Hidden in Felucia’s jungle lies a two hundred meter expanse marking the ancient burial site of this world’s deadliest creatures and the location of innumerable remnants of hundreds, if not thousands of rancors. A circular enclosure of sun-bleached bones are arranged in the center of the cemetery—no doubt the former dwelling of a powerful practitioner of the Force. Cobwebs cling to the fallen beasts, a testament to the primordial age of some of the creatures.

Somewhat obscured by surrounding cliffs and the luminescent jungle, the dusted bones and carcasses are cast in a faint shadow, leaving just enough light to see by. The atmosphere is thick and stifling, with a strong overtone of dust and bone suspended in the still air. The taint of the Dark Side's influence has polluted the landmark over time, giving form to a dreadful aura that has scared off scavengers hoping to sell off a rancor tusk or two. Unlike most of Felucia, the area is nearly devoid of life aside from ravenous predators dwelling within the hollowed-out husks of dead rancors.

Teroch crouched low on the edge of a lichen-lit cliff and watched the man in the sprawling copse of corpses below him.

Felicia was pretty osik'la, but it was as good a place as any to stop for a bit and stretch between one hauler and the other. Finding someone else in the boneyard was just a bonus, a possibility of entertainment.

And entertaining the man promised to be, from his observations. He was dressed in the robes of a bellicose Jedi, and there was a lightsaber at his hip. Were that not enough of a clue, Teroch's senses confirmed his suspicions; the Dark seeped into the sepulchral soil here was nearly outdone by the shadowy wellspring seething around the stranger. It was on par with the Mandalorian's own powers.

He crept closer, still cloaked in the Force, hopping down rocks and bioluminescent branches as easily as breathing. His feet made no sound as he touched ground, stalking into the clearing proper, bypassing ancient bones.

Up closer, he could make out the man's features, not just his vivid coloring and outerwear. Little geometric tattoos marched across his emerald face in a black parade, framing striking eyes and a cut jaw. Pulled-back dreadlocks bared a strong neck and tumbled over broad shoulders that worked as he inspected whatever it was he was inspecting in the dwelling at the graveyard's center. Lots of scars, Teroch thought, gaze traveling the tight, well-muscled figure again, noting details. The first pass had been for appreciation. The second spotted blades and equipment. Lots of sacramental weapons...he's got some high regard from somewhere, and survived some serious battles. Promising indeed, a powerful Dark Sider of some renown.

Let’s poke it with a stick and see if it gets pissy.

Silently, the Erinos slipped a hand into one of the many pockets of his pants and drew one of his throwing daggers, gripping it in his gloved hand a moment. He took one long, slow hunter's breath.

Then, he chambered his arm and threw.

The little, doubled edged blade sliced through the air, sailing straight for the Mirialan's head. Before it could connect, however, bright, blinding blue plasma burst into life and swatted it right out of the air with a perfunctory spin. Metal slag hissed as it spattered the ground and the other man turned around, rotating until his body was in line with his weapon, still raised.

He didn't look happy. More the fun.

"You finally decide to make a move?" called the alien, lips curled back in a grimace. "I been waitin' for long enough to see what you wanted, ay, ay."

Slightly surprised, the Human straightened up from his position and let his cloak drop, presenting himself with a wicked smirk. The Mirialan didn't seem perturbed by his sudden appearance, already looking directly at him. Those sharp violet eyes appraised Teroch, his civvies, lingering on his weapons — even the ones tucked away in baggy confines. The Mandalorian tucked his arms behind his head, stretching his torso and hips to give the guy a better eyeful. It made the other's frown deepen.

"How'd you know?" Teroch asked in return.

"The dust moved with you," the Mirialan informed him.

"You knew I was here this whole time, huh? But you let me watch." He licked his lips. "Alright, bit of a voyeur, stud, I can get with that."

The other man actually flinched in surprise, mouth dropping open slightly. Teroch grinned wider and strode forward, lowering his hands to his belt while his would-be opponent retreated in turn, blade held in warding. Was that a blush under all that green? Oh, glorious, an easy one.

"Who the hell do you think you are, franger?"

"Name's Teroch." Once, he'd have added with pride di Tenebrous Arconae, but now... "Do I get yours?"

"Like hell."

"Aww, come on, what have I done to you?"

The frazzled Mirialan gave him a deadpan stare that went pointedly to the remains of his throwing knife and then back. Teroch snorted.

"Don't be so dramatic. If that could have actually touched you, you wouldn't have been worth my time anyway."

"What do you mean, 'worth your time?' I don't even know you."

"You could, if you'd tell me your name too." He winked. Again, the Mirialan glared.

"For Bogan's sake— Ruka. Now kriff off."

"But we're just gettin' to know each other, Ruka. And besides, I wanna have some fun." He swiftly drew his own lightsaber in a relaxed grip, Fraternity's ochre edge spearing the still air with a hum. "How's about it?"

"You want to fight? Of course you do. Teenagers," the green man scoffed. He seemed more settled now, like the excuse of violence was much more familiar than the flirting. "Only happy if someone's bleeding? I'm not about to fight you."

A flashfire flare of his older temper zipped through the Erinos, like a spark to gasoline. "We're probably about the same age, actually. And why not? Fighting is fun. Good way to get to know someone too…"

"I said no—"

Teroch moved, and Ruka moved with him. Sapphire met citrine, clashing in a spray of sparks, struggling inches from their faces as the Mandalorian bore down with all his might, the Force thrumming through him, blood and sinew. The Sith snarled at him and, rather than trying to overwhelm the lock, let himself be pushed, tumbling back up to his feet and leaping away clear across the burial site in one supernatural arc. A bloom of giddy sound burst out of Teroch's chest, and he gave chase, muscles still fueled by the ether all around them.

Their blades clashed again, once, twice, Teroch twisting and throwing himself into leaping lunges that were met ferociously, but then the Mirialan was just out of reach again. Ruka was faster, if just, but Teroch was stronger. If he could just get into a rhythm— but he couldn't. Ruka didn't try to block, didn't engage, just kept running, and there was no satisfaction in that.

The Mandalorian stopped suddenly, his arrested momentum making his father's coat flare around him. The Mirialan stopped too, several meters away, crouching on a low hill made out of the slope of an entire rancor skeleton. Neither was even breathing hard yet. Maybe it was time for a little more goading.

"Oh, damn," the Erinos drawled. "If that's how you handle your saber, you can sure play with mine. Help a guy out. These hands are a little... rougher than I like." He flicked the fingers of said cybernetics, just to make his point.

"Shut. Up," snapped the other man, nearly a hiss, all narrowed eyes and flushed face. Teroch laughed at him.

"Make me."

"No. Thanks for the memories, but no thanks, I'm out of here, you crazy sleemo," Ruka said, backing away with his lightsaber still up in a guard.

"Don't be like that, baby," Teroch replied, and gave a short whistle. "Cause see, you'd like it when I bite, but him...Not so much."

A growling snarl erupted from the corpse-gray mist behind the pair, growing louder as a large, shaggy black cythraul with burning orange eyes stepped into view. Kote had a bone of some sort between his teeth, and it snapped and splintered with a crunch and a flex of his jaws, freeing his fangs to bear at the Mirialan. Ruka had frozen as soon as the sound came, and was watching the hound with clear, hard wariness, but not shock— he was at least familiar with Arcona's breed then. Interesting.

"Come play with me instead," invited the Mandalorian again. "Live a little. I'll even make you a deal. You beat me, me and Kote let you go. I beat you...well, we'll see."

The Sith's jaw was clenched so hard his face had paled. He spat a short, sharp, "fine," and Teroch's instincts gave an echo of alarm.

And then, back angled so as to avoid turning it on either the cythraul or the Mandalorian, he lifted one hand from his weapon, fingers splayed like talons, and thrust it in Teroch's direction.

Teroch threw up his saber. Lightning exploded in a riptide across the space between them, bright and searing, an unrelenting storm. Some of the tendrils cut into the ground around the Erinos, some licked wildly overhead, and some caressed his skin, tongues of white hot flame laving just past him, but his blade kept any from reaching him to do damage. He went to one knee with the force of it, his lungs seeming to burst and deflate all at once, and then—

Then it stopped, just as suddenly, no more than one electricity-stolen heartbeat since it had begun. A warning shot, maybe? It didn't matter. His head swam a little, and the Mandalorian rose back upright with only the presence that the Force could grant, but the threat didn't concern him.

The way his hair all rose on his body, the tremble along his skin, the ozone burning in the air as it cracked sharp-hot— Teroch actually groaned.

How much he'd missed that power. How much he wanted it back.

He looked the Mirialan dead in the eyes, half-lidded, and commanded, "Do that again, but harder this time, big boy."

His opponent went unhealthily red and actually kind of... squawked. Rasped. Like a dying felinx. Teroch smirked yet again, and this time, it was cold as the dead of night on Hoth, as hot as one of Mustafar's lava flows. This was what he'd wanted recently. A reminder of exactly how alive he was.

"OYA!" the Erinos howled, and threw himself forward again, saber in his right hand, his left curling into a fist that lifted several meter-long rib bones like spears ready to strike from on high.

The Force sang a threnody. The dusty cairn was a fitting locale for the drum beats of the dirge pulsing through Teroch. He bounced on the balls of his prosthetic feet, cycloned the saber once and surged forwards, a manic grin etched across his face. The sun-bleached brittle bones of long dead rancors speared ahead of him in a vanguard assault that, rather than try to redirect, Ruka simply avoided. He rolled laterally over his left shoulder and came up as the makeshift spears smashed into the uneven ground beside him. The Miralan’s saber was held in a low guard before him just in time to meet Teroch’s overhead slash that would’ve bisected the tattoed Adept from forehead to stomach. He answered by battering at the youth with a trio of horizontal slashes, the first two turned aside while the third knocked the Mandalorian back a hasty couple of steps. If anything, Teroch’s grin widened.

Determined to press the momentum he’d turned about, the green-skinned Adept blasted another gout of lightning from his free hand, the actinic blue eating the space between them in an instant. It was caught on the forge-hot iron glow of Teroch’s blade, the whiplash crack of oxygen atoms splitting from the energy echoing throughout the graveyard. Kote circled behind Ruka, padding softly, positioning itself behind the Adept, teeth bared in a silent snarl until the Mandalorian issued a sharp single note in the form of a whistle. With a gnash of teeth and a single huge leap, the hulking canine’s teeth clamped down on Ruka’s free hand and pulled, dragging the Miralan to the floor with a yelp. Teroch issued another sharp whistle. Instantly, Kote disengaged and loped away, lambent eyes never leaving the pair.

Scrambling to his feet, Ruka backed up, eyes wary as he tried to split his gaze between Teroch and his tame hound.

“Look alive, sunshine. We’re not done yet,” Teroch warned as blood dripped from the Miralan’s green fingers.

Ruka shot a hasty look over his shoulder at the lupine nightmare prowling between the dessicated corpses, a low-hanging mist adding to the macabre silhouette. “What’s your kriffing problem?” Ruka demanded, focusing back on the Mandalorian.

Teroch blinked, as if confused by the question and suddenly a glimmer of understanding burst to life for Ruka. The battle-thirsty little psychopath wasn’t fighting from any need to kill Ruka himself; it wasn’t personal. It was simply the challenge he presented. Ruka was strong. He wanted to see if he could beat him.

“You’re kandosii,” Teroch said slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton.

“What the hell is kandosii?” Ruka said, buying time, trying to puzzle out the raven-haired youth. Intellectually, he knew that the Mandalorian could’ve probably scored a lethal hit when that oversized dog was ragging on his arm, but he’d held off. He hadn’t wanted a short bout. He wanted a contest.

Teroch sighed, looking supremely disappointed. “Aruetii di’kut. Kandosii. Hot.”

Okay, maybe not battle-thirsty. Just plain thirsty.

Testing his injured arm, Ruka flexed his fingers and was glad to see them responding appropriately. The oversized mutt hadn’t torn any tendons. Before him, Teroch shrugged off his father’s jacket, letting it fall carelessly to the ground by his feet and he kicked it aside, cracking his neck left and right. He was positively diminutive without the bulky coat - the skin-tight black top hugging his small frame. Flashing a grin, Teroch flourished Fraternity and waded in once more, the tangerine blade slashing horizontally. Ruka met the blade with his own and forced the youth back, their feet kicking up a messy cloud of dust, his expression a rictus of exertion as he bore down on the smaller being.

“If the only thing you’re going to respect is strength, firstly you’re a fool, and secondly, you’ve come to the right man,” Ruka taunted over the spitting staccato reports from the two sabers burning against each other between the combatants. The Mirialan spared a glance over Teroch’s shoulder and suppressed a grin.

Just a few more seconds…

Teroch finally managed to heave him back and suddenly stopped. Ruka realised that he had an eerie capacity for stillness and the abrupt change from lounging to murderously fast was jarring. “Now you’re getting into it. It’s just a shame I can’t see how strong you are under all that armour,” Teroch replied, dark-eyed and terrible, his lip curling up in a smirk that could be considered predatory and alluring at the same time. Ruka wanted to smack it off his face.

C’mon, hurry up…

“I may have been raised on the streets but I’m not strutting about dressed like some disease-ridden whore,” Ruka countered, eyeing the skin-tight black V-necked top Teroch wore like a particularly religious father chastising his daughter.

Teroch laughed maniacally. “This? It’s not a fashion statement; it’s a shabla deathwi-”

He cut off mid-sentence, his eyes widening from a scream of warning from the Force and leapt high into the air as a gout of flame licked out at him from the KX security droid quietly approaching behind him. The droid kept up the onslaught, following Teroch’s trajectory as he landed, still aflame, rolled swiftly across the dirt-covered floor and scrambled on all fours away from danger. Ruka added to the chaos and blasted the Mandalorian with another volley of Force Lightning, hitting him squarely in the back. Teroch peeled out a scream and managed to seek refuge by scuttling into the yawning mouth of a rancor’s skull, cutting his back on the still-sharp teeth as he went.

“Spotter, stay on him,” Ruka ordered as he swiftly stalked around the pile of bones, intending to cut the youth off before he came out of the back of the skull.

A trio of short whistles sounded out from inside the skull and Ruka winced, having forgotten about the damn Cythraul. He turned sharply around, keeping his saber ready, alert for the attack. Instead, a black blur of fur, drool and teeth shot past him and tackled the droid bodily, the canine’s mouth snapping shut around one of the droid’s limbs. It yanked it to and fro before dancing back as the droid calmly brought its other arm to bear, issuing out a similar gout of flame. A blaster bolt tore from the empty eye-socket of the titanic skull and hit the droid in the head, dropping it. Kote lunged back in and his teeth clamped down on the already-disabled droid’s wrist, tearing savagely at the limb, not realising that the threat had been neutralised.

Teroch emerged from the rancor’s skull and straightened, looking much the worse for wear. His black top was scorched and burned through in several locations, but beneath his skin seemed unharmed; he’d either been incredibly lucky or managed to heal himself in the intervening moments. He wasn’t smiling, either. Teroch shoved the blaster back in its holster and jutted out a prosthetic arm, and his lightsaber met his waiting grip a moment later, having been dropped in the earlier confusion.

“Dick move, Greenie. I was playing nice and everything.”

Ruka shrugged, affecting nonchalance. “No, you weren’t. I don’t want to fight you. While we’re talking fair, how’s about we talk about how you sicked your kriffing dog on me, ay?”

The corner of Teroch’s lip twitched, as if he were suppressing a smile. “Okay, I was playing mostly nice. But, if you wanna play dirty…” He said, his eyes alight with possibilities.

Ruka rolled his eyes and squared his shoulders, watching Teroch intently, It was a sound strategy. Teroch clearly kept his opponents off-balance with the innuendo, taking advantage of the bafflement and confusion it could cause. Presumably it gave him time to recover some of his strength in between his acrobatic saber-play. It could also enrage his opponents and cause them to blunder into doing something stupid. Plus, as the old shop owner he used to steal candies from had said ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it.’

And there’s definitely something about him. Broken but still beautiful.

Pushing such dangerous thoughts from his mind, Ruka braced himself for the nex onslaught. Letting the Force suffuse him, Teroch moved. One second, he was several paces away, the next he was before Ruka swinging his lightsaber as if he hadn’t bothered with the intervening space.

The Miralan was ready. He let Teroch’s lateral slash rebound off his blade, stepped closer and gut punched the youth, letting his own considerable speed come into play. The Mandalorian grunted in pain and stumbled forwards into Ruka, too close to skewer with his saber. The Adept shoved Teroch away from him, noting that he smelled of citrusy cologne, fresh sweat and gun oil and swung a wide haymaker with his saber held in a reverse grip, whipping the burning blade around to try and take the youth’s head off at the shoulders. Alacrity from the Force allowed Teroch to lean back, letting the blade pass just over his chest, burning the material of his top to a crisp. He stepped forwards as the strike swept past and brought his own blade up in a vertical sweep, dragging the burning orange blade through the ground as he did so with a feral hiss. Ruka backpedalled and Teroch turned his swing into a cartwheel, his lightsaber slashing out like a viper’s bite as he passed over the Miralan.

Ruka ducked once, received a glancing slash across his shoulder and removed himself from harm’s way. The Mandalorian’s acrobatics weren’t nearly over. One foot landed against the skull of a long-dead beast and he somehow transferred his momentum and was passing over the Miralan again, his orange blade scything through the space below him. Ruka managed to knock the blow aside and turned as Teroch landed in a crouch, then yelped and stumbled back, a pain in his leg causing him to stagger.

He glanced down. It was a shallow cut. Teroch rose slowly, his grin predatory as he brought up an amethyst-bladed kukri, Ruka’s blood running over one edge. With a flourish, he switched to a reverse grip of the weapon and adopted a ready stance, his lightsaber held by his face in one hand, the kukri held low in the other.

“C’mon, you got more than that in ya,” The Mandalorian chided, clearly thoroughly enjoying himself.

"You just won't quit running your damn mouth, will you?" the Mirialan snapped, shifting on his feet. Despite being shallow, the slice in his thigh was still bleeding enough to pool in his boot, making it squish like a sponge when he stepped. Ruka grimaced.

Teroch shifted with him, mirroring the movement, but didn't budge beyond that, waiting for him to engage. The tension hummed thicker than the mist, strung taut between them. Narrowing his eyes, the Sith flipped his saber to one hand and reached for his belt, drawing his own violet blade and holding it up, deliberately mimicking Teroch in turn. It hurt to hold in his bitten right hand. The Human blinked at him then barked a dangerous laugh.

"Sincerest form of flattery?"

"You want me to play your game so bad, fine. Call off your mutt."

"Oh, we're not playing nice anymore, babe. But fine." He whistled twice, short-sharp, and Kote stopped savaging the downed KX-Security unit at last. The cythraul paced a bit before retreating to crouch nearby. Both men turned their gazes back to one another. "Come on. Why don't you show me that little bit of spark you've been saving?"

They lunged at the same time. Teroch was a tornado, twisting and cycloning, but Ruka was a riptide, ebbing and flowing viciously in the rhythm of their dance. Crystal met crystal and plasma met plasma, spitting, snapping, hissing, ringing. Ruka sprung in with a sheer barrage of strikes that the other endured and then sprung away when quick slashes snuck past his offense, and Teroch came whirling after him, wild and leaping. The Adept's kukri slammed into the Sith's, knocking it clean out of his debilitated grip while the blade sliced into his palm, nearly taking a finger. Ruka yelped as he barely parried the saber strike right on its heels fast enough, catching orange on blue with a bloody two-handed grip.

But Teroch was still coming, always moving, kicking up and off the ground, descending on Ruka with knife and lightsaber. Instincts screaming, the Mirialan spun, putting his back to the man and planting his feet as he lifted his saber in an overhead guard.

Plasma sparked again against plasma while his whole spine vibrated with the force of the blow as Teroch's kukri caught on the sapphire blade hanging crosswise over Ruka's shoulders and back. He surged backwards, stumbling slightly, but it threw the surprised Mandalorian back and gave him room to breathe. Ruka pivoted, pulling his emerald dagger from its sheath. Again they lunged, and again they locked, his shorter dagger sliding down the hooked curve of the kukri and lodging there before a twist of his wrist stole it from Teroch's hand.

"Oya!" the Human gasped out, excited. His abdominals flexed as he used the leverage of their saber lock alone to throw himself pinwheeling overhead and land behind Ruka. The Mirialan cursed and lashed his arm back as he spun, saber skimming as Teroch ducked it again, the stink of burnt hair following. A few black strands fell between them, and—

Color flashed out the corner of Ruka's eye, and he jerked his weapon up to block the strike, but his blade hit...nothing.

Pain sliced across his side. He hissed and leapt backwards in a supernatural arc, a shallow laceration scything his middle and a smug curl to Teroch's mouth. The Mandalorian licked his teeth.

"Wha…?" Ruka began, confused when he realized Teroch still just had his lightsaber. He hadn't drawn his second kukri, or anything else. Then what was that color?

Again, a flicker in his vision. A strange, sudden tinge of despair in the pit of his chest, in his stomach, in his groin, visceral and sinking. Another flicker, and he sliced at it on instinct, again cutting nothing at all.

Something's wrong.

The Mirialan dropped both his weapons lest he hurt himself with them and shook his head viciously.

"What did you do to me?" he gritted out, dizzy. It felt like he was burning up, skin too hot and too tight. Everything was...was going wrong. Colorful and wavy, shiny and bright, some things glinting with sharp geometric edges where there shouldn't have been — the air, the sun, the dust, all blocky and sharp — while the trees and bones and his opponent seemed oversaturated and soft at once.

He shook his head again, rubbed at his eyes. They didn't clear. In fact, it got worse when he blinked. The shadows moved. The shapes became...things.

He blinked again, and it was a parade of pantomimes of people he knew, some vaguely distorted, some perfectly clear, but all a little wrong. Their faces were hollow like the rancor skulls around him, painted black sockets and sutures, the planes of their cheeks and foreheads white. Some wore masks, as if the mist they marched out of was poison. None spoke, but threads of voices were everywhere, here and there, rising and falling. Notes echoed just in the distance, a discord marching band. Every dust mote in the air became a snowflake or a scrap of ash, falling from ruined buildings— no, those were cliffs, the cliffs and that was a skeleton, not some creature, and those were trees not masked people and and—

Ruka covered his one ear but just like closing his eyes, the sounds didn't stop. Teroch's voice boomed and murmured, and he found himself fixated on it.

"What's wrong, babe? Having trouble keeping it up there? You look a little hot...and not how I meant earlier," he taunted. Ruka's skull pounded.

"Franger," the Mirialan hissed, and sucked in a breath. Forcing his head to clear, just for a moment, while he concentrated, he pushed past the phantoms that had sent him reeling and glared at Teroch. His eyes dropped to the kukri that had cut him. "Poison?" he guessed.

"Some brains to go with that tasty brawn. It just gets better and better."

"I thought you wanted to fight."

"I thought I told you I wasn't playing nice."

Teroch surged forward again, lightsaber painfully bright, hand jutting out, a bracer clearly visible with most of his top ruined. Alarms played along with the imaginary chorus in his head.

With a burst of shadow-steeped speed, the Mirialan slammed one elbow down on the ceramic blade lunging for his chest, shattering it. He slammed the other into the Human's sternum, and, pivoting, brought his opposite hand back up. The Sith swung his fist, but it wasn't his knuckles that connected; instead, a hammer blow of telekinetic force plowed into Teroch's jaw and sent him sprawling backward with a crack.

"Am I more than you bargained for yet?" he spat. His pulse was a drum crescendo. He was so hot. His breathing was ragged despite his muscles not yet feeling strained. Slowly, the Human dragged himself upright, spitting a mouthful of blood, sucking deep in his throat, and then spitting again. His face was purpling, nose a splatter-paint mess, eyes streaming.

And still he was goddamn grinning like a loon. Like something feral and alive. It twisted into comic, sickening proportions in Ruka's feverish vision.

"Oooh," he cooed, and cracked his neck. "You know some 'Core. You're less useless than I was starting to think, Jediit. Come on then. We'll tussle. Or are you seeing too many of me to concentrate?"

"Kriff. You," Ruka snapped, heat underskin, and with the Force filling him, barreled straight at the Adept. The distance between them was suddenly gone.

Then they were going down swinging, right over the mauled droid's frame and into the dirt. The hydraulic fluids spattered all over them as the thin hoses ripped further, spraying their load. The smell of the viscous liquid fuel from the flamethrower attachments filled the air and burned in their sinuses and eyes while they grappled in the matted, muddied dust. In moments, neither could seem to get a grip on the other, their skin and clothes tacky and slippery. They rolled, kicking, clawing. The Mandalorian came out on top straddling Ruka's waist, seated on his thighs, choking him by the throat.

Wheezing, Ruka hammered his elbow into the side of Teroch's head over and over, even though he couldn't get any power behind the hits; it distracted from his other hand reaching up to slide along the Human's jaw, thumb swooping in to pop out his eye. Teroch stiffened his neck, jerking his face into Ruka's hand, a mock nuzzle, only to start trying to bite and savage just like his damn dog.

The Mandalorian reared back then, out of the path of Ruka's knifing elbow, and grabbed the Mirialan's upper arm, trying to twist them around, to lock their legs, to bury Ruka's face in the dirt and pin them back to chest. Ruka writhed and snarled, bucking his hips into the roll rather than straining against it, carrying them over so their positions were reversed. His wider frame gave him just the slightest advantage in bearing down on the Human, scrabbling to pin his hands. But then Teroch just reached up and squeezed at his shoulder in a Force-enhanced grip that was so crushing that his arm just went numb. Ruka gasped, and Teroch used his hold to peel the Sith back off of him, and in one massive heave tossed him away.

Ruka landed, rolling, next to him, skidding through the oily mud. He rolled again to get back up to his feet, arm throbbing down to his fingertips with renewed feeling, only to come upright just in time for a punch to piston into his gut.

"This more than you bargained for yet?" Teroch echoed him, whispering wet and mocking in his ear as Ruka doubled over around that platisteel fist. Maybe tackling a man with metal limbs hadn't been the best idea. The Mandalorian didn't wait for an answer, just cracking an elbow into his teeth, and Ruka dropped down as his head swam, vision gone blank a second. The parade continued even behind his closed eyes.

He forced them back open and forced himself up with a breath forced through bloodied, split lips, getting his hands up in front of his face again. The Human waited, watching him, always smirking.

"You can take a thrashing, huh?"

"I won't go down so easy," Ruka promised even while the ground and mist shifted in a kaleidoscope of colors, and Teroch leered.

"Good. Shab, so good. Bring the lightning back out, eh? Don't you let me down now."

"You really are insane," the Mirialan hissed. "We're covered in franging flammable sithspit, I ain't burning either of us alive."

"That is alive," Teroch practically yowled at him, peeling off what little bit remained of his shirt from his back and arms, revealing a largely pristine torso. There were scars there, and ink, and if there was one thing that spoke to any Mirialan it was the writing on someone's skin.

Ruka didn't know what those symbols meant exactly, but he could guess their importance: family, for one, maybe. Another, bisected by an old wound, was way too similar to Arcona's icon, maybe for the Clan? He did have one of their dogs.

And then, very abruptly, burn tissue capping off sleek black plastics. Whoever crazy kriffing Teroch was, he'd lost things too. Broken but beautiful was definitely an accurate assessment.

...frang, Ruka thought, because while the guy might be an insane asshole, he was starting to look and seem more and more like an asshole who needed help, and, well—

He'd promised both Cora and himself that he was done walking away just because it was easier to run, to keep to himself.

If only it was the poison talking.

His distracted thoughts were interrupted by a flashburn streak in front of his eyes, a precursor to pain in his arm. He shouted and backpedaled, clapping a hand over the lick of seared flesh that now mirrored the one Teroch had given him earlier, a matching set.

But Teroch seemed to be done taunting, just chasing his high. He didn't give Ruka a reprieve, slashing again. The Mirialan was forced to dance back, using all his remaining focus to dodge the onslaught of attacks. Back across the graveyard they went, predator chasing prey. Over flat stretches. Around corpses. Teroch pounced, cartwheeled, thrust over and over. Ruka recoiled, vaulted, hurdled for any obstacle he could. He dove between the bars of a massive rancor's ribcage, slipping away from the Human for only a second.

Desperately, the Sith's gaze searched out his lightsaber, struggling between hallucinations and reality. Teroch cut cleanly through bone and came at him screaming, and Ruka dropped to his knees as if throwing himself into prayer and stuck out his hand, a desperate plea as his eyes fixed on his salvation.

Metal touched his palm, but it wasn't his lightsaber. He thrust the emerald hilt up while that orange blade came down and—

Stopped.

They panted nearly into each other's open mouths, face to face. Teroch's saber hovered a scant hair from bubbling the flesh of Ruka's throat. Ruka's dagger pressed just shy of piercing up into Teroch's heart.

"Call it a tie, ay?" the Mirialan asked, ragged, gazing intently up at the Human who only smirked coldly back.

"I don't do ties, sweetheart," he returned, the promise of a beheading clear. Ruka frowned at him.

"Neither do I," the Sith sighed, much softer, glancing briefly past the Mandalorian and back. "So: me, or your dog?"

Teroch stiffened, and then his head carefully swiveled to look behind him, still holding his saber steady. Outside their skeletal shrine, still at the edge of the clearing, Kote was pressed into the dirt as if pinned by an invisible giant, and Ruka's blue lightsaber hung over him, poised to drop like an executioner's blade.

The Erinos turned back with a full snarl on his lips. His eyes flicked to Ruka's wounded hand, extending fingers twitching in promise.

"Let. Him. Go."

"Let me go. That was your stupid little deal, right? I beat you, I walk. So?"

Teeth bared, the younger Adept glared balefully at the Mirialan for a moment more before the ochre beam disappeared with a hiss. He stepped back, and Ruka let him, easing away the emerald dagger and getting back to his feet. They both stood for another few heartbeats, watching one another, before Teroch gave the slightest of nods, and then Ruka's deadliest weapon was flying safely back to his hand. The Mandalorian spat a long, curling string of what was undoubtedly curses and turned his back on him with complete confidence, stalking out into the open and going to his animal.

Ruka watched him for a few minutes while they both seemed to lick their wounds — Teroch's broken nose healed right in front of him, while thankfully the warping of Ruka's vision was dwindling. Only when the Human started to gather up his coat and lost items did he get up and follow.

"Answer something for me."

The Mandalorian scoffed, but seemed calmer now than in whatever twisted battle-high mindset he'd been in. "Maybe."

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

"The hell kind of di'kutla question is that—"

Ruka held up a hand warningly to stop him. "And if not, do you want to?"

Teroch's vicious scowl twitched into something like incredulity, and then he scoffed. "What, you inviting me home? Like for a tumble, or something else?"

"No, for what I said. Place to go. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you're not on good terms with Arcona no more." He pointed at Teroch's abdomen. "You're not the first friend I've made because they liked to meet people by franging fighting, so I'll give you a chance, if you want one."

"Frak off. The only sympathy I want from you is you crawling into bed with me. I don't need your pity, and I'm not some lost pup."

"Yeah, see, I'd believe that sithspit, but I've said the same thing before, and I was lying. Well, not lying— just scared and stupid and proud. So, sure. Be alone instead. Bet that'll go great for you."

"Better than being near my family did."

"Whatever, karbon."

"Aww, you think I'm hot too?"

"It means bastard."

That got him a snort. He gestured at his many cuts and burns.

"Don't suppose you'd heal these for me?"

Teroch smirked meanly, licked his teeth. "Mmm, naaah. I like the idea of leaving my mark on you."

"Kriffing ass."

The Mirialan sighed and moved uncomfortably to unclasp his cloak and the fasteners on his pauldrons. He'd have to get out of his armor to tend the wounds even a bit. The Mandalorian's face lit up.

"Finally stripping—"

"Shut up. Look—" he pulled off his gauntlet, then his glove, and held up his left hand, wiggling the fingers and pointed for emphasis at his ring. "I. Am. Married. Marr-ied. Kriff off with the flirting."

"Married's just a word, babe."

"I regret giving you any sympathy."

"Didn't ask for it."

"Well if you ever change your mind..." Ruka turned to show off his arm instead of his hand, tapping at the flower on his bicep. "Look for this Lotus symbol and come find me."

"That's vague as all hell. What the kark? Just give me your comm code."

"After all the frang you just pulled? Kriff no. I don't know you 'cept that you're kinda crazy, I'm not risking anything else. You got a name and symbol. Should be enough for you, ay, clever guy?"

Teroch chuckled, then turned away, one hand in his wolf's fur. "So long and goodnight, Auretii."

"So long," Ruka huffed, waiting until their figures faded into the jungle before he opened his bacta kit. And if we meet again...let it not be for a damn while.