little for Halcyon in this moment, as the Arconan was nearly on top of him. He knew what to expect from Timeros, yet knowing and and being able to do something about it were two different things. He could only push his body so hard for so long, and rather than trying to equal his opponent he instead immersed himself in the Force. His senses touched every corner of the arena, mapping each nuance of both air and ground. Timeros’ form, a blur to the eye, was clear and bright in the Force. Instinct, pure and primal, moved Halcyon’s emerald blade to intercept the first of two amethyst sabers. He pushed the first strike away, his body already moving of its own volition to twist around the follow-up strike from Timeros’ other blade.

Clear of the initial strike, Halcyon slammed an open palm into the ground, sending a wave of telekinetic energy bursting out in all directions. In the process of continuing his attack, Timeros was sent staggering back, his momentum halted for the briefest of moments. Halcyon used the lapse to send a bolt of invisible energy hurling into Timeros, who was unable to dodge the attack and was instead sent hurtling onto the sandy floor.

Looking to capitalize on what he knew would be only a temporary advantage, Halcyon moved with all the speed he could, his emerald lightsaber blurring as it crossed the distance between the combatants. With the killing blow inches from landing, Halcyon’s hand suddenly seized as his entire body was racked with uncontrollable fear and anguish. He staggered backwards, fighting to keep his sanity in tact. It took precious seconds for Halcyon’s will to reassert itself as it fought back from the abyss it had been thrown into. He knew from previous experience that Timeros’ control of the more psychological-aspects of the Force was vast, but he’d never seen it displayed in such a concentrated manner. Timeros had been suppressing his usual aura of fear, but in desperate defense his instincts had returned to what they knew, with devastating effect.

Halcyon’s breath still came in ragged gasps, but he could finally think clearly as Timeros was now up in fighting condition. The change of state from stillness to movement was nearly non-existent for the Arconan, as Halcyon suddenly found his vision filled with amethyst light. His connection to the Force was all that saved him, cocooning him in a bubble of protective power as thought once again proved faster than muscle. The two blades smashed into the barrier, stopping inches from Halcyon’s face. The Son of Taldryan’s face was twisted by pain as he used the kinetic energy of the strike to help propel him out of range as the barrier itself collapsed under the strain.

Halcyon had begun a new path in recent times, letting the trappings of the Sith drop away as he found a new calling under the way of the Gray Jedi. Yet, like his opponent, he found comfort in the familiar as he delved back into what had made him a Prophet. He funnelled the fear and anger that had been pulled out of the darkest reaches of his mind, using it as kindling for the Force. What was once clear skies now darkened without warning as Force-fueled lightning rained down from the sky, touching nearly all points in the arena. There was nowhere for Timeros’ vaunted speed to take him as he was inundated with strikes from all sides. The strike lasted only a brief moment. Timeros had gone to one knee, smoke billowing from his body. Halcyon matched his pose, sweat lining his face, but his eyes still smouldered with anger.

Each of them felt a tremor where their hand touched the arena floor. Another figure had decided to make their entrance known.

All was light, and the light was all.

Starbursts drifted through Timeros’ vision, a multi-hued wash as he fought to regain his sight. His nerves were afire, and his every breath brought with it the sickening smell of burnt hair and seared flesh. The Adept spat, tasting copper on his lips as he struggled to remain on one knee.

Across from him, Halcyon still simmered with electric power, emerald features cast in rage as he surveyed the aftermath of his artificial thunderstorm. The spectating crowd had fallen silent, cheers forced back down its collective throat and replaced by a sense of awe at the sheer power the Taldrya had displayed. Even for the Brotherhood, jaded and cynical as its members could be, witnessing a Prophet’s might was a rare treat.

When they had last met in the flesh, Halcyon had been a flailing figure rapidly plummeting into a world-devouring Force Storm. His reported survival had not surprised Timeros. It was never wise to believe an enemy dead without evidence. The Entar longed to correct his previous oversight, but the Shadow Lady’s command had been clear: “Don’t kill him, brother dear, but do feel free to dance a jig on his pretty green head.”

And yet, neither injury nor shared memory could distract the Elders from the sudden trembling that seized their combined attention and forced them to crane their necks towards the tremors’ origin. Perhaps ten meters away, something rolled into the sands from a previously hidden compartment. It was gleaming and rounded, releasing spidery limbs as it unfurled, shield humming into existence as paired blasters whirred into place on either side of a crooked metal spine.

Its deployment complete, the destroyer droid turned its weapons outward with a mechanical whine. In the next instant, it opened fire with both of its blasters, crimson bolts streaming towards the combatants.

Both men jolted into action, the air around them abruptly turned to sunset by the sheer volume of the droid’s strobing weapons. Halcyon veered up first, his windedness banished by his absolute control. The Taldrya moved with precognitive grace, stepping through the blazing storm without a wasted motion, saber whipping back and forth to intercept any shot that strayed too close.

Timeros was slightly slower, nerves still battered by his enemy’s furious discharge. Only the droid’s divided attention, flickering back and forth between opponents, managed to save the Arconan from the tide of fire that threatened to overtake him. His hands extended as he rolled across the battlefield and his sabers jumped into his palms - he had dropped them during the Prophet’s electric assault. The twin blades extended just in time for him to block a bolt before it could bore into his stomach, knocking it aside and against the wall.

A sudden warning flare foretold streaking blaster fire the instant before it struck, coming at the Entar from a different angle entirely. Timeros sidestepped it with seconds to spare, dimly registering its angle as distinct from the droid’s. He deciphered the cause almost immediately: Halcyon’s saber swept back and forth with aggressive determination, sending some of the droid’s fire towards the Adept as the green-haired man backed away from both the droid and his Arconan adversary.

The gaunt Adept responded coolly, ignoring the Taldrya for the moment and instead turning his flesh and sabers into a bulwark against attack, woven from gleaming amethyst and furious motion. As sluggish as his muscles responded, he was still one of the Brotherhood’s most accomplished athletes, and he dodged through the droideka’s wave of plasma with a litheness that belied the agonized muscle spasms he felt with every step. The Adep stepped across the sand with the calm, measured gait of a veteran killer, circling around the war machine.

To his opposite, Halcyon did the same, his counterclockwise stride the mirror of his Arconae foe’s. The destroyer’s arms twisted outwards in response, drawing a frustrated whine from the machine’s engines as its attention was forcibly divided between the Elders now directly on either side.

The droid’s barrage stalled, then quieted down completely as the machine turned its gleaming head back and forth between the paired combatants. Then, it folded up and wheeled away to seek a better vantage point.

The duelists locked eyes as the droid rolled to the side, unspoken derision for the arena operator’s intervention beamed across their shared glance. The next moment, the colosseum echoed with footfalls as Timeros all but catapulted himself towards the Taldrya. The Arconae’s mind drew upon the Force, a passionless void that brought a numbing calm to his burnt flesh. He stored one of his sabers as he ran, grasping for his Westar and unleashing a wave of fire across the gap.

The goateed Prophet responded immediately, saber sweeping ahead in a wide arc and catching the bolts with a Force-borne confidence, reflecting them back at the charging Adept. Timeros was forced to veer aside from the redirected salvo, tumbling across the sands amidst the scorching heat of near-misses. Before he could let loose again, Halcyon was upon him, saber arcing down in a two-handed swing.

The Entar brought up his own saber just before the green-hued blade descended upon him, angling it off to the side, then using the diverted momentum to send himself into a spin. His amethyst lightsaber scythed upward again, aimed at the Taldrya’s neck from behind.

An electric hiss reverberated across the arena, accompanied by a flash of light as Timeros’ saber was brought to a sudden halt mid-strike. Where the arena had, moments ago, been illuminated by the light of two lightsabers it now bore the glare of three. An obsidian-hilted saber hung in the air seemingly of its own accord, neatly intercepting the amethyst beam.

Halcyon turned with cool satisfaction, his telekinetically controlled weapon kept firmly under control while his hand-held saber leapt for Timeros without preamble. The Entar retreated immediately, backstepping inches ahead of the emerald gout of flame, then raising his own lightsaber to ward off the other, wan green blade still under the Prophet’s telekinetic control.

Before either could make any further attacks, however, the air lit up crimson, and an explosion of sand washed across both men as blaster bolts tore ragged scars into the arena floor. The destroyer droid stood atop a steep ramp, raised silently during their struggle. The arena controller, it seemed, had chosen to re-enter the fray.

The two Elders crashed over the ground, luck and the Force intermingling to keep them safe from the war machine’s fire. Timeros came up firing, but his bolts spattered uselessly against the droideka’s shields. Halcyon likewise diverted his attention to the droid, making a curt, dismissive gesture with his free hand. The machine recoiled under a telekinetic impact, forcibly folding up as it lost its balance. It spun into motion immediately, barreling straight towards the Adept.

Timeros swiveled as the droid approached, training his Westar on the distracted Prophet and sending another deadly salvo Halcyon’s way. It was useless: the Prophet’s Force-controlled lightsaber intercepted instantly, its pale blade redirecting each shot without looking. Before the Arconan could consider another strategy, however, the droideka was upon him, nearly crashing into the distracted Entar.

The Arconae threw himself into the air with Force-enhanced muscles, gesturing with his blaster-wielding hand just before the droid unfolded underneath him, shield deploying. He hit the ground meters away, and the droid swiveled its dual weapons towards the rail-thin Human, eyes glowing a menacing red.

The Adept vaulted across the arena floor, instinctively dodging the sizzling plasma as he stowed his blaster. Behind him, he could sense Halcyon rush the destroyer droid, the Taldrya perceiving a chance to end the war machine’s interference.

He pivoted with calm grace, cold eyes focusing on his green-haired foe, only moments away from the destroyer droid. The Adept made a cutting gesture with his free hand.

The Force came alight in Halcyon’s mind, a mental jolt that seemed to grasp him as if to forcibly halt his progression. For an instant, the droid, Timeros, and the arena itself seemed to disappear from his sight, replaced with a single, all-consuming message.

Get down!

When the world came into focus, the Prophet had arrested his motion, hurled backwards with Force-augmented muscles. Before he could even begin to realize what was going on, the world exploded into radiance.

Timeros’ motion completed and his concussion grenade erupted in a wave of light and pressure washing across the arena from beneath the destroyer droid, where he had covertly dropped it during his leap, just before the war machine’s shields deployed. The explosion shredded the machine, filling the air with a deadly wave of sand and improvised metal shrapnel.

Timeros, safely away, watched the detonation, unmoved by the sudden outburst. Then, he cast about his senses and set off into the sand, ready to end the Prophet.

Ow.

It was the only coherent thought Halcyon could form at the moment. As his senses slowly came back to him he could tell he lay on the ground facedown. He tried to open his eyes, fighting through the pain that told him to stop, but had to blink furiously against the sand that had found purchase across his face. His mind quickly caught up to his instincts as he lay prone on the ground. He could still feel the licking flames of the explosion as he had managed to throw himself back. Other than a lingering soreness he amazingly felt nothing else seriously wrong with his body.

Keeping still, he began to send out tendrils of the Force to snake along the ground. The bright light that was Timeros stood out starkly against the background, and was approaching his location cautiously. He could feel the Arconan Elder growing stronger as time passed, his initial injuries being pushed away with each step. Halcyon continued to hold still, waiting for the right moment reveal himself. He knew he couldn’t hide himself from the Adept completely, but he could make it appear that he was unconscious. Each second also allowed his body to heal and regain all of its expanded strength. Time was a precious commodity in the midst of battle, and he would not waste the opportunity that he was given.

The arena, as in the past, had other plans in mind. Timeros was still two dozen feet away when Halcyon sensed danger all around him. It came from everywhere yet nowhere at once, giving Halcyon nothing but a vague sense unease before the floor underneath him seemed to just disappear. Timeros’ brief cry of surprise told Halcyon that his opponent had been caught up in the same trap as well, both Elders now in a freefall.

Halcyon fought to get his feet under backing him, sensing some sort of floor coming up, but not quite knowing when. Reaching out the Force, he tried to slow himself as best as he could, still devoid of any proper frame of reference in his free fall. He landed with a hard thud, his legs buckling under him, but still in one piece as he hit metallic flooring.

Any landing you can walk away from, Halcyon told himself with a trace of humour, the old pilot’s axiom calming him as he struggled back to his feet with the hint of a smile creeping onto his face. He could feel Timeros’ presence clearly, not far from his own position but they found themselves in almost complete darkness. The small lights from the holocams that had been omnipresent back in the mines began circling the general area. This was clearly still part of the arena, but Halcyon had no idea what dangers lurked in the inky void. Amethyst light blazed to life as Timeros ignited both of his lightsabers, his gaunt features even more severely defined in the harsh light. Halcyon ignited his own emerald blade, having managed to hold onto it during the last few turbulent minutes. Knowing the Adept was ready to spring forward, Halcyon calmed his breathing and began to once more allow the Force to flow through him. There was nothing calm about what he sensed: the pit was filled with a primal, feral malevolence. His eyes shot up locking onto Timeros. This aura was not as Halcyon first suspected, coming from the Arconan, who also now seemed to sense something was amiss. Both men, veterans of countless battles, stood motionless as they waited for the unknown to reveal itself.

There was not long to wait as the Force urged them both into action. Timeros reacted first, his body already poised exploded into motion as an appendage of great girth and speed narrowly missed slamming into him. Halcyon was not so lucky, his own reaction a fraction-of-a-second too slow managed to allow him to miss the brunt of the attack. But such was the force of the strike that even a partial contact on his thigh was enough to sendihim spinning across the floor.

“Rathtar…”

Halcyon heard the word come from Timeros’ lips, and could sense just a hint of fear and incredulity from the Adept. The word seemed familiar to him as well, but he had little time to contemplate it as his body moved on its own, lightsaber flashing out on instinct. His blade managed to cut through something as the unmistakable smell of burned flesh permeated the surroundings, followed by a scream of unbridled pain, fury and anguish. The light from the three lightsabers managed to bounce off the creature long enough for Halcyon to finally see what they were facing. It was just a momentary glimpse, but what he saw was a massive mound of flesh and appendages surrounding what appeared to be a circular maw of razor-sharp teeth.

The word “Rathtar” now finally clicked for the Taldryan. He had heard of a creature that had massacred a number of colonies that appeared to be some sort of moving-sarlacc. That very creature, in all its fury, now threatened to tear both jedi limb-from-limb. Halcyon was moving before he even sensed another attack, knowing what was to come. The creatures remaining appendages began whipping out in all directions, Halcyon still needing the Force to weave through the dangerous masses that could crush him like a Corellian gnat. From the corner of his eye he could see Timeros taking the offensive, the two blades of the Adept cutting gashes into the flailing tentacles.

Even though it was Timeros who was attacking the beast, the Rathtar seemed insistent on attacking in every direction regardless. Tiring from the constant movement, Halcyon decided on another tactic. Dodging another flailing limb he called forth the deadlier energies he wielded into the palm of his hand and unleashed it at the Rathtar. The lightning struck the creature right in the side of it’s main-mass, eliciting another roar of anger. Timeros used the distraction to move in closer, pouring his strength and his prodigious speed to propel himself at the Rathtar with sabers extended. The Rathtar, with instincts honed from millennia of evolution designed to ensure it was the alpha predator changed tactics as well, tucking its tentacles tightly to its body and moving with blinding speed towards the onrushing Arconan.. Timeros’ body attempted to find away around the rampaging creature, but it was too large, and moving too fast for him to evade. Timeros’ lightsabers bit deeply into the Rathtar’s body before his body took the brunt of the collision. It was clear from the violence of the impact that Timeros quickly lost consciousness.

The Rathtar never even slowed as its body began to unravel itself, fluids and entrails splashing everywhere as the creature began to convulse in its death throes. With the Rathtar now dying a hideous death, the arena no longer required the two combatants to be contained within its bowels. Without warning, the floor beneath them suddenly activated it’s embedded a repulsor generators, catapulting the combatants and the viscera of the Rathtar, back into the arena-proper. The sudden appearance of daylight blinded Halcyon as he sailed through the air, the roar of the crowd deafening as they cheered the reappearance of the two gladiators.

Darkness. Some pain. Not enough. His senses were dulled, as if his body had revoked its permission to abuse it any further and his mind was in the process of being forcibly expelled. His ears were rushing, filled with a...tide? Or perhaps a scream. He found he could not remember, and his eyelids were so very, very heavy.

His body was an ocean in a storm, and he was adrift on it, lost and confused, unable to make sense of his world. Waves rose and fell, threatening to pull him under. He fought the tide, trying desperately to stay afloat, shipwrecked and nameless.

It was the smell that brought him back. It rose from the sea like a damp and heavy mist. It was pungent and coppery, disgusting but familiar, awakening senses he had nearly forgotten. It was decaying offal and rot-bloated corpses. It was screams cut off mid-sentence and sobs for mercy. It was flashing amethyst light and streaking bolts of crimson. It was the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the feel of innards sliding across his fingers. Finally, it was names and harsh, violent titles. Champion. Combat Master. Arcona’s Red Right Hand. They glimmered beneath the waves of his memory, terrifying and alluring. He dove deep and reached for one, most familiar of all.

Timeros awoke to the stench of death.

He was lying on his back, a disgusting taste upon his lips. The Adept had been fighting back vomit and had obviously lost that battle. Beneath him, he could feel something soft and warm, and his head was pounding as if it had been trampled by a bantha. He had been unconscious for... he tried to remember, and found he did not know. The world was spinning and dissolving before his eyes, and even blinking hurt.

A figure stepped into his rapidly-darkening sight, tall and muscled. He wore green-black-robes beneath a head likewise framed in jade, and he hefted a brilliant viridian beam, ready to bring it down on his Arconan foe.

Halcyon.

With the word came recognition. With recognition, hatred. With hatred, clarity.

The arena halted its threatened dissolution, stabilizing with the Prophet at the center of Timeros’ perceptions. The pounding in his head ebbed away, consigned to an afterthought as the Entar’s entire being locked into a single goal.

You first.

The saber fell, but Timeros was already moving. Halcyon’s chop had been aimed for his arm. It was a definitive blow, but not a lethal one, as per the Grand Master’s edict. That miscalculation now cost the Taldrya, as his Arconae foe rolled aside, life force blazing back into activity instants before the lightsaber pierced the sand in a sputter of light.

The Entar’s hands were empty, his sabers scattered across the terrain during his brief unconsciousness. He decided that it did not matter: the skeletal Human pushed off beneath him, all but throwing himself to his feet. The ground under his palm was slick, drenched by the Rathtar’s shredded guts, and he nearly slipped as he hurled himself away. Instead, he spun awkwardly, barreling into the Taldrya and sending the two men tumbling across the colosseum.

The crowd held its collective breath as the two men rolled, grappling to come out on top, Halcyon’s lightsaber caught in a shared grip and gouging the arena floor to bubbling glass. There was no finesse to their struggle, no fine technique or demonstration of skill. The Elders brawled with the uncoordinated, desperate ferocity of Gamorrean mudwrestlers.

Timeros came out on top, the dark side coursing through his muscles as he slammed the Prophet’s head into the ground and flooded the Taldrya’s mouth with sand. Coughing, Halcyon responded in kind, gathering the Force within his free hand and bringing it down upon the earth, letting his power flood the arena.

The Adept did not try to stop himself from being flung away. Instead, his hands blurred with unnatural speed, shooting forward and grasping the struggling Prophet by the base of his oddly-colored hair.

The invisible wave of force hit the Entar the instant his fingers closed around the brightly-hued ponytail, and he heard a ripping sound as he was thrown into the air. Halcyon’s telekinetic power, enough to bodily hurl a grown man, now found itself anchored on his own mane in the Arconae’s Force-enhanced grip. It came loose in ragged strands of hair and flesh, its tear from the base of the Prophet’s scalp accompanied by an agonized scream.

Timeros hit the ground rolling, letting go of the Taldrya’s torn-out roots as he did and rising with barely-suppressed satisfaction. Opposite to him, Halcyon likewise clambered to his feet, hissing from between clenched teeth as he fought the pain. Blood issued freely from the Taldrya’s ruined scalp, dripping across his goatee and diluting its vibrant green to a muddy brown. The muscled Rokir’s feelings issued through the Force in a mixture of outrage and agony, kept barely suppressed by his own supreme willpower and supernatural control. He made for the Entar, wincing at every step, yet his lightsaber did not waver.

The Arconae reached for his belt, yanking out a Westar and leveling it to fire. Before he could pull the trigger, however, Halcyon thrust his hand forward, drawing once more upon the dark side, his utter fury at being maimed all but exploding from his disfigured flesh. Timeros sensed the attack too late, and some distant part of his mind recognized the splintering of his finger bones as the blaster slipped from his hand.

The next moment, the Prophet’s blow split the air. Timeros sidestepped the arc with immediate clarity, swiveling away. The bleeding Taldrya reversed course without delay, lightsaber coming back up, only to find his fellow Champion’s undamaged hand closing around his wrist and forcing down the blade.

The Taldrya snarled with rage, all control gone and the air around him crackling with power as he drew deeply upon the dark side, ready to electrocute his foe.

Timeros’ eyes narrowed as he realized he had trapped himself. There was no way to avoid the lightning. Nor was there any way he could attack first. With only one functioning hand, even punching would be foolhardy: it would damage his hand more than the Taldrya.

So he did.

His hand pistoned forward, broken fingers bending in white-knuckled, barely-noticed agony as he further ruined his fist on Halcyon’s nose. The Prophet stumbled backward, disoriented and blinking away tears as dismay compounded pain. The Adept’s hand loosed around his wrist, but before Rokir could capitalize on it, the Taldrya found himself sprawled across the sand by a mental sledgehammer ringing across his chest.

The Prophet came to his feet with agonizing sluggishness, yet the expected attack did not occur. Instead, he found the Entar standing stock still some distance away, apparently unmoved by the horrific violence.

You are finished.

Halcyon recognized the telepathic words just before his pain-addled mind became aware of the Force, screaming at him to move. Yet he was already too late. The glop grenade at his feet, thrown during his fall, split open with a chemical hiss, foam rapidly expanding and hardening. He tried to jump, but the goo was all around him, grasping at his legs and forcing him back down, catching his limbs and encasing him in its sticky confines.

Without warning, the Arconae was upon him, jumping across the hardened glop and delivering a vicious kick to his damaged scalp. Agony, stacked and amplified with every wound, finally won out, and the Prophet spiraled away into unconsciousness.

Timeros turned, walking for the exit. He made it four steps before collapsing to his knees, a wave of pain and exhaustion finally overtaking his brief surge of adrenaline. He sank to the floor, a final thought crossing his mind as the arena faded away.

It’s no jig, sister, but it will have to do.