Elevated over a ravine, the Massassi Arena has withstood the tests of time. It is arranged in a circular formation and made by a slab of stone that connects the opposite slopes of the ravine. On its eastern side, the floating arena leads to a staircase and into a near-vertical cliff face. Because of its nearly unsupported vantage that overlooks a several hundred-meter fall, even the smallest creatures can feel the occasional motion the platform makes as the breeze brushes across its cold surface.

Adding to the adrenaline rush of standing within the slab’s concentric patterns carved into the rock, barriers and obstacles echo the Massassi’s commitment to taking every advantage over their opponents. Pillars ring the outer edge without guard rails between them, some remaining intact and others having toppled into the arena or over the perilous heights. Weeds and other fauna cover each surface as nature seeks to reclaim the ravine and eventually send the arena itself to the depths.

A creaky rope-bridge leads away towards another ancient suspended platform with the same weathered, upturned stones. Mossy footing, and uneven ground make each of these platforms unique in small subtle ways. While there is no seating for formal spectators, the ancient stones of the Massassi Arena hold an omniscient, aged wisdom that speak to the things they have seen and the battles fought through history.

A third rope-bridge leads to yet another platform, completing the triad of battlegrounds that make up the Massassi Arena.

Lush, verdant greens drooped over ancient sun washed stone and clouds of buzzing insects swerved in the warm updrafts around the antediluvian arena. A stifling humidity flowed around the dais, seeping into the cool crags of the crumbling temples and the rotting undergrowth of the encroaching jungle. Somewhere in the distance, a lone songbird cried its mating call.

Decima smacked her face, squashing a pair of hematophagic insects beneath her spade-like palm. The bright crimson smears mingled with the cobalt blue of her warpaint and the permascowl on her worn features deepened. She slammed the hilt of her vibro-axe onto the pale stone with enough force to chip a shard from its venerable visage.

“Grot!” The thunderous yawp rolled through the jungle, stirring the songbird and giving it flight. “It is time to go!”

Silence.

The Iktotchi remained still, standing like a statue in the center of the platform while warm winds whipped around her, the hot overhead sun baking her matte black armor with its rays. She did not like waiting. Especially not for someone who was already late and probably on purpose.

Salty droplets ran down the creases of her skin, the grip on her weapon as tight now as it was in the firmament of combat. She inhaled to call out again when something shifted at the edge of her vision, a shadow parting from others of its kind. A reptilian hiss bounced off the broken pillars, melting into the rotting jungle, untraceable but vividly present.

“Not yet,” the Trandoshan hissed, a tremor of cold-blooded excitement in its voice. “The hunt is not yet complete.”

“You hunt where the Clan decrees, Grot!” Decima snapped back, not bothering to move her head to trace the elusive sound of his voice. It would have been folly and they both knew it. “The Voidbreaker is waiting in orbit, you’re delaying our mission.”

“A mission?” The question was laced with intrigue, the source of the sound shifting closer to her. “Many points to gain?”

“A trade mission. To replace the losses to our fleet.”

“Pointless…”

“Excuse me?”

“No points from such, I prefer it here. Hunt your shiny ships, I hunt living prey.”

“Grot! You come out this instant, or…” She thumped her weapon against the dais once more, the threat left hanging by its implication.

“Or else?” Decima could feel the Trandoshan’s wide, predatory smile.

The raging fire within her was threatening to burst out of control, her finger shifting to the activation key upon the vibro-axe’s shaft. No. She would not be goaded into another pointless duel with her subordinate.

“I leave you here to rot.”

“- Such a spoilsport you turned out to be,” Grot sighed in disdain.

“This isn’t a game, you scaled…"

Blam!

"Aaargh!”

Decima clutched the side of her face, hand gripped around the stump of her right horn where a solid slug had shattered its tip into jagged fragments. Had she not been in such pain, she might have commended the lizard on his aim.

“You worthless little sithspit!”

“Don’t worry, it will grow back,” Grot quipped from within the jungle, letting out a lisping laugh.

Despite the blinding pain, that single chuckle was all she needed to pinpoint his position. With a savage cry, the two hundred pounds of feral Iktotchi charged forward, vibro-axe singing through the air.

Decima’s barbarous cry echoed through the jungle as she crashed into the undergrowth, cutting and hacking through the foliage unfortunate enough to stand in her path. Birds fled in great flocks, leaping from the trees, while vermin and predator alike scurried into their burrows and waited for the storm to pass. Grot couldn’t help but smile.

He jumped down from the hunting blind and commanded his probe droid to continue tracking his original prey. The scream had scattered it, sending the silver-backed primate whooping and howling through the jungle. Hopefully, If he won the battle, he might be able to convince his mistress to let him continue the hunt.

For now, he had far more dangerous prey to consider.

He could hear Decima drawing closer and knew that his small clearing in the trees had been discovered. It was no major surprise, the woman had ears like a Gundark, and was nearly as strong. He could buy some time by running, but he was bound to tire long before her in such heavy armor. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath; he would have to improvise

Closer, closer still! He could feel it! The spirits sang in tune with the beat of his heart, and the forest swayed all around in anticipation. They were watching him, telling him the hunt had begun at last. He leveled his rifle and spoke a quiet prayer in his native tongue as he cycled the bolt.

“Noble weapon, speak your name, for you are my life and the death of the foe.”

Cutting through the last of the vines that impeded her, Decima tore into the small clearing like a demon unbound. With an ear-shattering boom Grot fired his rifle, sending a heavy, armor-piercing slug to greet her. Normally he might consider such a thing to be overkill — These slugs were intended to hunt Rancors and other large beasts — but with his mistress so riled up…

He should have brought extra.

To her credit, his mistress did not even blink at his rifles report, continuing her reckless, headlong charge. She felt the bullet pass just above her right shoulder, making her ears ring and her hair flutter as it passed. Grot was already cycling the bolt again as she closed into melee range, determined to stand his ground. With a wild cry, the Iktotchi raised her axe, determined to teach her belligerent student a lesson.

A splitting crack and a flash caused pain erupt like a wildfire in her arm, a gush of blood spilled from the wound, but it would only slow her rage-fueled attack. Her axe fell with such power that it would have cleanly removed Grot’s forearm, but the Trandoshan raised his rifle just in time to desperately deflect it. The vibroaxe easily cut the slugthrower in two, sending sparks flying, and the redirected strike landed a clean cut on the Trandoshans chest.

Shallow, Decima thought far too shallow

She brought the axe around for a second attack but Grot was already on the move. With a burst of flame that sent the bushes rolling, he ignited his jet-pack, thrusting out of the way. The quick burst sent him soaring to the far side of the clearing, where he landing heavily against the tree. The Iktochi snarled and turned to face him.

“Cease this childish tantrum! You are already wounded, surrender now and return to the Voidbreaker!” she bellowed, giving him a chance to surrender. She could see the blood streaming from his chest wound, leaving dark, scarlet streaks as it ran down his armor. Grot hissed in reply, licking his lips and flashing his rows of sharpened teeth.

“You are wounded as well, Ghrakhowsk, perhaps you would like to concede?” Decima looked down to her arm. The bullet had gone cleanly through her bicep, leaving a neat hole in the muscle; blood poured in great spurts from the wound, but it did not appear to be disabling. The Iktotchi ground her teeth, and an audible growl was her only answer.

“I see,” Grot chuckled, “We are the same then, Mistress. I chose to follow you because you saved my life. I continue to follow you because, out of everyone, you understand. You and I both know this will only end one way.”

“Indeed it will,” Decima said, lowering her stance, “with my victory.”

“You see mistress? We are the same.”

Decima howled, tired with such inane talk, and charged her infuriating student. Fully living up to his reputation, Grot turned on his heel, dashing into the undergrowth and using the jetpack to carry him in short bursts through the trees. His mistress tried to pursue, but could already see him disappearing into the trees, leaving a trail of blood and broken foliage behind him.

“Coward! You’ll not escape me so easily!”

Up ahead, Grot took a short moment to rest against a tree. Decima’s shouts slowly died away as he considered his dire situation. He could keep ahead of her for some time, but using his jetpack like this was quickly eating through his fuel. He would need to confront Decima sooner rather than later.

But where exactly… The Trandoshan shook his head, looking around the jungle, and quickly remembered the ruins where Decima had come to train. Perched atop a ravine, there was plenty of open ground, and nothing to connect the platforms but those ancient bridges.

There, he thought, a plan forming in his mind, amongst the ancient stones I will emerge victorious!

The flickering fires of a jetpack rustled the canopies somewhere ahead and above, a few lingering birds taking flight along the Trandoshan’s path and leaving an unmistakable route for her to follow. He was trailing back, returning to where they’d met. A classic maneuver of hunted prey. Rather than taking his chances in the thick jungle, he would fight on familiar ground. She would have to commend him on that choice, but not now.

Panning the lush jungle with keen eyes, she spied the familiar leaf shape of a common herbal remedy, a thick and thoroughly absorbent kind. Snatching a pair of the leaves in passing, she pressed the verdant patch against her bicep to stem the bleeding, holding the piece in place until her clotting wound made it adhere. It was a very poor man’s bandage, but it would have to suffice. She’d never rolled in credits anyway.

Grot landed at the platform with a heavy thud, the impact of his bulk sending shivers through the formation. The jetpack was running on fumes, but he was done with running. Slinking behind bleached pillars of sunwashed stone, he flicked open the cylinder of his pistol and made sure he had five rounds chambered. He would be needing every last one.

Eyes narrowing in the sunlight the Trandoshan let the warmth seep into his scales and bones, finding a darker stone to lie upon to take full advantage of the ambient heat. He would need to be on his quickest reflexes.

Decima emerged from the shadows of the jungle with a growl of disdain, wiping mud and rotten tree matter from her shoulder. Powerful bulk shifting with the elegance of an apex predator, she surveyed the land. Grot lined up his sights. He squeezed the trigger.

A supersonic slug hurtled towards the Iktotchi, her reflexes crying out a warning that would come too late. The round crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, too fast for her to dodge, but she knew how he liked to hunt. Vibro-axe shifting into place at the nick of time, the round deflected off the flat of its blade, protecting her shoulder from injury.

Grot wanted to cry foul, but knew better than to waste the energy. They both fought with every means at their disposal and using all available knowledge was a wise hunter’s call. He could bitterly respect that.

With a furious cry for violence, Decima charged. Vibro-axe held before her like a spear, the thunderous assault sent tremors through the ancient stone dais, each pounding footstep throwing chips of stone into the abyss below. She saw the glint of his weapon, sunlight reflecting off its elongated barrel, and threw herself to the side as the lizard took his second shot.

The slug skimmed past, an accurate shot, but missing its mark as Decima rolled sideways across the dais to dodge his fire. Feet finding purchase in the worn grooves of ancient artificers, she regained her footing and dashed forward, eyes nailed on the prize.

Grot felt his hand tremble, an uncanny sensation he rarely encountered. Reptilian as he may be, his cold-blooded nature did not fail to register the peril he was in if he failed to land the next shots. The shape of the charging Iktotchi was almost upon him. Gripping the gun with both scaled hands, he let out a lisped sigh and took his shot.

The Iktotchi saw it coming and broke right, as he’d predicted. The first shot went wide, also as predicted, but the second found its mark. The shot passed through her upper body, punching a hole through her neck and narrowly missing her collar bone. The wounded Privateer cried out in pain.

Aiming to incapacitate, Grot rose up to send the final slug into her arm, but the vibro-axe was quicker. Rising up like an iron fynock, the blade of her weapon sliced through the slugthrower’s silencer, denying him the coup de grâce.

Scrambling backwards, a final gout of flame from the jet pack expanding its fuel supply, Grot threw himself behind a fallen pillar at the edge of the ancient arena. He had no time for a reload and he knew as much, but that had never been his intent. Scaled hand thumbing the sleek side of an explosive, he stared down his vengeful mistress and let fly.

The barreling charge faltered for but a moment as the sonic imploder flashed in the Trandoshan’s hand, but Decima was committed. Throwing caution to the wind as Grot threw his grenade, Decima swung down with an arcing overhead strike of her vibro-axe. The tubular charge detonated, enveloping her in a cacophony of sight and sound, but the distraction did little to deter the falling axe head.

Slipping down with ophidian speed, Grot ducked between two pieces of the fallen pillar, placing his life in the hands of ancient craftsmen. His judgement of their artifice proved accurate as the head of her vibro-axe cut a gash into the stone.

“Too shallow.” Even blinded by the grenade, Decima knew she had not hit her target.

With his foe’s weapon momentarily lodged in place, Grot pressed the mangled barrel of his pistol against the vibro-axe’s shaft and pulled the trigger. A shower of splintered axe handle and shattered bullet struck the Iktotchi’s face, the shrapnel bloodying her visage. Letting out a cry of anger and pain, she clutched the side of her head as the broken base of her weapon came loose while the axe head still remained lodged in the stone.

His foe blinded and weaponless, Grot clambered to his feet and drew the vibrosword on his back. It was time to end the hunt. Striding forth in a low crouch, he circled his prey for the killing blow.

The humm of the vibroblade was unmistakable, even through the throbbing pain and blurred vision. Acting on pure instinct, Decima stepped to the side and lashed out with the haft of her axe, racking the end across Grot’s side as the two combatants passed each other.

He had not expected that, but she had come out worse from it. A deep gash in her thigh from where the sword’s tip had grazed her squirting a bright crimson that soon spread down the hide-covered limb. She was running out of legs to stand on.

“It’s over, Grot. Just come quietly…” she panted, turning around to face him.

“Words of cornered prey,” the Trandoshan hissed, though a pained wince was obvious as he clutched his injured flank. The splintered shaft had dug deeper than he’d imagined.

The two stared at each other, bloodied and bleeding, but defiant.

“You are injured, admit defeat and I will see that you won’t bleed out,” Grot offered.

The humiliation of such an ignoble end burned in her soul. She’d relied on the help of others before. She would never make that mistake again. Glassy eyes staring up at him, the Trandoshan suddenly felt a chill down his spine as a tingling, unpleasantly familiar feeling caressed his mind.

“Stand down, darling.”

“Lucine?” Grot blurted, turning around as if expecting to see their captain standing behind him. It was all the distraction she needed.

By the time he realized the voice hadn’t been exactly that of their red haired commander’s, Decima had body-slammed into him and twisted control of the sword from his grasp. He struggled for a moment, bringing up his final trump card in the shape of a gauntlet-mounted blade, but a decisive blow saw the entire forearm separated from its owner and scattered upon the dais.

Deep, arterial blood gushed from the wound and splattered upon the opponents.

“Submit!” Decima panted, blade pressed against the ground next to his neck.

“Gyyaaaargh! Yes-yes, you cheating sithspit! I submit!” the Trandoshan yelled, clutching the stump of his forearm and trying to stem the bleeding.

Groaning, the Iktotchi pressed herself off her opponent, blade left sticking from the ground, and pulled out another absorbent leaf for his arm. “Don’t worry, it’ll grow back…”

Decima scowled as she kneeled down to the ground. As much as it enraged her, her student had managed to escape, and she wasn’t stupid enough to go charging after him while injured. There was little reason to give him more of an advantage than he already had. She would bind her wounds first.

Then, she did she would track her student down and crush him.

She cut off the bottom of her shirt with her vibroaxe and used the fabric to bind to wrap up her bullet wound. She thanked her luck that the bullet had gone clean through and missed the bone; She knew from experience those rounds that Grot used would have shattered her entire arm. Moderation was not a quality many would attribute to the Trandoshan, after all.

Satisfied that her impromptu bandages would hold, she set off through the jungle after her wayward apprentice. Tracking him was not difficult, he had left quite the trail of broken branches and scorched undergrowth in his wake, but that made her uneasy. Grot was a consummate hunter, and more than capable of covering his tracks if he wanted to. He wanted to be followed.

Grot’s trailed veered suddenly to the east near a bloodstained tree, back towards the ruins. He’d probably taken a few moments to bind his wounds his wounds here, and judging by the stain, he’d lost a lot of blood. She sincerely hoped he didn’t pass out from blood loss before she had a chance to… educate her student on the error of his ways.

She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she dashed through the woods, and she gripped her axe ever tighter. The woods began to thin out as she moved closer to the ruins, and she could see the outer perimeter of the arena up ahead. She vaulted over one of the ancient toppled stones that marked the edge of where the ancient Massassi warriors had once done battle and approached the wooden rope bridge that led to the main platform.

Signs of her student were everywhere. Rocks were upturned, blood stained the ground, and even the slight scorch marks where her student had leaped over the ravine towards the arena. Yet the Trandoshan himself remained frustratingly absent.

Carefully she began to make her way across the bridge, alert for any sign of an ambush. The wind rocked her from side to side as it raced through the ravine, she could hear the faint trickle of the stream below, and nearly missed the subtle click and whirr of a motorized cylinder locking into place.

She ducked and charged, the bullet flying over her with a muffled crack as it exploded from Grot’s silenced pistol. Two more shots followed in rapid succession. One cracked the wood as it impacted the bridge behind her, sending splinters flying up into the air, while the last one finally found its mark.

At which point Decima realized that Grot had never been aiming for her.

The slug snapped the thin rope holding up the left side of the bridge, sending the entire construction reeling. Her weight sent the bridge tumbling end-over-end, throwing her over to the side into the ravine below. With one hand she reached out desperately, grabbing the ropes and managing to catch herself. She dangled from the half-broken bridge by one hand, her vibroaxe in the other as she tried to recover.

One of Grot’s slugs shattered another plank, announcing he had no intention of allowing her the luxury. If she stayed here he would, eventually, snap the rope supporting her and send her down into the pit

Thinking quickly, and with heroic effort Decima swung her vibroaxe above her, the razor-sharp blade cutting the final links the bridge held to the other side of the ravine. Unsupported, the bridge went suddenly limp and began to fall back into the canyon wall, carrying her with it. The Iktotchi braced herself, grasping the rope tightly before she slammed into the solid stone. The impact blurred her vision with pain and sent her axe flying out of her grip, clattering against the rocks as it fell to the stream below her.

She dangled there for a moment and regained control of her senses. Shakily, she began to climb her way back up to the top of the ravine, pure rage powering her movements. With a final heave, she threw herself up over the edge and up to her knees, gasping with exhaustion. She looked up to see Grot standing above her with his pistol aimed.

He still had one bullet left.

“You could have killed me,” Decima growled, shoulders shaking with anger. Grot was no fool, he was just outside of her striking range.

“You are... stronger... than that” The Trandoshan said, his voice pained and shaky. Decima could see him clutching at his chest with his free hand. Blood dripped out from his armor and stained the ground in a trail behind him.

He never bandaged his wound She thought, suddenly aware of the state her apprentice was in.

“Strong enough.... to rip the ears... off a Gundark,”Grot chuckled softly, swaying as the adrenaline began to drain from his system. With a pained grunt, he fell to his knees, his pistol falling weakly from his grip. He gave another gasping laugh, and his eyes slowly closed.

And cold sleep claimed him.