A pair of massive, ancient doors loom at the entrance to the throne room. Upon opening, they give way to a large chamber with a high ceiling carved smoothly into stone. The chamber itself is the size of a professional holo-ball court but the hard-tile flooring has been sand-blasted to perfection and patterned symmetrically throughout. Tall, rounded pillars frame a center dais that forms an elevator platform. Perfectly centered on the low platform is the heart of Clan Arcona's power--the Serpentine Throne. The ornate throne stands several feet above the head of even the tallest Shadow Lords. The dais is back lit by an ever glowing wall of flame that attunes itself to the order-color of the current Consul. A sable carpet trimmed with white lays down over the shallow steps and continues all the way towards the entrance doors.
The Throne Room is completely sound-proofed, and almost feels like entering a vacuum. Voices carry easily, but never leave the chamber. A combination of alchemy and engineering allow the room to be shut off from the rest of the Citadel while maintaining proper ventilation for the unique curtain of flame. It maintains a steady room temperature, ignorant to the climate outside and throughout the Citadel's ancient walls.

The cool blanket of night had been pulled over Estle City, the turning of the planet Selen acting like a mother trying to tuck half of her children in. However, some children of the night still refused to rest. The Arcona Citadel, home of these restless few, remained alive in the moonlight with sounds of skirmishes echoing through its typically quiet halls. Blaster fire chirped and thermal detonators cracked through the night air as Quaestor separatists and Arconae loyalists hunted each other in the darkness. The hallways of the courtyard were silent as death, at least for the moment, save for the sound of a single set of hurried feet resounding off the icy stone of the corridors. These feet belonged to Adam Bolera, and like a number of the soldiers fighting across the Citadel, all he was wishing for at the moment was a quiet place to sleep for the night.

The Invicta crew said extraction has to wait until morning, fighting’s still too thick. Can’t be helped, I’ll have to make do. Gotta be somewhere I can…

The Knight stopped dead in front of a massive set of doors at least several times his height, wrapped both hands around a door handle, and did his best to pull the entrance open quietly. Slipping inside through the small crack he’d made in the doorway, he subtly shut it again as he felt the warmer air inside. Adam turned around and inhaled sharply as he realized where he was; the Arcona throne room. His eyes followed the white trim at the edges of dark carpet through the gloom, stopping at the steps of the Serpentine Throne, which stood solemn and solitary as indigo flames licked away behind it. Their quiet crackling and cool glow was the only source of sound and light in the entire room. The Knight whistled as he beheld the room in all of its understated splendor and approached the steps to the throne, hoping to settle near the warmth of the flames. He cast his eyes to the throne, sitting lonely atop its small mountain of stairs.

All this over who’s in power. Damn thing doesn’t even look comfortable. What would Marick think of-

Adam’s thought was interrupted by the Force as he sensed the presence of something else in the room. Half the fingers on his hand were instinctively on the hilt of his lightsaber as he turned to one side, and strained every sense he could to try to detect what was in the room with him. He swore he could see the shadow of one of the pillars move, and something like the wind whispering very briefly. All that the Force let him sense was something shrouded in an impenetrable fog.

“Somebody there? I’m not looking for a fight,” he called out into the dark, purging any fearful thoughts from his mind as he held out a container of soup and shook it a few times, “I’ve got food, willing to share. Just show yourself.” No answer came, but Adam knew for certain that he was not alone anymore. He felt a rush of air behind him, and before he could react he felt a stiff column of force slam into his back, knocking him flat on his face several feet away. The Knight rolled over onto his back to try to see what had attacked him, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived. He got to his feet knowing full well that the room was still not empty, and summoned his lightsaber hilt to his fingers.

Guess you’re not hungry… whatever you are...

The emerald blade snap-hissed to life, and its gentle hum seemed deafening in comparison to the overwhelming silence of the throne room. Adam's eyes caught shadow reaching over his left shoulder, and he felt the sting of flesh on his chest being sliced as he saw the gleam of a dagger edge, like a sliver of moonlight cutting into him. Adam ignored the pain as he spun around and pointed his saber where the shadow reached from, to find empty air once again. The cut was light and healed in moments, but Adam felt no reassurance as he almost began to believe he was fighting the shadows themselves. Was it just the atmosphere of the throne room? Was he simply losing his mind, and delusionally imagining enemies where there were none? Both were distinct possibilities. Adam stopped questioning himself as his opponent finally made an appearance; the shadows had taken humanoid form in front of the steps to the Serpentine Throne, as a dark figure swaddled in a mass of sable cloth. Its face was as pale as the moonlight, its eyes two ghostly cyan orbs staring right through Adam. It extended a hand and summoned a silver column to its hand, and Adam saw the mirror image of his own lightsaber blade snap to life.

This has got to be some kind of nightmare.

“Who or what are you?” the Knight asked, and the spectre did not answer. Instead, it just began pacing in a circle. Adam followed suit, and the two figures stared each other down like rival wolves circling a contested kill.

“Stand. Fight.” the ghostly figure ordered in a distorted, guttural voice. Adam wished that finally hearing speech from this creature would be reassuring. It was anything but.

“Don’t suppose I have any other options?” Adam queried.

“Die.”

“Okay then,” Adam sighed, “stand and fight it is.” He let the Force knit its way through his muscle fibers, like missing threads to the tapestry that was his body, and pounced at the ghost.

Adam had chosen to side with the Quaestors, and was not afraid to stand by it. Even in the face of an ominous advisory, he had not backed down. Like a true Arconan. Behind the safety and cover of his mask, Marick smiled.

The Force carried Adam swiftly through the air in a shallow arc. At the crest of his leap, Bolera chambered his lightsaber across his chest and over his left shoulder. As he came down with the weight of gravity, the Knight snapped his blade back down across his chest from his left shoulder to his right hip.

Marick-as-Ghost slid backwards, just enough so that the diagonal line of emerald plasma whizzed harmlessly through the air in front of him. Without so much as blinking, the Primarch focused a small amount of his willpower into his free hand and thrust it towards the ground. A quick burst of telekinetic energy lashed out from his fingertips.

Ghost managed to time the blast just in time for Adam’s feet to touch down. Bolera stumbled forward face first, legs flailing out behind him. Ghost stepped forward, gripped his lightsaber in both hands, and cleaved it down into the top of the Knight’s exposed back.

Adam’s left hand planted firmly on the hard tile before he could fully faceplant. His muscles twitched, still fueled by the Force. The Knight bent at the elbow, grunted, and threw himself sideways and clear of Ghost’s descending blade. As his shoulder hit the ground, Adam used his momentum to roll into a sprinter’s crouch, his left hand remaining on the floor next to his upright left knee while his right hand maintained its hold on his lightsaber. His right knee hovered parallel with his left and his weight shifted to the balls of his feet, heels lifting off the ground as his calf muscles coiled and tensed.

Bolera unfurled from his crouch and threw himself at Ghost again, this time keeping his center of gravity low and focused at the masked fighter’s hips. Ghost batted aside the first slash and began to backpedal as Adam’s saber licked out twice in a series of low sweeps. He smoothly slipped away from both, retreating further into the chamber’s shadows.

“Hold still,” Adam growled, pointing the fingers of his free hand at Ghost and unleashing a tendril of darkness into the masked fighter’s leg like a bullet.

Ghost grunted as a thin line of crimson spurt from his dark fatigues at the calf, blood oozing from the wound and slowing him momentarily. A growl escaped Ghost’s mask as he siphoned the dark side through his body. With a burst of sudden speed, the assassin freed himself from the lingering wound. The skin around the puncture hole began to knit back together at an supernatural pace.

“...You’ve got to be kidding me,” Adam grumbled.

The Battleteam leader of Apex Brigade shook his head, darted forward and pressed his attack harder. Emerald sparks hissed as the Marauder twisted, spun, and unleashed a flurry of kinetic blows.

Ghost met each strike with precision, always managing to have his blade in the appropriate position despite the unpredictable and raw nature of Bolera’s form. Sweat began to bead along the Knight’s bow, his breathing rapid but steady. Adam knew the pitfalls of Ataru better than most and had worked hard to keep his body capable of maintaining the aggressive style.

An errant trickle of salty sweat dripped down into his eyes. Adam involuntarily squeezed them shut, blinking away the stinging sensation. When he opened them, Ghost had disappeared.

The flames at the far wall of the throne room rumbled: crackle, crackle, crackle

Adam turned in place, frantically stretching his senses out into the slipstreams of the Force. His eyes shifted from every shadow, and he thought he caught a faint displacement of air out of the corner of his eye. Bolera waited a beat and then spun deftly to the right, just as Ghost shimmered back into view from behind his veil. The Knight tightened both hands on his lightsaber as he interposed it between his body and Ghost’s searing blade. He growled and felt his muscles flare with power as he pushed back against his attacker.

Ghost had already recoiled his one-handed strike from the shadows and moved with haunting alacrity. A glint of silver flashed across Adam’s eyes as Ghost’s second hand swept a dagger across his midsection, drawing a thin line of blood. The masked fighter let his body continue into a half-rotation, bringing his trailing leg up and around so that his boot slammed into Adam’s jaw in the same sinuous motion.

Adam Bolera staggered right into a stone pillar, yelping as something in his shoulder made a distinct popping sound. The Knight landed on the floor and scrambled back to his feet, panting. He looked around for his assailant, but again only found silence.

All but the rumble of flames.

Crackle, crackle, crackle.

Adam grunted as he pressed himself against the pillar the Ghost had knocked him into, clinging to it like detritus around a boat. Having his back to something was the only comfort he could afford, but he was eternally grateful for it. At least he would be spared the Ghost approaching from behind. The Knight grit his teeth as he grabbed at his left shoulder and clicked it back into place, the pain trying to screech in his brain over the sound of his mind at work. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he considered his circumstances. Even at the greatest speeds he could manage and with all his acrobatic prowess assisted by the Force, his duel with this phantom was essentially like fighting the wind. Adam’s wild Ataru assaults would have exhausted and overwhelmed many opponents, but this one was quietly humoring him before setting him back in his place. It was difficult to anger the Knight, but nothing irked him quite like being patronized and toyed with. Even the injuries inflicted on him were an insult unto themselves, the shallow slice across Adam’s midsection knitting back together within seconds as he ran a finger across it. The minimal depth of the cuts was clearly intentional, and did more damage to his pride than his body as they pointed out his martial inadequacy compared to the Ghost.

Why drag this out? Chances are it could kill me anytime it wants.

The frustrated Obelisk rotated his shoulder a few times, the pain of dislocation all but gone, when he noticed the rattling of the chain on his wrist. A thought occurred to him as he ran his fingers across the cold Durasteel. He let it unravel across his palm and grasped it firmly in his fingers, letting one end barely touch the floor.

I won’t die like its plaything.

The battleteam leader was solemnly aware that it was only a matter of time before the Ghost would tire of the hunt and decide to kill him, and he chose to meet his end on his own terms. His mind was suddenly alive with clarity of focus, and his will solidified into a bulwark. The baleful stillness of the air around him and the deafening silence were no longer relevant as he stepped away from the pillar and out onto the sable carpet once more.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he called into the darkness with a defiant tone, “I’m not playing your game.” The Knight held his thumb over the activation stud on his lightsaber for a few seconds, then relished pressing it to hear the snap-hiss of the igniting blade shatter the eerie silence of the throne room like glass. The chain hung from his left hand, and he gave it a few affectionate twirls as he waited for the Ghost to accept his suicidal challenge. The Force alerted Adam to the presence of the dark fog standing on the carpet several meters from the throne. The lightsaber hummed in the shade’s hand, eager to meet its twin once more. Adam let the Force flood every available space in his body; if he was to die here, he wanted to feel its familiar, comfortable strength ebb away with his life. His mind screamed what he wished to prove to his adversary.

You are not in control.

The Knight tore down the carpet like a comet streaking across the stars, and launched into a whirlwind of wild strikes. While the Ghost met the blade with relative ease, he was still backpedaling away from the maelstrom of attacks. The chain was swiped clumsily like a snake attempting to strike with a broken vertebrae, and several links were easily sliced off. Adam just swiped it and his saber again, transforming his body into a violent, Force-fueled hurricane. He simply didn’t care anymore, and this last-gasp assault made it abundantly clear to the phantom. Adam pressed his blade against the Ghost’s, pushing hard to try and stagger it back. The chain was still being wildly flailed and chopped to pieces, but the specter’s blade had to move to defend against it as well.

Adam whirled once more, this time in the opposite direction and swiping the chain first. Links flew through the air, but the tip of the battleteam leader’s saber just barely nicked a surface as the Ghost stretched backward; the space just below one of its eyes. The assault moved the duelists only a few feet from the throne, the Ghost’s back to the stairs. Adam swelled with pride from his tiny success, but the next swipe of his chain was caught by an arm, which precisely torqued the Knight’s shoulder enough to make the remnants of the chain slip through his fingers like sand onto the floor. Another swift and flexible kick in the head knocked Adam onto his back, but he growled like a rabid dog as he rolled through the fall to his feet. He reached behind him, and unleashed a torrent of Durasteel balls rapidly carried forward by the currents of the Force. The Ghost answered the attack with its own burst of invisible force, but for once Adam’s ability won out. The bearings briefly shuddered in midair, but were only slowed, and several of them peppered the phantom’s chest and bounced off. A grunt of pain escaped its mask, and Adam hurried forward to give it all he had left. One more telekinetic punch hit the stunned Ghost square in the chest at point-blank, and sent it hurtling up the stairs and crashing into a seated position on the throne.

You are not in control!

A final pounce was all the Knight had left, carrying him up the stairs towards the throne. It would not be enough. The Ghost had already recovered, and stood from its seat. Adam’s belly was met by the kiss of a charged stun baton. Pained yelps were forced from his lungs as the electricity purged his muscles of strength, and the Ghost threw him down the steps, Adam bouncing like a rag doll on the way down before rolling to a stop. The Knight coughed several times as the Ghost calmly strode down the steps, knife in hand. It tilted its head as it heard the strangest sound come from its fallen adversary; Adam was laughing. As much as it hurt to do it, he was laughing. The phantom saw his finger weakly point at its left eye, and it raised a shadowy hand to trace a fingertip over the tiny scorched divot left by his opponent’s saber tip.

“You’re not…” Adam coughed and laughed at the same time, “untouchable. Remember... that. Do it whenever… you want, I’m ready.”

“No.” the Ghost answered, the guttural voice strangely insistent. Adam blinked, but he couldn’t move a muscle to resist regardless of what his opponent had in mind.

“I’m sure… I don’t have to tell you… knives do a bad job… of knocking people out…” he huffed, while the phantom opened a pouch on its belt, dipped its fingers inside, then gently rubbed them on the tip of the thin blade. It knelt down and took Adam’s wrist in hand, then slipped the tip into his vein and held it there for a moment before softly pulling it back out. The Ghost ran a finger over the incision, and the flesh sealed. Adam squinted, confused, and looked back at the ghostly cyan orbs in the mask.

“Sedative,” the voice answered the asking emerald eyes with the longest word it had spoken yet, “rest.” Sure enough, unconsciousness began to wash over Adam’s brain like ocean waves, and he obliged his opponent’s request. The Knight was asleep within seconds, hoping this was all some terrible dream, while the Ghost walked back into the darkness. Behind the phantom’s mask, Marick Arconae wore a thin smile on his disguised face, quietly pleased.

A true Arconan. Only one way to find them.

Adam grit his teeth as his eyes darted back and forth around him. When no immediate threat presented itself, the Knight quickly assessed his injury and situation. His shoulder was dislocated. Check. He had to do something about or he’d never be able to keep up with the specter, let alone survive. Check. To his knowledge, the throne room was completely sound-proofed from the rest of the Citadel. No one was coming to rescue him. He was alone.

With that sobering thought in mind, Bolera looked from his limp arm to the giant stone pillar, and then back at his arm.

“This is going to suck,” he murmured as he steadied his breathing. He let the Force flow through him freely, fusing it with his willpower to create a mental wall. “Remember, just like a bandage, hard and fast--”

He opened his mouth to cry out as he rammed his shoulder into the pillar. Instead of a scream, he merely grunted. Instead of a sharp sting of agony, the resounding pop of bone returning to the appropriate socket felt more like a heavy but dull prod from a quarterstaff. The ligaments tasked with guarding the shoulder tingled. Instead of becoming inflamed as a result of the whole process, a soothing coolness flushed down from his neck trickling all the way down to his fingertips. The Knight flexed the fingers of the hand experimentally and turned with renewed determination to his surroundings.

“Alright, Ghost,” Adam exclaimed. “No more games. You want me? Come get me!”

Bolera trotted boldly towards the Serpentine Throne and climbed the dias, standing with his back to the chair itself. The indigo flames illuminated the immediate area, eliminating any shadows for the specter to use to his advantage. Keeping his lightsaber gripped firmly in one hand, Adam's free hand moved to a pouch on his belt.

“Fight me!” Adam called out defiantly. “Arconans never back down, especially to cowards who won’t even show their faces.”

Stepping out from behind one of the pillars, Ghost shimmered back into plain sight. His emerald blade hissed to life as he darted directly towards the throne.

Bolera bent at the knees, focused his mind, and reached deftly into the pouch at his hip. A trio of pyramid-shaped ball bearings flung from his belt and through the air towards the encroaching Ghost. Guided by Adam’s willpower, the durasteel projectiles zipped through the air like a swarm of angry spider-monekys, growing in number as the Knight continued to empty his pouch of the ball bearings.

Ghost accelerated through the Force and entered the volley head on. He leaned left, then cut sharply to the right before twisting and slicing through a projectile with his saber. As the next array closed in, he rolled out and away from the first Force-guided-bullet. The edge of the second small pyramid cut through the cloth over his floating rib cage. A third and a fourth struck him square on the same shoulder. The blunt force was enough to spin Ghost around so that he nearly fell face first on the dias.

The specter somehow managed to keep his balance, but still staggered a few steps--exactly as Adam had hoped for.

Bolera darted forward in the blink of an eye, the thrill of battle fueling his muscles with liquid fire. With the advantage of superior elevation from atop the dais, he leap through the air at Ghost and swept his saber across the man’s neck, hoping to end the fight then and there.

Despite being thrown off-kilter by the durasteel projectiles, hair-trigger reflexes and a nudge from the Force allowed Ghost to duck under the decapitating swing. Plasma seared through ozone and cloth as the tip of Ghost's hood dissolved into frayed ends. Adam sailed over the specters head, landed at the foot of the dias and spun in the same fluid motion, legs coiling like a nexu ready to spring.

Long, silvery hair came free as the bone-white mask became fully visible. Ghost didn't spare a moment for his lost hood and quickly rose back to his feet. He turned to face Adam Bolera and looked down at the torn fabric at his side and the blood that had spurt out of the shallow gash.

“Worthy,” he spoke evenly from behind the mask.

“Uh, thanks?” Adam replied as he leapt once again for his opponent. This time, instead of attacking head on, Adam landed to the right of Ghost. The specter had to twist his body sharply to meet the accompanying thrust, interposing his blade at a purely vertical angle to create an emerald cross-shaped lock. The sudden, sinuous motion prevented Ghost’s skin from knitting itself back together and stung. It was a slight detail, but one that slowed the specter by just a fraction of a heartbeat.

Adam capitalized on the opening. The Knight took up a length of chain from his belt and let it fall down from his off-hand. With a defiant growl, the chain lashed out like a serpent towards Ghost’s throat. The metal links encircled the specter’s neck and locked into place as Bolera shuffled backwards a few steps, tightened his grip, and pulled with all of his might.

-=x=-

The sudden pressure on his larynx caused Marick-as-Ghost to drop his lightsaber and move both hands to the constricting chain. The disguised Consul instinctively tucked his chin and managed to get his fingers under the chain links, focusing the dark side inward to lend strength to his hands. The combined endeavor served to prevent him from immediately choking, though Ghost flailed his shoulders and made exaggerated choking sounds nonetheless.

Adam saw his chance, allegedly, and whooped victoriously. “Surrender and I will let you leave this place!”

Ghost made a strangled sound, closed his eyes, and managed to croak a simple, “No.”

His gloved hand shot forward and a flare of vibrant white light flashed through the dimly lit chamber. Adam grunted as he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his vision. The Knight heard a saber being snapped back to life, followed by the sound of metal giving way to a veritable plasma cutter.

“Oh come on, that’s not--” Adam started to groan in protest as bright spots faded from his vision and the chamber returned to its normal color. He felt the shortened chain fall limply to the floor, followed by the faint sound of rapid footsteps closing in. He heard metal pierce flesh before he registered the stabbing pain in his chest. He looked down at the echani dagger as blood pooled around the wound and soiled his shirt.

“--fair,” he grunted as his eyes glossed over and he dropped to his knees. He was dully aware that the specter had circled around him and started to turn his head as he felt a blunt pressure against the back of his skull. Then, everything went black and his body slumped unceremoniously to the floor of the dias.

Marick-as-Ghost stood over the Knight’s body. After a few moments thought, he lifted the body up and rested it against the foot of the Serpentine Throne in an upright position. The Consul placed two fingers against his neck, checked for a pulse, and then nodded contently. He rose and strode down the steps of the dias, disappearing into the shadows from whence he came without any other parting words.