The Vertical City. Nar Shaddaa. They call it the Smuggler's Moon—an apt description based on the myriad of sentients shuffling back and forth with their illegal wares and hidden weapons. The narrow streets below you criss-cross endlessly, soaring miles above the planet's surface. Exposed and uncovered, the streets offer a nearly perfect setting for someone with some skills with ranged weapons. Your own vantage point, standing on the ledge of a towering structure of glass and steel, offers you a dizzying view of the cityscape.

Your eyes scan the distance for enemies. Snipers could be set up in almost every building. The streets are plagued with violent gangs and the general riff raff of the poor and destitute. The streets may be an ideal place for blasters, but the winding streets are difficult to disappear from. An opponent would be easily boxed in and simple to finish with a few quick slashes of a lightsaber. The moon is dangerous—even for a Jedi.

A deep growl erupted from Bentre’s throat as his eyes darted left and right. The memories of his last time here were fresh, and he did not want to be caught unaware. To say that he as uncomfortable here would be far more than an understatement. Just to breathe the air here again turned his stomach.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t taken measure to be sure he would go unrecognized. He was wearing a bulky robe over his normal clothes, which while itchy allowed him to hide his weapons with ease. He also had altered his face with an illusion, using the Force to make his features softer and changing his eyes to a crystalline blue. The last thing he would need visiting again was either Garan or the Kodashi recognizing him.

What’s the matter, kiddo. Are you going to sit down and cry because of all the big, mean people here?

The Journeyman would have to suffer both his discomfort and the damned voice in his head in any case. He had received a summons to this location. He was supposed to find a shop on this street, to meet his contact. Perhaps the Obelisk would have to wait for a while, to see if they managed to show up. Or perhaps the message had been sent by some Krath or Sith wanting to play hide-and-seek with him a bit before unveiling themselves.

I already know what some of them think of Obelisk anyway.

I am surprised you trust your own master given that. the voice teased seemingly in his ear. He is a Sith after all.

“Damn thing likes to hear itself talk,” Bentre shook his head gently, watching the street. He tried to reach out, stretching invisible fingers in the Force, giving a gentle probe here and there in order to try and find an anomaly from within the crowds of people. As blue eyes searched the crowds, he felt a disturbance from somewhere behind him. It was something akin to an echo in the Force.

As he turned, he found his eyes meeting with an irritatingly familiar form. “A mysterious call, in the middle of the night. I really didn’t expect this of you, Anima.” The Human Assassin shook his head, his hand going not-so-subtly to his blaster. He did not draw it for it was enough to know he actually had it this time.

The Rollmaster cocked his head to the side, examining the grinning Obelisk with a puzzled grimace. After a moment the Sith gave a curt nod and began rummaging in a pocket for something.

“It’s been a long time since I last sa-” Bentre couldn’t help himself. There was something both bitter and entertaining about the thought. Anima gave a bemused grin, but did nothing to stop the Corellian’s chuckling laughter. Stahoes stopped for a moment. “You don’t get it? You know, as in see and how this last time I ended up losing an eye, and everything?” His smile fell for just a moment.

“I suppose you had better hope you don’t find yourself in such a predicament again.” The Sith Battlemaster spoke evenly.

“Wait,” Bentre gave a start, shifting backwards. “what do you mean?” He glanced back to check his distance from the ledge after he did so. It would be a sad end to go that way.

Or a hilariously anticlimactic end, the voice retorted.

The sound of the igniting lightsaber and the crimson glow of the blade answered his questions Defend yourself, the words the Rollmaster spoke in their last battle came back to mind. The Dark Jedi Knight placed his hands on his own lightsaber, bringing the sapphire beam to life. He shifted his feet to allow his knees to bend slightly, and brought the hilt a little closer to his body.

Bentre began to step sideways, keeping his eyes on Anima as he did so, until he was satisfied he had some room to move and fight without stepping off the building. “I think you will find me more capable than when we last fought, Sith.” The Journeyman gave his weapon a small flourish.

“Words are cheap.” The Equite did not smile at these words, but walked forward in a slow, determined manner.

The Assassin took a short swing toward the Umbaran. The light probing attack was met with a surprising ferocity.

Don’t play around, Stahoes. If you do, he is going to eat you alive.

I have to keep myself calm, and just weave in and out a bit. I can’t stay still long enough to let him hit me. The Corellian took several steps backward watching the Sith’s movements for an opening; for all his efforts, none offered itself.

Do you really think it will be that easy?* the voice jeered at him. **Oh, and by the way, you might want to strike him first. You remember what happened when he set upon you last time.

This brought Bentre to a dead stop. He took a breath, and began to step toward his opponent with purpose. “I am not going to let this fight end like the last one. I have defeated quite a few opponents since we last fought, and this fight should not be much different. Today I will defeat you.” With a cry, Stahoes charged forward into a swing. I am going to become stronger than any of you Sith. I will show you all the fury of an Obelisk.

Good. the voice cooed in his ear. Good.

"What makes you think defeat is an option this day," Anima stated flatly.

The Rollmaster's cerulean blade bathed the pair in a pale glow, adding an almost soft undertone to the sapphire of Bentre's weapon. Unable to help himself, the Sith added a slight flourish before raising his blade high, bringing it down at an angle as he slashed. Both hands upon his hilt, Stahoes managed to raise his weapon across his chest, pushing up against the attack. As the blades clashed the kinetic energy of the exchange vibrated through each of their arms. Anima's eyebrow raised slightly as he glimpsed the other man's grip loosen ever so slightly to avoid from over gripping the hilt.

"Better," the Equite said, "you're not fondling it this time."

"Oh, want me to feel you up instead?" Bentre quipped.

Anima took a long stride forward, and from so close Bentre could almost feel the pressure of the Force suddenly being harnessed by his opponent. It was not a pleasant experience, to say the least. "No, but you might want to watch your step."

The Obelisk quickly glanced down, seeing that he was being steadily pushed ever closer to the edge he had been so concerned about. His brow creased in concentration and he shoved back against Anima, tapping into his emotions and letting the Force flow freely like the blood in his veins, adding to his strength. A half grin spread on the Rollmaster's face just as he stepped back, releasing the pressure he was applying to Bentre and pivoting to allow him to stumble past.

They had assembled quite the crowd of onlookers, all too easily forgotten in the focus of battle. It was that crowd which oh so unceremoniously joined the encounter as Bentre fell into them. Cries of shock accompanied his arrival as they scrambled out of his way, but an unfortunate few provided a buffer against the solid nature of the ground. The Human wasted little time rising to his feet once more, pushing off the bodies beneath him as they groaned in protest. "Pardon me — sorry about that — ick, not sorry about you!"

Anima remained calm, exuding a stoic aura as he waited patiently for the other man to attain his footing once more. A sudden commotion just beyond the gathered crowd stole Anima's attention for a crucial moment, just long enough to create an opening, to which the Force all but screamed out in warning. Anima leaned back and threw up his left hand, willing the Force into a solid mass along the length of his forearm. Bentre's saber struck against his barrier, slowing down on contact just enough to let the Sith slip his arm under the attack and grip the Human's wrist within a taloned hand. Stahoes struggled against the Umbaran's grip for a moment before realizing that the Rollmaster wasn't even looking at him.

"Damnit, Anima take this seriously!" Bentre was furious and his face was slowly turning a matching shade of red.

"Question," the Rollmaster countered, "is that, perhaps, the reason you seemed so unease when you got here?"

Confusion spread across Bentre's face for the briefest moment. "What are you—" he questioned as he turned to follow Anima's gaze, "oh..."

Nar Shadda's security force wasn't exactly known for upholding civil liberties, in fact they often profited from quite the opposite. Still, there was quite the turnout forcing their way through the crowd, and a rather annoyed — belay that, a visibly furious — Duros was heading up the charge.

"Garan..." Bentre muttered.

"Friend of yours?" Anima asked.

"Uh... Not so much."

Bentre's mind was already at work evaluating his options when he felt a quick tap on his shoulder. Snapping his head around, he gave Anima another questioning look. The Rollmaster tilted his head and thumb towards the nearby ledge before he spoke with unmistakeable command in his voice. "After you, I insist."

"Are you insane!?" Bentre cried out as he looked between the Sith and the oncoming reminder of his past.

"So they tell me," Anima shrugged.

Typically, when faced with a rock and a hard place, one expected there to be a little less free fall involved. Nothing ever went as planned these days.

Bentre’s eyes darted from Anima to the approaching Duros as he turned to regard the ledge before him. He cautiously approached the edge, with the tips of his feet lining with the edge. Well, I think I should be able to land without getting hurt. He shook his head. I just hate heights. He drew a breath to steady his shaking legs. This could really hurt. Before he could take a shaky step off, he felt a sharp nudge from behind.

The impact caught the Obelisk by surprise, and his arms pinwheeled for a moment before he stumbled forward. He felt his foot slip and he began a quick descent toward the hard concrete below. Kark! The Corellian’s eyes scanned his surroundings frantically as he dropped. His mind raced for a moment. I might be able to cushion my fall using the Force? He wondered for a moment.

It was at that point that a very frightening thought dawned on him. I might not be able to do much of anything in this state. He thought through the limited skills he had trained himself in since first joining the Clan. He could not think as his body spun through the air seemingly in slow motion. Speeders whipped through the air between the Assassin and the concrete below.

Speeders. A growl rose up over the din of the city. That just might work. If he could manage to grab ahold at the right moment he would hopefully walk away from this ordeal. Mis-matched eyes studied the vehicles travelling below, and the Corellian tried to figure in his mind how to best hedge his bets.

He was approaching too fast though. Bentre was going to slip between two of the larger speeders, out of even arm’s reach of either. His descent was just too great at this point. There was no question that this was going to hurt.

Reach out your left hand now and stop giving into this childish fear! anger simmered in the deep voice.

The commanding tone prompted an immediate reaction in the Journeyman. A speeder cut into the aerial speeder traffic from between two slower vehicles. Reaching out his right arm, Bentre managed to snag the side of the speeder. Only by sheer adrenaline, and dependence on the Force to empower him, Stahoes was able to find a handhold and keep it even as the sheer velocity of his drop threatened to bounce him off the vessel.

“Hey, what do you think you are doing?” an annoyed voice yelled. As the Obelisk looked at the speaker, he saw a young looking Human kid, just barely a teenager, sitting behind the speeder’s controls. A young Trandoshan sat beside him, clothed in oddly mismatched red and golden-brown garments. What are those two wearing?It must be the latest thing for kids now.

“I need you to land right now kid,” the Journeyman thought he felt his grip beginning to slip a bit.

“Who do you think you are calling kid?” the youth jeered.

“There is no time for arguments. Just trust me you don’t want to have to explain to the officers what happened here.” As he spoke the words, Bentre placed emphasis both on his words, and tried to press the thought firmly into the boy’s head.

He might not have needed to use the Force however, as the boy’s eyes grew very wide. The boy immediately began a sharp descent, bringing the Assassin very close to the ground before leveling out and slowing down quickly. Thankfully, when Bentre’s grip slipped, he was much closer to the ground than he had been before. Stahoes heard the kid yell as he let go of the side of the speeder. For some odd reason, it caused him to smile, shortly before he hit the ground.

The impact was not as bad as he had expected. It was probably just from the rush of adrenaline. He began to look around him, for any dark places he could slip off into. He had long ago given up on the habit of skulking about, but this seemed as good a time as any. The disciple of Sadow had scarce a moment to move however before he was blinded by a bright light.

“Stay right where you are,” a familiar, almost hungry sounding voice squawked over a megaphone. “There is literally no where for you to run now. Put your hands into the air where we can see them.”

“I don’t think so,” Bentre squinted against the blinding light. Unfortunately this did nothing to alleviate the pain. “I am pretty sure you don’t have anything on me. Unless you lot are counting attempted suicide as a crime these days.” He tried his best to remain flippant despite his innate desire to escape as quickly as possible. Catch up already, Anima, he silently begged.

“Always with the smart mouth, huh Stahoes?” Garan jeered. “I will give you one more chance. Surrender now or face the cold hand of justice. You can’t expect to escape after your flashy little dive just now, or your set of double-murders a few weeks ago.”

Bentre had to laugh at that threat. “Justice!? Seriously, have you forgotten our last encounter? I do believe something to the effect of ‘credits are all I am interested in’ was said?” The Obelisk was dragging this conversation along at this point. He was not going to survive if the Rolmaster did not reach the ground soon.

“Prepare to fire on the suspect on my mark,” the Duros let out a command. Bentre was not sure what direction to head, but he could not sit still any longer. He could not see where he was going, or how many men were arrayed against him. He also had no more time to give it a great deal of thought.

Fight you coward.

"Fire!"

It was always a curious thing, how one word or action can alter perspective, change the way time flows. People say life flashes before your eyes before your time comes, but how could it? The world slows, everything converting into something more akin the pacing of a snail than the usual flow of time. Yet, was time really slowing down? A question better left for philosophers and theorists, perhaps. What was important now — the most critical factor — was survival.

Bentre was good at that.

As perception warped, the Sadowan focused on the steady pace of his breathing, trying to focus on what he could control, and prove to that damned voice who the coward really was. At least Bentre had a physical form at stake! He spun about, letting instinct control him and charging for the nearest parked speeder. The Obelisk adherent could hear the symphony of blaster bolts unleashed towards him, feel the heat passing by his flesh and scorching his clothes. In giving himself over entirely to the flow around him, Bentre's body seemed to move on its own, making subtle adjustments to ensure that not a single lethal strike connected, the Force guiding him like a marionette on strings. That didn't mean he was impervious, far from it in fact, as he felt a scorching pain sear through his left shoulder and an acrid aroma stung at his nostrils.

He all but body slammed the target of his mad dash, crashing his lower body into the side of the speeder and letting his momentum carry him up and over, rolling to a thudding stop in the bottom of the canopy. Bentre took in rapid breaths, letting himself regain focus before peaking his head up and working over the controls. The fail safes were the first to be deactivated by his focused hands, triggering a power surge into the engines that caused the canopy to fill with flashing red lights. "Oh thank —" Bentre's relief was short lived, a bolt of plasma screeching just over head. "Normally I'd question the expendable income of anyone foolish enough to invest in an autopilot on one of these things... But now is not one of those times."

Bentre finished keying in the necessary commands and struggled to his feet, just as the speeder lurched forward on a collision course with the nearest of his pursuers. The Obelisk launched himself from the canopy, stretching out and praying no lucky shots connected. In that moment, at least, whomsoever influenced the cards at the Pazaak table held him in high favor, granting Bentre no more than the solid thud of face upon ground. A far more preferable alternative to searing plasma.

Far, far more.

Sweat was streaming from his pores after so much exertion, threatening to blur the Human's vision of the world around him. He swiped at the salty substance with his offhand while reaching towards his blaster once more... and finding an empty holster.

"What the —" he muttered, wondering when that particular slip up had happened. The jumping thing was your idea, Anima. Just left me to die, huh? Bentre thought to himself just as he heard movement to his back.

"Now's the part where you die," an agonizingly smug voice stated.

Bentre closed his eyes tight, waiting for the pain that would come alongside the sound of a squelch. The Obelisk blinked for a moment, the gears of his mind working to process the audible information.

"Indeed it is," Anima stated flatly from behind the security officer, whose throat was conspicuously absent, having had his windpipe relocated into the Rollmaster's talon-like hand.

Bentre's lips made an 'o' shape as the mental dots connected, before muttering to himself. "Yup, that would be a squelch."

"A what now?" Anima responded while raising a single eyebrow, legitimate confusion showing on his usually passive face. The Umbaran didn't bother waiting for elaboration, the question more rhetorical than legitimate. Instead he turned to face their combined enemies, Vestigium of Duriel once more ignited and resting comfortably in a one-handed grip. "Get out of the past, Stahoes. Focus on this fight, and fight like what you are, not what you were."

The Rollmaster made a motion with his free hand, Bentre's armory saber launching from one of Anima's many belts and directly into the Obelisk's face. "You're one of us now, act like it... And try not to lose that again."

With a growl of fury, Anima catapulted forward in a blur of motion and light, his cerulean blade carving calligraphy upon the air as he twisted and turned through space. His body contorted to dodge those shots that he could, whilst his blade worked in tandem to redirect what he couldn't avoid. "Yeah, 'cause I can do all that," Bentre grumbled as he hopped to his feet, taking a deep breath and activating his saber's sapphire blade. The Obelisk looked out over the mayhem at his front, feeling a slight tug towards a nearby corner.

"Why, hello there..." the Human said. A grin spread across his lips as his eyes took in Garan's form trying to slink away to safety. With newfound confidence, the Correllian stalked towards the relic of his past, holding his saber point steady and even despite the fatigue clawing at his arms. Satisfaction filled his entire being as a look of utter fear and recognition crossed over Garan's face as the Duros caught sight of him. "You know, as scary as the big guy may be — and believe me you don't want on his bad side —", Bentre gestured to his unnatural eye and the scar tissue surrounding it, "but he has a solid point, don't you think?"

Stahoes heard nothing, and felt nothing, save for utter satisfaction as his saber moved up and down repeatedly with heavy swings. Time, that immaterial unit of measurement, held no meaning as his muscles exerted themselves unto and beyond exhaustion. All that mattered was that his past held no claim, at least not any longer. The Obelisk turned back towards where Anima was doing what he did best, and allowed himself to show the euphoria he felt upon his face. The Rollmaster took a moment to glance towards Bentre, in relative safety considering that his prey were scattered and fleeing. Well, those that could still move of their own power were.

"Well then," Anima spoke as he plunged the tip of his saber into the crawling form at his feet, "looks like you're finally learning." The Rollmaster deactivated his saber and motioned for Bentre to follow, making no attempt to wait as he strode through the alleys and disappearing into the crowds once more, the Obelisk having to jog in order to catch up to the Sith. They had long overstayed their welcome, and it was past time the pair made their way off world once more.