 |
| image credit to Andreas Flouris |
"In this corner! She comes from the planet of Concord Dawn! A warrior who has won many, many matches in this very arena! Mona Awaud!!!" Pirc's voice chirped over the intercom system. The crowd was going nuts, clearly looking forward to the match to come.
"Concord Dawn? She's a Mandalorian?!" Calen asked, but his question was drowned out by the cacophonous shouts and calls for blood.
"Annnnnnnnnnd in this corner, the Terror of the Five Fire Rings of Fornax! The Butcher of Abelor! The Zabrak who always come back...it's Xastor!" The noise from the crowd rose again. "Champions! Face each other!" The human woman and the Zabrak faced each other at the center of the arena. Xastor had that same gleeful bloodlust almost bleeding from his eyes while Mona simply stared at him with bland disinterest. All at once, the two were separated as the floor pulled apart at a separation, revealing a secondary floor beneath it. Compartments opened as the higher floor was separated, showing what looked to be... rocks... foliage... Calen's head tilted slightly as he looked upon what appeared to be a rock steppe being brought into being right before their very eyes.
The newly-created arena began to separate itself, just a bit, as a river came into being with its flowing babble lost in the roar of the crowd.
"Combatants...BEGIN!" A loud buzzer sounded and the crowd cheered on. A pair of screens appeared in the pit, allowing the Champions and their Mechanics to watch from the perspective of several cameras floating around the arena. Calen watched on the screen displaying Mona, seeing her picking up a pair of swords she'd selected from the armory from the ground next to her. Ignoring the camera, she charged off among the rocks and weeds, keeping her eyes peeled. On Xastor's screen, Calen could see the Zabrak had gotten a blaster rifle and was checking the sight before he simply sat against a rock and waited.
"Is he out of his mind?" Calen asked.
"No... this is normal." Ziv said. When he was turned to, the Nemoidian elaborated. "Pirc wasn't lying when he said Xastor was known as a terror. He's never been defeated in the Arena."
"Neither has Mona, evidently." Calen said.
"True, but Xastor's record is much more extensive." Ziv said. "You'd think a Mandalorian warrior would be a little more tactical in that regard. I've only ever seen one opponent ever land a hit on him."
"Is she actually a Mandalorian, though?" Calen asked. "I thought the Empire had wiped them all out."
"Not all of them." Another voice got their attention. Turning, the two saw that it belonged to a human man. He wore the same suit that Ziv work, the suit of a mechanic. Calen thought he looked old, much older than he would have pictured a man enslaved here and still being alive, although the mechanics tended to have a far less strenuous life than the Champions did. "Some survived. Individuals. Pockets."
"And she was in one of the pockets, Garo?" Ziv asked.
"That's the story." Garo said. "I've been her mechanic since she was brought here. Hasn't stopped since. And she's been trying to die."
"Why would she do that?" Calen asked. Before Garo could answer, the roar of the crowd got everyone's attention. On the screens, they could see Xastor firing shots into some rocks, blasting chunks off of them as a blur of motion moved behind them. It seemed that Mona had made her first move against Xastor and he had wasted a few shots hitting the spot where she had been instead of where she was going to be.
"Come on out, little one!" Xastor sneered, his eyes narrowing on the spot where he believed her to be hiding. "This can be over quickly. You may even like it..." The Zabrak dodged out of the way as two durasteel blades slashed through the air where his head had been. Mona had come upon him, a series of slashes and strikes keeping him backing up. As he raised his blaster to shoot her once more, one of the blades cut clean through it, sending the barrel clattering to the soil-covered floor. He dropped it, backing away against the rocks and pulling something from his belt.
A flash of light flooded both the screens and the viewport out into the arena. The crowd was still losing their minds.
"A flashbang! Rotten trick!" Someone said. Calen had to agree, but it seemed tactically sound. The viewport cut out the visual glare quickly, allowing them to see silhouettes of the rocks and of the two combatants. Picking out distinctive details was nigh-impossible, so Calen was able to pick up on their heights and the fact that one figure's arms seemed longer than the other's - the swords being wielded by Mona. That figure swung around and the other had to duck away to avoid being sliced at. Even then, Mona did not let up in her assault. As vision began to clear, the formerly smug Xastor was on the back foot as the redheaded woman pressed her advantage, eventually forcing the Zabrak to fall back against the rocks.
"Xastor has been defeated!" Pirc's voice came over the intercom. The crowd's cheering rose once more to outrageous levels. "Now, it is up to you to decide... does Xastor live? Or does he die? Vote now!"
"Vote?" Calen asked, but his answer came as one of the screens above the arena flickered into life, displaying two options - "Live" and "Die". Numbers began to appear under each option, counting upward from zero. The numbers for "Die" were significantly higher than those for "Live."
"You. Have. SPOKEN!" Pirc roared, and the crowd roared after him. Calen felt himself getting a bit ill as he realized what the crowd was chanting.
"Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!"
Mona's blades slices through the Zabrak's neck in one fluid motion, the head falling from the shoulders and rolling out across the ground to the pleasure of the frenzied spectators.
"WE HAVE OUR WINNER!!!!! MONAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AWAUD!" Pirc's voice was almost unheard over the torrential racket. "The first round is completed! Round two shall commence in one hour!"
"They don't ever choose 'live', do they?" Calen asked.
"Not enough for it to matter, no." Ziv said. "Just... make sure you don't get cocky like he did." He patted Calen on the back. Calen, meanwhile, was watching as Mona dropped the swords and turned and started back for the entrance to the Arena. The artificial environment began to retract beneath the floor as quickly as it had arrived and soon enough there was no sign that it had ever been there at all beyond the headless body of the Zabrak who had been her ultimately underwhelming opponent. She showed no reaction as she took the walk back. A pair of service droids entered from another doorway to clean up the body.
"Come on, we've got an hour to prepare for the next match." Ziv said.
"Did you speak to Toph's Mechanic?" Calen asked.
"This morning at the muster? Yes." Ziv said.
"... and?!" Calen asked, giving the Nemoidian a look.
"I told you before, nobody sees the Grand Champion. Not nobody, not no how." Ziv blinked at him.
"... where is this guy?" Calen asked.
"What are you gonna do?" Ziv asked.
"Talk to him." Calen looked over at the group. "Now where is he?"
"Right here, meatbag." The mechanical chirping of a droid got Calen's attention. One of the old B-1 series droids he remembered from those old inforeels from the Clone Wars. "What's the matter? Never seen a battle droid before?"
"Not in person, no." Calen said, not entirely sure how to proceed here.
"Yeah, well, life's rough on all of us. Deal with it."
"Hello, Clanker." Ziv said.
"...what did I tell you about calling me that?"
"Hard to feed me my own intestines when you have no combat programming." Ziv's flappy lips almost seemed to resemble a smirk. When Calen looked confused, the Nemoidian elaborated, "He's been reprogrammed."
"Against my will. Several times." Clanker quipped. "And thanks to a little quirk in my software, I remember every time they try to wipe my memory. It's great!"
"I want to speak to Toph." Calen said. "That's all."
"Nothing doing, pal." Clanker shook his head. "Nobody sees Toph. Hell, I barely see Toph."
"I need you to make an exception. I need his help." Calen said.
"You think the Grand Champ is gonna get you out of fights?" Clanker made a sound that Calen almost thought was a snort. "This ain't that kinda show, kid."
"Look, just five minutes. That's all I want. Five minutes." Calen said.
"Clean the dirt out of your ears, meatbag. I said no." Clanker waved an arm in front of Calen's face. "Nobody seeks Toph. Don't take it personal, they just... don't, alright?" The droid moved to get around Calen, who looked irritated but allowed him to pass.
"I told you-" Ziv started.
"Stow it." Calen shook his head. "I'll think of something. I have to."
"You really think this guy can help you?" Ziv asked. "Just because you think he's some kind of Jedi?"
"I know that he is!" Calen hissed at him, gesturing for the Nemoidian to lower his voice. No one else seemed to be listening in on them, going around the meeting area and discussing things with other combatants and mechanics or sizing up their opponents to come. Calen noted as he gazed over that there was someone looking at him. A Trandoshan with a wicked scar through his left eye, his scaly skin around it looking highly distressed as if it had been burned or perhaps was infected.
"... Calen?"
"Sorry, right." Calen was quickly snapped back to reality, turning back to Ziv. "I'll think of something. I have to."
"Well, you may have to wait... the next match is about to be announced." The next match was announced, but it wasn't Calen's to take. It was a Mon Calamari and a Quarren thrown into a watery pit that ended with the Quarren atomizing his opponent. Following that, Pirc's voice rose above the crowd once more.
"ANOTHER MATCH DONE! The matches shall continue tomorrow, dear people!" The crowd... booed? Shouted? Calen wasn't sure beyond it beyond a clamorous riot. "I know! I know! You're thirsting for more! It's coming, my friends! It. Is. Coming!" The viewport looking out into the arena slid closed again, leaving them all in darkness before the lights came on once again.
It wasn't long after this that the inhabitants of the room were shepherded out with two less of their number. Calen found himself back in his cell with Ziv, and soon enough the Nemoidian was fast asleep while Calen himself was left staring at the ceiling. His mind was still trying to concoct some way of getting to Toph when the bars of their cell began to open. Calen sat up, seeing Pirc and two Gamorrean guards next to him.
"Champion Darkhaven," Pirc said, looking at him with an unsettling grin, "come with us. You have a visitor." Knowing the argument was not going to be an option, Calen rose and quickly moved with Pirc out of the cell. He was guided once more down the lengthy corridor and down a new hallway. Pirc produced a key card from within his wrist and slid it through a reader, which unlocked a door. "Head in, take a seat." He instructed. Silently, Calen obeyed, walking into the room to find a single table and two chairs. At one of those chairs sat an all too familiar individual and flanking him at either side were the white armor-clad Stormtroopers.
"Hello, Calen."
"... Dax." The Imperial captain - and he was a captain by the arrangement of his code cylinders and insignia - smiled at him. There the man sat, looking as blank-faced as ever as he regarded Calen upon his entry into the room.
"Have a seat. We have a lot to talk about."
No comments:
Post a Comment