The walls of The Scrap Pit rumbled with the raucous cheers of the crowd. All around him, Bril Teg Erinos could feel the sadistic excitement of the eager spectators in the Force. They wanted blood. They wanted violence. He’d ventured to the Zsoldos System in the hopes of renewing relations with the Mandalorians of Clan Vizsla on behalf of the Erinos, the resident Mandalorian clan of the Dajorra System. When the former informed him that he’d have to prove himself prior to the commencement of formal talks, he’d expected something like this given the violent proclivities of his kin, but this was a bit much. But he was here now, and he wasn’t one to renege on his word.
As he stepped from the waiting area into the arena proper, he heard a familiar voice cut through the din. “Kick his ass, Kitty!”
That brought a smile to his face. Even while waiting to trade blows with a presently unknown foe in unfamiliar territory, the voice of his fiancée filled him with joy.
The sound of scraping metal pulled his attention back to the Pit, and he turned his head to watch the barely functional door on the other end of the arena open. From the shadows lingering just beyond the doorframe, a thin strip of red appeared first, bobbing up and down in sync with the rhythmic tapping of hard-soled boots. It wasn’t long until a figure clad in dark armor emerged from the waiting area with a blaster rifle in hand. Malicious intent followed him like a dark cloud.
Bril’s eyes narrowed. “You’re no Mandalorian,” he said before putting his helmet on. A single tap on his vambrace caused his armor to pressurize with a soft hiss.
“You’re right, Force scum,” The man replied, raising his rifle. “I’m not.”
Three shots rang out, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. Superheated bolts of tibanna gas cast their immediate surroundings in crimson as they flew through the air in a tight cluster aimed at the center of Bril’s chest.
The Force screamed a warning, and Bril heeded it, snatching Concord off his belt and igniting it with a crack-hiss. Each bolt met the white blade of his lightsaber before they could hit their mark, deflected in random directions.
“So much for introductions,” Bril said. Then, he dashed forward, closing the distance between them with speed belied by the heavy armor he wore.
“What use are introductions when you’ll be dead by the end of this?” countered Titius. He’d intended to take another shot with his rifle, but was prevented from doing so when he saw his advancing opponent extend his free hand and quickly retract it as if he were pulling a rope. And before he could fully register what was happening, Titius was stumbling forward, seized by what he knew had to be the karking Force.
Although he managed to keep himself from falling, he didn’t have time to react to the foot aimed at his face. The bottom of Bril’s boot smashed into his jaw and sent him careening backward into the wall just a few feet behind him, knocking his rifle from his hands.
“This feels personal,” Bril said while righting his posture. He stepped forward with Concord in hand, its blade angled downward. “But I don’t know you. I don’t think I do, at least.”
Titius pressed his back against the wall and used it as leverage to work his way to his feet. With one hand, he corrected the position of his helmet while the other inched toward his belt. “We haven’t met, but that doesn’t matter. I came here to test a new toy of mine against Force-wielding scobs like you, and fate has offered you up as the perfect test subject!”
Without another word, Titius snatched an odd-looking implement from his belt and hurled it at the man standing before him.
Bril, expecting it to be an explosive of some kind, leaped backward – or he would have were it not for the sudden and intense pressure he felt acting upon him. The device had activated in mid-air, generating a powerful localized gravity field that not only thwarted Bril’s retreat, but stopped him from moving entirely.
“What the …”
Every muscle in his body seized in a desperate attempt to free him from the device’s pull, but nothing worked. He was stuck.
Not good.
He watched with helpless frustration as Titius stepped over and scooped his rifle off the ground.
Not good at all.
