A steel door slides open as a man enters the room, taking a deep breath to calm his mind and body. It has been many years since the last time he did anything within one of these facilities, and much had changed since then, about both them and himself he was sure. Hells, just thinking about names alone brought a chuckle to his lips.
Entering into the Combat Training Center, Azler glances around the room for a moment in a slight bit of confusion. Where there were previously weapon racks, mats, dummies, and people filling the main area, there was nothing. The lights were dim, save for the bright blue illuminated sign of the Medical Ward across from him. When he had heard of this 'obstacle trial' put forth by the new Combat Master, he was already surprised that this venue was chosen, given that it was possibly the first one that any combatant smart enough to hone their skills would visit, but to see it as bare bones as this? That was a step too far and only made the fighter more cautious. This was his first interaction with the new Combat Master, if indirect, it would prove a good gauge of his personality in its own way.
A light buzzing sound disrupted his attention, and the illuminated sign changing suddenly color to red focused it again as an electronic voice rang out, echoing within the empty arena.
"The only rule is simple. Discover the true path to the opposite side of the arena without triggering a reset." States the announcer.
Once again, the simplicity strikes him. Memories flood the Hybrid's mind for a moment of all the tricks being a part of the Brotherhood brings, and a sigh escapes his lips. No, he supposes that isn't a fair judgment; most living creatures play tricks in their lives, but by the stars does the Brotherhood revel in it. Still, kettle, pot, truly he has no room to speak.
Kneeling down and taking a closer look at the ground, he notes that the rectangle of the entrance seems normal, but beyond that, the entire open floor of the Center is broken into a chessboard-like pattern, filled with squares to the sides and across the way to his goal, each big enough for both feet to be planted but not much room to spare. Directly in front of the entry are 5 possible choices.
"Let's find out just how cruel this man is." Azler mutters after a moment's thought, lifting a foot and moving it forward to the far right and placing it on the square leading to the side.
A deep red light illuminates the square, and the moment his brain registers the color, his body tenses as his leg yanks away, mind already prepared for whatever pain is about to be unleashed on him.
Yet it doesn't come.
The sigh of relief that comes from his lips is audible, as is the soft laugh that comes after. "Alright, no immediate elimination, no loss of limb, seems that the man knows that even the rookies may give this a shot and doesn't wish to raise the medical bills."
Rolling his shoulders and given at least the confidence that he won't die, the man moves back to the center. Most people would try the most forward approach and the center gives the most options for branching out; it makes sense that this would be it.
Taking a step forward with his full body in motion this time, he stands upon the center square, but his enjoyment of the green light that illuminates beneath him is quite short lived as his head snaps to attention, a full-bodied hologram of Anders materializing in front of him and it swings his blade horizontally at the warrior, the man jumping back to avoid the attack. The moment both his feet land on the entrance area, the previously approving light changes its color and the hologram vanishes.
A furrowed brow is the initial response from Wilder, huffing slightly in frustration. "Alright, noted."
Again he takes a step forward, again a green light, again the hologram swings, but this time he ducks beneath the weapon, dodging under the attack by kneeling below it - or so he thought, as another illuminates to his right, the dark blade of the Combat Master stabbing forward and phasing through his shoulder. Again, a red light, again a vanished assailant. Taking a step off the square and returning it to gray, he returns quickly, dodging the first strike and pulling out his own saber for the second, the red-tinted blade phasing through the hologram, stopping nothing, but causing the failure light to shine even faster than previously.
Once more the Priest returns to the Entrance area and thinks. Taking a deep breath as part of this obstacle course begins to click in his mind, he loosens his body, relaxing. "Step in the right spot, don't get hit, don't block, just dodge." Part of him was thrilled; this was a style of combat he thrived in, except for one small detail - his dodges were always designed to be counter-offensive oriented. Each movement was meant to help him step to where he wanted to, not where his foe did. Embrace half of his learnings, rebel against the other, play purely defensively. If the lesson was to play into your opponent's hands, it was one that was not going to be easy for him, or anyone really. What was this test?
Letting his muscles take over to a degree and embracing his connection to the Force, he steps forward for another attempt.
A wide horizontal swing that he kneels under, a piercing stab that he turns and backs away from - another green light below him indicates progress, but another hologram is his only reward, another stab but now from the front where he just was, he kicks himself backwards another step to another green light, this time the Chiss imitation appears from his right side and sweeps at his legs, forcing him to finally move forward, only to turn to the side and step to the right as another stab thrusts forward. Azler's eyes track the black blade with each new appearance of the man holding it, little time to think as each new movement directs, and unfortunately, overcoming one's instincts proves a difficult ask as the next attack, striking from behind, is dodged, but as the man moves to the right, a red light indicates clearly that it was the wrong direction and so the annoyed warrior makes his way back to the beginning.
"Is he trying to teach people how to beat him?" He ponders as he turns around. "No, even ignoring how foolish that’d be, it'd only be teaching this specific scenario, and very few people wouldn't counterattack for this long."
Another attempt, more fluid this time, but a hiccup in his movements causes another failure before he gets back to where he was. Onto the next, he manages to reach his previous point, then the next step, the step after, even the third, but the fourth once again resets him as his reaction speed is just not fast enough against the Combat Master's quick and precise movements. Memorizing the pattern would help, but he had to be fast, rely on his instincts more than his thoughts.
It is in this next attempt, as he bends, pulls, pushes, and spins his body in the directions he knows to be correct, that his body begins to fall into the rhythm, the next hologram barely stabbing forth before he is already stepping to the next square, and it is in that moment that the realization dawns upon him - unfortunately disrupting his instincts and causing another fail.
But this time the frustration is gone, a smirk on his lips as he shakes his head and returns to the starting area. Rolling his shoulders, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, exhales, and opens his eyes as he steps forward once more. Memories of when he first joined the Brotherhood come to mind, and key among them, the brutal teachings of a man who spoke with his fists; a lesson in letting the flow overtake you.
Bow, turn and step back, the same again, twist and sidestep to the left, step forward, step to the right, turn and step back, the black saber stabs, swipes, and slashes again and again as Azler's body continues to weave and spin, each foot moving to a new square, never sharing the same one, always in motion, his body being pulled along with it as again, a step forward, a turn to the right, a twist to the left, a side move to the left again, right, left, forward, right, left, back, forward, left, right, forward, right, the motions continuing endlessly as the emotionless program proceeds with its constant new illusionary attacks from every angle.
Until finally, with one last stab forcing him to step backwards, a blue light illuminates nearby and no new hologram appears.
So lost in his instincts that it doesn't quite register to him, the wanderer shakes his head to snap himself out of it before looking behind him and seeing the Medical Ward door and sign behind him.
"Congratulations on your success." The electronic voice rings out, hollow and unrewarding sounding, yet the Krath couldn't care less.
A smirk upon his face, Wilder looks back to the floor plan before him and though he did not have a hologram to display it for him, in his mind's eye he can see the pattern and the movements he just partook in. Never had he been more glad that he had looked into someone's history, what little there was to be gleaned anyway. A dedicated master of Form II Makashi with a splash of Dun Möch, possibly the best hint to this whole show the Combat Master had put on.
"He isn't just looking to maybe teach some people how to dodge better; he taught us how to perform a waltz..." Azler mutters in dry amusement. "I'd be more pleased by this if the phrase 'dancing in the palm of my hand' wasn't likely an inspiration."