Research Director Kadrol Hauen vs. Warlord Kindle Singean

You had arrived on Arx after hearing word of a fighting tournament. It had been set up by the Combat Master and had been advertised as a Revival of the long held tradition of naming a Champion of the Antei Combat Center. As you had arrived at the signup table after waiting in line, you were met by a Trandoshan who looked you up and down, said nothing, and slid a form attached to a clipboard to you. A cheap chain linked a pen to the clipboard.

You read it over and it was a standard legal waiver noting that you could not hold the Combat Master or the Brotherhood liable for any injuries or even potential death that occurred during the tournament. You were entering this tournament of your own free will. Any and all repercussions of doing so were at no one’s fault but your own.

You signed, and the Trandoshan hissed with delight as he pointed to a door behind the table. A cheap paper sign was taped to the door that read “ACC Championship Introductory Meeting” in what looked to be felt-tipped black marker. You stepped inside the dark room and that is the last thing you remember until you woke up just now.

The world around you was dark… and soft. The area that you lay on felt just a bit more firm than a standard pillow. A quick check of yourself revealed that you still wore and carried everything you had when you had signed the waiver. While vision was extremely limited, you could tell that someone else was in the room with you. Four ceiling lights clicked on, one at a time, giving the room a bright glow beneath the four lights, but an eerie darkness outside of their radiance. You were in a padded room with a barred and sealed door. Every surface of the room was covered in thick, firm padded square tiles. You lay on a bed made of the same material in one corner of the room, while someone laid in another bed in the opposite corner. It was too dark to make out their figure well.

A holoprojection dropped from the ceiling, giving the room a pale blue glow. It was Combat Master Vincent Brujah. The Sith smirked as he began speaking.

“So, you’ve signed up for the tournament? Where I come from, that makes you a little crazy. I’ve taken you to a more appropriate environment for someone with your condition.”

As he smiled, pink mist began spraying from the ceiling at the same location as the lights. Slowly, what little you could see of the full room began to tint pink. The Combat Master’s smile grew wider.

“And if you weren’t crazy before… well… we can fix that. The effects of this drug will be pleasant… at first. You must be careful, though. Take too big of a dose and things can get downright terrifying, or so I’ve heard. Prolonged exposure will result in death.”

He shrugged slightly.

“The only way out of this room and into safe air is when I tell my crew to open the door, and I’m only going to do that when there is one of you left capable of walking away. Until then, enjoy the ride.”

The holoprojection blinked away. There was no starting whistle. No horn. No audience. Just silence, dim light, and the realization that the longer you sit there, the closer you would come to death.

“For kriff’s sake, Brujah,” Kadrol muttered. He had spent enough time around the Sith to know he didn’t pull punches, but this was entire new level of insane.

He swiftly got to his feet and lunged towards the nearest wall, drawing his lightsaber into his hand and plunging it into the cushioning.

A small fire began to burn around the violet blade, slowly radiating outward from the point of contact. Kadrol gritted his teeth. Behind the padding was a secondary wall which fought the lightsaber’s cutting power. Lightsaber resistant. Of course they’d thought of that.

He pushed harder, the blade hissing as it struggled against the metal. It was going to take time, more time than he would have liked to spend with this mist in the air.

Suddenly, The Pantoran’s head whipped as he found himself flying through the air before slamming into the ground. The person on the other side of the room hadn’t given as much thought to cooperating as he had and had decided to take him down instead. The lightsaber clattered to the ground, deactivated.

Dazed and lying on his back, Kadrol looked up to face his attacker: a giant Mandalorian, heavily armored from head to toe, a fist raised and ready to strike.

Well, damn. The first strike came quickly. Kadrol just about managed to bring his forearm up and across his body, knocking the fist away. Then the next came. Then the next, all landing against their target with enough force to make his entire body ache.

The Pantoran held up his hands in front of his face, desperately trying to block the punches from landing where they’d do the most damage. His arms felt crushed, every blow sending another jolt coursing through his body.

Even so, he felt the deliriousness starting to settle in. His vision started to pulse, the lighting ebbing in and out, bright one moment then dark the next.

It must be the mist, Kadrol thought, as the punches also seemed to come slower with every strike. Perhaps he’s just tiring.

He tried to roll away, but the man straddled him, keeping the Force-user in place. He felt sluggish but could also hear the Mandalorian’s labored breathing through the helmet, oddly distorted through the room’s padded sides.

Another punch struck his stomach, causing kadrol to lurch.

He was just about to give up when he heard the distinct chirp of Tenz, his trusty BD-Unit, from underneath the bed. Kadrol turned his head toward the sound. There was the little guy, barely visible beneath the bed, a lone photoreceptor glowing in the darkness.

He held his hand out to the droid.

The Mandalorian’s fist came down again.

A small object launched from Tenz, landing neatly in Kadrol’s hand.

With haste, he injected the stim.

For half of a second, nothing, then a sudden burst of energy surged through him. The fog clouding his mind seemed to dissipate in an instant, leaving him with a sharpness of mind that he hadn’t even noticed was missing.

Then the next punch came.

Kadrol caught the wrist, using the momentary surprise in combination with the adrenaline to roll the Mandalorian over.

The Pantoran scrambled to his feet, taking several steps backward to put what little distance he could between himself and his opponent.

He extended his hand, summoning the fallen hilt to his hand. Then he reached out with his other hand, summoning a second lightsaber from his belt before igniting both in unison.

The light from the two blades danced around the room, scattering off the walls, the Mandalorian’s armor, and the particulates in the air.

The Mandalorian began to rise. “Kindle isn’t playing around anymore, twig!” he warned with a slithery boom.

The announcement of the ‘rules’ drew mostly a sigh from the large Hybrid, reaching up to check his helmet. Yup, the pressurization of his suit and helmet had been disabled, whatever Vincent had in store for them, he ensured that everyone would be feeling it.

Sitting up in the bed and looking around, he heard his opponent moving quickly. Kindle had little desire to move that desperately as being on the bigger side, he knew he was drawing in more of the air faster than the average person. If anything, time was less on his side, so he had to think carefully.

Ugh, but thinking carefully though was not why he signed up for this. Fighting was supposed to be fun, thrilling, something to just indulge and lose yourself in.

Wait, no, not this kind of fight, this fight he’d have to be wiser about, this was for stakes, not just a random bar brawl. If he wanted to win, he’d have to be more clever than that.

The logic was there, the logic was sound, he had to win quickly as the toxin was indeed striking him first and lowering his -

Of course! Strike first! Brilliant!

And so the Sith ran to his foe, following through on his instinctually superior thought process as he attacked him aggressively and repeatedly.

When the Pantoran got away from him and drew his sabers, Kindle’s rage flared up. They were having fun, now this man was going to get serious and draw his weapons? He didn’t have any, why did this guy get to have his?

Reaching behind him to his halberd’s usual place, he was struck with surprise as he felt the familiar Beskar within his grip.

His inner voice screamed at him, roaring within. Now he was angry, but at himself more than his foe. The drugs were getting to him, he was being stupid. Fix it, now!

Kindle ducked his head low and slid a foot out from under him as yellow light streaked through the pink haze and slammed down onto the staff portion of his polearm, blacking the strike from cleaving down his shoulder. If not for his training in Precognition and instinctively trusting the sensation from it, the battle would have ended there with the neutral Force User clearing having Sensed the distraction within the Hybrid’s mind and rightfully trying to take advantage.

Using the foot that was still holding the majority of his weight, Singean shoved hard off the ground and rotated, trying to make quick distance between him and his foe while pulling the halberd free from his latch. He needed to keep his focus, his guard, don’t get distracted, don’t lose himself in the feeling again, he needed to be conscious of this poison and keep a tight grip on himself.

For the first time in minutes, the Sith actually had a brilliant moment of his own design and went to reach for the small satchel tied to his side, but the clearer headed humanoid won out with reaction speed; the bag ripped from him and into the hand of his opponent via Telekinesis.

“I don’t need to sense the future to read that reaction, something important is in here and it’s in my best interest to keep you from it,” taunted the Pantoran with a plan, holding out the singular saber still active in-between him and Kindle. “I’d rather not kill you, not really my style, and I figure the gas seems to be hitting you way harder than me, big guy, so I’ll just let it give me this victory.”

A growl, low and animalistic, was Kindle’s first response to these words.

His Beskar halberd catching on fire was his second.

“I appreciate the willingness to not shed bled, truly I do,” said Singean with gritted teeth, the strain clear as he fought to bring more of his sane mind to the forefront. “But I’ve got people to prove both right and wrong by making it further in this tournament, I can’t hold back.”

The fire had a two-fold purpose; obviously to enhance his threat and danger to his foe, but the second was to hopefully burn away some of the chemical mist surrounding them, slow down its effect on him - an undeniable gambit he had no way to know if it’d work, but better than nothing.

With no time to waste, the man with a nearly two foot height advantage raised up the large weapon before pulling one hand back towards the other and swinging down, extending his range by taking advantage of the pole. Kadrol swung his saber overhead to block where he thought the blade would be only to see it extend past the yellow blade, the Pantoran dropping one knee under himself to lower his body further while pushing his arm up higher, extending beyond his original intent as his knee contacted the ground. That small drop in distance made all the difference as he struggled to keep the Beskar blade from moving anymore, the halberd’s edge mere centimeters from his skull, the flames burning and blackening part of his hair.

Taking a page from Sliding Hands, Hauen tilted his body and blade, pushing the Halberd just off-course enough for him to move out the way before the blade sunk down into the pillows next to him.

The Hybrid stepped forward, his frontal hand moving up to once again take hold near the head of the weapon and lifting it up as Kadrol’s own strike slashed out, the pole blocking the sweep as Kindle maneuvered behind it quickly, but as the Seeker pulled the blade back once more to make another strike, the Proconsul shoved off his legs and tightened his grip on the pole, his feet rammed into Hauen’s side and throwing him backwards.

As Singean’s legs once more connected to the ground, he threw his weight forward, grip tightening like a chokehold on the halberd and raising it off the ground, a large overhead swing once more made its way down towards the blue-skinned man. Precognition be damned, base instinct told Kadrol he didn’t have the strength to stop this one and so immediately rolled out of the way so quickly that he left behind both his saber and the bag to avoid catching himself on the large satchel nor possibly injuring himself with the blade in the frenzied movement.

Using his own Telekinesis, Kindle pulled the bag to himself and reached for one of the smaller pockets, the saber completely uncared about. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. “Now, shall we see whose solution proves better at deciding the victor?” pondered the Hybrid as he chuckled to himself, pulling out an antidote kit and grabbing several of the injectors before slamming them into the side of his arm hard enough to penetrate his own scales.

Kadrol moved before his brain could comprehend his actions. His hand thrust forward, wrapping Kindle’s wrist with the Force before pulling down with all the strength he could find.

The Barabel reflexively dropped the Halberd as the needle dragged down an inch or two before the pain finally registered and he pushed back against the phantom movements, yanking the needle from his scaly skin.

The two opponents locked eyes: Kadrol’s wide, almost surprised by his own actions, and Kindles narrowed, scowling through the pain and intention. Both duelists with the same realization.

Death.

In the split moment before either party moved, Kadrol wracked his brain for ideas, an advantage, anything. Only one thought permeated deep into his soul. Outlast.

Halfway across the room, Kindle redirected his plan, unwilling to continue using a two-handed weapon when a better backup plan existed on his person. The sleek silver and ruby hilt fit neatly into his hand, which was choked up near the emitter. The Barabel flicked on the ignition, igniting a crimson red blade with a powerful howl.

The large man entered a charge towards the blue-skinned hybrid.

Run.

Kadrol stepped to the side and entered a sprint of his own as the crimson blade sliced through the padded wall where his body used to be. On his exhale, Kadrol willed the Force into his legs. Now on the opposite side from where he began, he glanced over at his bed. Tenz was still there, seemingly undetected.

He blinked off the returning fog effects as the next assault began. The chain of strikes began before Kadrol was even in range.

A powerful down cut came on the way before seamlessly flowing into a cross-cut aimed to kill. Kadrol took one step back, feeling the wall behind him, and used the Barabel’s force against him, circling his violet blade underneath and leveraging the momentum into an easy parry before gunning to put more space between himself and Kindle.

“Tenz! Again!” He cried, choking on the gas.

The bot popped out from his hiding position and fired another stim.

Kadrol caught it, jamming it into his arm and quickly discarding it before turning to face the brute so as to not allow the same brutal use of the Force.

Kindle was already halfway across the room.

Smooth, focused, precise.

Once again, Kadrol redirected Kindle’s attacks, not by pushing against them, but by leveraging and side-stepping. One, two, maybe even a dozen exchanges, it wouldn’t make a difference.

Predictable.

The Barabel let his anger fly and now it was costing him. His breathing was heavier now. The antidote had clearly made a difference, but not much. The Sith charged again. Kadrol raised his remaining lightsaber and met the strike.

Cxsssh

Kindle pushed forward with enough strength to force Kadrol backwards, boot slipping on the padded floor. The Pantoran twisted his wrist to break the bind, taking a wild slash at the scaly proconsul as he rolled out of the position.

He came up near the other side of the room.

He’s getting…faster?

Kindle closed the distance again.

No, not faster. Reckless. The distinction gave him hope.

Side-step, rotate, retreat.

Time after time. Kadrol wasn’t trying to win the exchange, he was trying to survive it.

Every time Kindle attacked, Kadrol ceded that ground. Every time Kindle had him backed against a wall, Kadrol slipped away. He didn’t even think about an attack. Recognizing everything hinged on him remaining on his back foot. He allowed the larger fighter to burn through his strength while keeping his movements economical, using the Force to flee when necessary.

The next strike came harder than the rest, threatening to end the duel for good.

Kadrol dropped to his knee, bringing up his left hand to help keep the crimson blade from pushing into him.

Tenz. The little droid had skittered out from under the bed, scrambling towards the discarded lightsaber. The Pantoran looked back up at Kindle.

Please. The thought passed straight over to the Barabel through his subconscious.

The Barabel raised his blade. Rather than striking, his non-dominant hand opened. Kadrol did his best to cling to the plasteel hilt, but it was soon ripped from his hand and into the Sith’s. Kadrol watched helplessly as Kindle turned away from him.

No.

The droid had reached the weapon. Kindle stepped towards it.

“No!”

Kindle paid the Pantoran no attention.

In a final act of desperation, Kadrol reached down to his boot, retrieving the small hunting knife he always kept on his person. In a final act of desperation, he flung himself at the Proconsul.

The blade tore into the back of Kindle’s unprotected hamstring.

The Barabel roared as the muscle gave way to his weight, collapsing to his knees. He tried desperately to stand, planting one hand against the floor and forcing himself upward.

His leg buckled again.

Kadrol scrambled towards the nearest wall as best he could, leaning himself up against the door the adrenaline finally wearing off.

The unwelcome voice of Vincent Brujah popped back on over the intercom system. “Congrats. You both lose. I guess whichever one of you manages to crawl through first wins.”

Then, a hiss. The pink fog slowly dissipated from the room as the ventilation system kicked on.

Darkness crept in at the edges of Kadrol’s vision.

Then the backrest slipped out from him as the door slid open. His head hit the concrete floor behind him hard as the sound of people echoed around him for the first time in what felt like forever.

The Hybrid’s chuckle continued as he felt the clouds lift from his mind, even while he swung his weapon high and low in an attempt to attack his foe. The blue-skinned man had managed to get his other saber back, heightening his ability to block Kindle’s strikes, but he didn’t care, now he was back in his element. Yet his advantage was likely to be short-lived; he couldn’t risk that mindless state coming back, let alone the ‘worse’ eventuality Vincent had promised.

Bringing the pole-end of his weapon up, he swiped at the Consular’s chin and narrowly missed as he swung his head to the side and let the momentum sway his body, aiming his blades’ swings for Kindle’s handgrips, but not connecting before he too had moved.

With his hands positioned unfavorably, Singean pulled back from the weapon and reached for his own saber, igniting the weapon’s red blade and preparing to charge in to continue the assault when a shine caught his eye.

‘Right, the syringes,’ he inwardly thought, raising his free hand to knock them off his arm.

What should have been a sting at most sent such a shock of pain down Kindle’s arm that he dropped his saber and reflexively jumped backwards, pushing off hard enough to slam into the wall opposite his actual foe.

Eyes bulged in pain, teeth bared in fight or flight instinct to bite at a threat, his mind raced. Had his foe struck him with lightning? Some hidden weapon? Looking quick to his arm, the source, there was… nothing.

His eyes flicked back to his enemy, raising an arm defensively, but Kadrol had stayed back, the sudden movement and intense aggression aimed at nothing having raised his own defenses, uncertain if this was some Sith ploy or not. Nonetheless, his opponent wasn’t pushing the attack, it was an attack, right? It had to be.

Raising the seemingly invisibly damaged arm, again that pain raced through him, setting his nerves on fire to such a degree that he immediately relented, letting the arm drop limp next to his side as if it had been broken.

No, this wasn’t a Force power, not one he was aware of and his opponent did not seem the type to indulge in this tortuous agony anyways. Reaching out with his hand, he Telekinetically pulled his saber to him, determined to arm himself before his opponent took advantage of the confusion.

The metal impacted his hand and the ripples of it felt like the bones beneath his scales were going to shatter from their intensity. An act he had done thousands of times without thought was now like having an earthquake localized in his arm, he could feel every inch of the very bones his body was constructed from.

The drug.

His antivenoms hadn’t done a damn thing, he had simply begun to move into the next stage.

Kindle breathed in and he swore he could feel every tiny wet particle of Brujah’s poison impact his nostrils. A thudding sound began to ring in his ears, threatening to overwhelm him as well. It was astonishing how many senses a body ignores on a constant basis and as the Sith became more and more aware of them, he started to understand why Vincent said it would result in death - it was maddening. Suicide certainly seemed the preferable option and Kindle was willing to bet that this was only going to get worse. Once again, the poison felt like a gun to his head, but this time, he had to push himself to speed up this battle rather than let the drug fuel his recklessness.

Focusing on the Force and taking one last breath, he activated his saber and dashed forward, launching into another brazen assault. As he launched attack after attack, fully indulging in his Djem So training, one portion of his mind kept focused, honed on Control Self, dulling the vibrating sensations that ran up his legs each time he took a step, the heat of the three sabers as they clash and nearly contacted his scales.

It was one of the few times the man had ever cursed his size beyond simple discomforts like fitting into a doorway or finding a chair that could handle him. Who would have guessed needing more oxygen would be such a disadvantage?

But as their attacks kept going, the burn in Kindle’s lungs began to grow. He needed to keep up the pressure, this last ditch plan had to work, so indulge this Rage, force his foe to exert himself more, more, more!

A smirk crossed Kadrol’s lips.

Finally, the blissful recklessness had bypassed the stim he had taken earlier. Kindle could now take advantage of his foe’s drop in -

His back foot hit metal.

Golden eyes darted down to the ground as his body twisted to try and catch himself from the fall. His halberd’s axehead, still where he had dropped it earlier in his pain-induced fear.

His saber seared into the soft material nearby as Singean’s palms slammed to the pillowy material, just barely catching himself. As he went to stand back up though, he felt a hand grab the back of his head. Through his helmet’s visor, he recognized the hard material of the wall that Hauen had exposed when he burned away the softer material earlier.

The smirk hadn’t been the drug re-affecting him. It was because he had seen his own opening.

Utilizing every last ounce of the Force that Kadrol could muster, he Amplified his own strength and slammed Kindle’s helmeted head into the unknown material. The sound reverberated throughout the room and while the impact was certainly not hard enough to damage neither the wall nor the Beskar steel, the heightened sensitivity that Kindle was experiencing made it enough to knock the large Hybrid out cold.

Heaving a heavy sigh, then catching his breath as clean air filled the room, Hadrol looked down at the unconscious warrior and sighed in relief. “A bloodless victory, I’ll take it.”