ᴼᴺᴸᵞ ᴾᴿᴱˢˢᵁᴿᴱ ᴹᴬᴷᴱˢ ᴰᴵᴬᴹᴼᴺᴰˢ, ˢᵂᴱᴱᵀᴵᴱ. [Xendiss, Krox, and any other Sith wanting to steal Apprentices]

[Slade Xandir]

He was a beast, just above the level of a Krayt Dragon in mind set, as the burn did not cause him to fly into an absolute rage. It was hot, a flare of mesmerizing anger and predatory anger that fed this Dathomirian, fed both of those beating hearts to an excellent drum of warriors war-songs. Blood could hear it so keenly that he ended up almost matching his strokes to the very bu-bump of Kroxata's pulses.

As he was spun around by the severe strength of the Zabrak, his sabers were almost wrenched from his hands, and immediately Blood focused on keeping them snugly in his palms. With it came the memory of Tormentous easily pulling his training saber from his hand in one of their many spars, something so humiliating Blood swore to see it never happen again. Today, he honored that, tightening his grip, but at the price of not seeing the Force Push. The wave of Unseen shoved him back, his feet slidding across the smooth floor. The only thing which stopped him was the pronged claws on his feet as they screeched their momentum's protest.

"You wretch," he cursed almost lovingly to the Saberstaff armed Zabrak.

Both sabers were held aggressively as he was already on the move to plan his next series of attacks against the brute. And once that opportunity arose, he launched himself low and swift, a spike of burning plasma directed for his adversary's meaty hip, while his left was swapped back into a defensive blade angle. Regardless of his hits, he wanted to whittle this beast down, to make this massive man kneel, and admit his defeat. It wasn't personal...

Or was it?

Dancing in and leaping from the fray, Blood made his way in and out of the tango he heated to a boil with this Zabrak, too determined to let up, but fully aware of energy conservation. He wasn't landing anything monumental, not yet; he wanted to savor that piece of steak, later.