An Old Wolf's Return

[Neive Undant]

Prazutis took a moment to register the hyperspace coordinates before thinking it over... with the cease fire in play, the evidence and motive will be stacked against Kroxata... but Neive wouldn’t turn his back on his brother.
“Make the jump, i’ll Follow to ensure safe travel. Rhoden, if you want to follow as well, feel free. But if you want to stay and make sure the sith don’t push their assets into imperial territory, that’s an option as well.”
Neive plugged in the coordinates, preparing the jump.
“All systems go, no engagement as of yet, we are go.”

He thought for a second... this would stall the problem at hand... but this surely would not be over between Kroxata and slade by far, and perhaps it will be the start of Kroxata against Neive himself... but he hoped it didn’t come to that.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

There was no honour in this, there was no respect, no sense of integrity only pure rage and hatred, the true traits of the Sith a trait that has never stuck to Kroxata keeping bound to his code of conduct. He even questions how he could still use the Dark Side knowing the effects it can cause through his research in Sith history and legends, seeing them fall one after the other by the very thing they craved so much, the freighters and gunboats began to narrow the gap between them and the Maul. They did not possess the firepower individually to defeat the Dreadnaught but the sheer numbers were most likely used as meat shields to weaken his defenses before striking the final blow and yet they did not engage.

By now the former Dreadlord marched out from the Bridge leaving hids faithful Admiral to continue his place of command, taking time to contemplate his choices, keeping a direct link via his command console on his wrist with two brand new transmissions awaiting him. The first came from ‘Lord Blood’ one of mockery and false pity to his decision, more ways in an attempt to lure the beast into his rabid state to be lashed back to a chain and kept as a personal pet, an exposal pet at that. But then, as if the Force had willed it so, a shimmer of hope had came to him, a challenge, a challenge of two warriors, a sense of honour in his actions.

Despite this act of honour, Kroxata knew that Lord Blood’s powers were far greater than Slade, they may still be the same individual only polar opposites of the same coin. The Dathomiri Hammer could not defeat the new Dark Lord of the Sith, not if he managed to best Tormentous himself into submission, the Sith Kroxata deemed the strongest being in the galaxy.

The second message came from his brother once more, the plan was in fall scale, he could simply jump away, live to fight another day praying the Empire will not instantly kill him on sight. However… that would be a coward to turn down a duel, a coward the Zabrak relented over anything else.

He could not allow this challenge to go without notice, but Kroxata had also seen the opportunity to corner Lord Blood aboard his ship, away from his fleet and into his hands, and others seeking his capture. He simply needed to wear down the Sith Lord enough. Kroxata instantly opened a channel to Neive still marching to his chambers. “No, there is a change of plan, Lord Blood will be boarding my ship and challenging me to a warrior’s duel. I can try to prolong the battle but I cannot defeat him. If you still take the Sith as a enemy then now is the perfect time to aid in his capture, relay this to your commanders or whoever will listen, this will be my last message to you. After this I will either die at his hands in combat or live another day, the rest is up to you….”

He cuts the transmission reaching his throne room, the blast doors slide either side of him revealing the pitch black room. Kroxata takes a deep breath, he can feel every fibre of the wind through the hallways run across his fingertips, he takes a few steps inside the chamber, opening his amber eyes to see his many trophies, his many prizes and finally, a torn up banner, one that bared the crest of his fallen tribe. He kneels before it closing his eyes and reaching out to the Force, “I know you are all now one with the Force, I believe myself to be the last survivor of our clan. With my death will come the end of our tradition, and the last remnants of Dathomir...our home. But know this brothers, sisters, fathers… If i am to die this day, it will be in the glory of battle, against a worthy foe, one that will be sung in the generations to come. And if i am to fall this day I may join you once again. As your champion.” He shoots out his arm to the side bringing to him his double bladed Lightstaff, the same blade that Tormentous used long ago, his loyal Magna Guards stood ready around him, the only features being seen were the cracking of their electro staves and the glaring beam of their red lights.

The giant Sith Lord rises to his feet, taking the banner in his hand marching out of the chamber leaving Lord Blood with a very short transmission “I accept….” The blast doors to the Naga would deactivate leaving the central hanger open for Lord Blood to enter.

[Slade Xandir]

The connection sirens blared as the Infiltrator began boarding proceedures. The tunnel attached, and far too soon had he a flashback of when Slade and Tormentous boarded a large ship as well, trying to rid the everything aboard, including one of the most powerful Force users he had ever come across. Some woman in red armor, who threw the Arrow at him with such velocity the Imperial could have speared through him. The same Imperial he was currently doing business with. Setting up an alliance with. The vision faded as the last piece resounded with him being dragged through the tunnel by Tormentous, flittering back and forth between conciousness and unconciousness, pulled to safety despite being undeserving of it. He had failed his Sire that day, and such a heated scald of molted fury swam through his barbaric chest with more wave than the sea's tide. It washed over him, and immediately the Orbalisks fed into him, harder and harder thrusting their micro teeth into his scales, his flesh, suckling the rightous nectar from the Damned One. He was still living out Tormentous' plans, even when he had plans of his own to betray his Maker. But thus toiled the machine of the Sith, ever on the reincarnation of a healthier cog to pull forward the burdens.

Massassi accompanied the brute as he pressed forth the entrance button, the doors sliding open and revealing an already open hatch door. Everything was stable, calm. But as Tormentous had taught him that wintery day on Ziost, calm was the facade for calamity. Something lay tense, waiting in the air before him, and instinct told him to ready himself. Mentally, he was primed. Physically, he was in excellent condition. And in the Force, he stood a paramount giant against the hills and valleys. He was nearly complete in perfection, and nothing stood in his way,...Nothing but Kroxata.

The hangar stood open for him, and he walked through with no flourish besides his loincloths billlowing with his heavy stride. He knew this ship well, and only the Force could deny him anything from it. Soon, it's owner would perish, and this would be another Naga added to his army. No sooner had he thought such, he stopped dead in his gait. The Masassi accompanying him too paused, their leader tasting the air around him.Kroxata awaited him, and soon, he would wait no more. Following the scent trail of the Zabrak in the Force, Blood eventually stood near Kroxata's location.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

Before Lord Blood could exit the main hangar, the large blast doors screech open, the metal scratching against the steel patterned cat walk leading to the interior the ship. To greet the Sith Lord four Magna Guards ignite their electro staves, marching in long strides in an arrow formation leaving a gap in the middle, some wearing a long cape painted with the insignia of various Nightbrother tribes, all being unique in their own way much like the various other clans that would witness a clash of their champions. They do not engage the Sith Lord or his accomplices, instead they create a curved circle creating one side of an arena, the catwalk marking the central path. But what Lord Blood would be drawn to most was the giant cloaked figure, towering other the rest. His entire body was covered in a jet black cloak with a hood that concealed too much to identify who he was, and yet his presence felt all to familiar, the scent, the sheer rage that poured from him at every second.

He lowers his hood, revealing the Dreadlord, Kroxata Akhoi, the Dathomiri Hammer, the one who in turn created the monster that opposed him. His glowing eyes focused onto his rival, his upper lip twitching every now and then with a stern scowl, in his left hand he held the banner of his own clan, one that he would represent in his final moments keeping to his traditions till the end. Laying the banner out in from of him, the insignia facing upwards for his ancestors to see from whatever afterlife they inhabited, slowly removing his cloak.

No longer did he stay protected by his large plated armour, he would face his worthy foe as a true champion would. The cloak unveiled the heavily tattooed bare chest of Kroxata, many curved slashes and spikes were scattered in black markings leaving his true beige skin colour little more that trickles of what he was. His hulking body even showing some competition to the massari brutes that accompanied Slade. Alas, he knew that Lord Blood did not respect such tradition, keeping his plated greavers and sabatons, most importantly his belt, holding the double bladed lightstaff that was passed to him by the true Lord of the Sith.

Kroxata did not utter a word, his actions were already made, his intent certain and his fate one of two ends, either way he will go out like the legend he had envisioned himself to be, standing against the dishonourable in a duel. He draws his Lightstaff with his left arm, holding out before him horizontally igniting both ends, twirling the blade around his body anti clockwise setting it behind him in a more defensive position, his feet set one behind the other, bending his knees slightly keeping light on his toes. He would let Blood take the first move...

[Slade Xandir]

The entirety of existence seemed to slow as two peers witnessed each other. Though the time seemed to slow and polish itself to a clean halt, Blood could internally feel the hands of a clock ticking as each step he took continued it's trek to embellishing him into history. He had conjured this happening in desires, and as he surrendered to the trying trials of biding his moments to succeed to such power, this brought his mantra to ring true. Desire did require surrender, and that bore power. Ultimate power. And today would be where he showed Kroxata the difference between idly waiting for the slow measure of tradition and honor to bear fruit, versus the hard and dexterous toiling of trauma and recovery in the chaotic spindle of Fate.

Behind the Massassi that accompanied him, a familiar figure would branch away from the hulking beasts. One Kroxata would recognize from eons of moons ago, cycles that had probably been forgotten from the forefront of mind but not the effects of history. She stood out like a freshly blossoming lily among a crisp and withering field of fire and decay. She wore robes etched with both Dathomirian symbols and Sith enchantments. They told well of who she was, and though she was petite, this woman walked with a sway of unnatural rhythm. It was otherworldly how her skirt swished long and elegant across the cold floors or the Maul. Her top was revealing though modest, sleeves embroidered with the same harmonic symbols, and embellished in that familiar cross of garnet and burgundy reds that his culture would recognize instantly. That pale and silvery skin was sharply darkened by tattoos harkening warnings about this woman's potential to ruin you through both the wisdom of the Winged Goddess and the wrath of the Fanged God. Ichor was darting in strips throughout several crevices, neon green splicing though fingers and between banded feet. Her headdress was regal, much more attuned to harvesting and holding the different manners of Force which she could utilize to manifest her ichor. Through a artfully and fiercely tattooed face, a pair of orange irises stared down Kroxata desire herself being shorter than the giant Dathomirian.

Blood was cleared from the group of magna guards and Massassi, leaving both he and Karliah standing in the entrance to the Zabraks throne room. Blood said nothing either, standing there like a 7ft tall unmovable mountain. She, however, walked between them and stood in the middle of the two mountainous beings. Voice laced by the spirits of both ancestors and her wisdom, it punctuated the air with soul fluidity.

"Champion, tis been a long cycle since you've returned. Instead I am forced to come to you." Her eyes narrowed. Nothing scared the woman, as in their customs, women held right over the men. Though the woman was proud of the Warrior of her people, she was disappointed he hadn't come to speak of his deeds to her. The Gods too, were displeased. And she spoke it so. "Both of our deities have grown unhappy with our distance from each other. Us as a people, must stick together. Yet, you stray." There was no malice in her words, but the disappointment was felt. "This is a sacrifice to them, this battle here, and now. Reign it as our way has always been, Brother, and bring glory to our people," she commanded. It was then she parted to be back within the crowd of the aliens which escorted her, by the Massassi, standing expectant with her enchanted staff humming a beat through the connection she had with Kroxata. It was there, a hidden companion, a phantom of ceremony drums that echoed like their Land, the same drums adolescents would beat as their kind fought in training and for hierarchy amongst their own. Such a familiar beat. She was passively cheering him on with this tempo, her gaze on him, and him alone.

Blood, as he had, remained silent, but he himself was already welling with the power of Dark Side. The crystal amulet against the decorative gold chain link necklace he had was an ominous black, void and nearly enchanting in it's own right. It glimmered a trickle of glittering red deep within it's fragments of light that hit it. His flesh was nothing but the scales of orbalisks leeching as much pain as they could into him as the Dark Side fed it's poisonous influence into him. Outlined by the dangerous and near indestructable parasites, he was seen pulling his pair of sabers from the ornamental belt on his waist which too held his shield generator in case the Guards decided to be a bit unfair. He had no tricks, no hidden weapons. It was just him and this Zabrak.

He was 'honoring' the Zabrak's wish, atleast. For now.

Heavy footfalls signaled his first advance as he settled himself into the grounded and powerful Djem So of Form V. The Way of the Krayt Dragon. With his mastery of Form V, his own effort was near nothing as he could defend and counter with so little as a whim of a twisted arm, or an uphanded reversal. He did not need the furious pace of Jar'Kai...power and the ironbound will to dominate this duel was the key to victory. As many masters before, he had studied and found what he was the most adaptive and comfortable with. This way of battle relied on his ablity to stay heavily reliant on his balance. For such balance, he needed to be in tune with his ability to be grounded.
He was heavy enough to do this. And with the precise mania that Jar'Kai had put in him, he could easily flip between such strikes with precise ease. He could feed upon the controlled chaos of the Jar Kai however; if the Zabrak had noticed he took attention away from his base, he could be left vulnerable. So his prime focus would be upon Form V, and only Jar Kai if he knew the swift storm of blade could be used efficiently.

Forward he went to challenge this man whom rescued his vessel. To make the unworthy kneel. He had to ensure this battle had a purpose. And Blood was not without cause. This Zabrak would not be his undoing. Something horrid and voracious spiraled from within his heart, and it sprung froward through his system. Up and out, a primal roar was sent directly at the Zabrak, vibrating through his maw, over an uncurled serpentine tongue. Fangs were bared, ivory daggers that had feasted upon comrades and enemies, alike. This roar was a challenge both issued and answered, from the bowels of the Dark Side. The indignation faded away as Blood allowed himself to feed into this wonderful lust of battle. Tail whipped to and fro as he rammed his body forward to crush the Zabrak. Just within reach was he, and wicked sabers were in hand. His aim was precise, and his power was ultimate. The left swung a burgundy saber with intent to distract with a blow aiming for the Zabrak's right rack of thick ribs. The right however, cunningly swerved to decietfully entangle the other end the 'Champions' other blade end in a twisted trap just above the zabrak's left shoulder. The angle was perfect to twist himself free, and attempt tripping the hefty opponent with equally thick and sharply ridged tail.
If nothing came of it, the Sithian would bend low, and pull himself away from the immediate reversal which could ensue.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

Kroxata had cleared his mind from distractions, his full concentration on whatever Blood’s move would be, since their last duel it became clear that Slade was not one to take lightly. His full submission to the Dark Side had shown its true colours, a disease that sprouted from his body making him near unrecognisable from the human that once called upon the Zabrak for aid. Kroxata would commend Blood for one thing, and that was to be insane enough to allow the Dark Side to fully consume his soul and mind, to make Blood’s body as a vessel for its corruption, to even survive such a transfusion takes extreme will power, which he knew Blood possessed.

But through his determination to prove his strength over the man he saved long ago, the sudden emergence of a long forgotten face, a face that struck great beauty and flattering to warrior. His pupils widen for a split second, lowering his blade ever so slightly in awe to see the Nightsister, Karliah. The one person who his gods had handed to him, her words soothed his rage induced state, the ceremonial drums beat through one ear to the other, the thudding striking his own heart, bringing a single tear to roll down his rough cracked cheek, even if it was so brief of a moment, like a flash of memory before his eyes, Kroxata was home, he was on the barren grounds of Dathomir, below the crimson misty sky that engulfed the stars above. His mouth opens but no words come from it, a stumble of quiet grunts.

A moment of weakness, a moment of vulnerability, he blinks his eyes for a moment, opening to see the charging ferocity of the Sith Lord, Kroxata’s immediate reaction tensed up his muscles, bringing his mighty Lightstaff around his body to make contact with the agile blades, blocking the single strike to his right set of ribs, letting out a grunt whilst gritting his teeth so tightly one chips on his lower teeth. The second blade however is seen to late, Kroxata twists his arms around carrying the first blade with him to contact in a defensive parry to the strike on his left shoulder, his arms were crossed over, his balance faltering, his agility failed him in this moment causing him to stumble backwards. His feet trying to find some ground to plant themselves but to no avail, He spins around backing away watching as Magna Guards step away with him, keeping the field of battle narrowed to close quarters as possible as per his orders.

The rage had been subdued with the sudden appearance of Karliah, his mind in a constant blur, how dare he fall for such a minute presence, he cannot lose, he -will- not lose or dare yield to Blood. All he needed to do was prolong the battle as long as he could, or die trying, he lets out a battle cry swirling his twin bladed light staff in a vertical angled stance, not giving away his next offensive move. Blood’s physical strength was indeed formidable, but not strong enough to best him in a feat of roar strength. He finally ends his swirling barrage, quickly sending out his blade in a quick strike, its target was set across Blood’s chest in a horizontal cut, but was merely a means to test the SIth Lord. He would quickly lunge forward following his initial strike with the other end of his Lightstaff, thrusting it forward with the same motion in the same place, hoping to setback his momentum so that he could build his own. Successful or not, he needed to at least even the playing field, using his knowledge and preference of Vaapad and Ataru, his own means of Ataru anyway. Focused primarily on hard hitting strikes with enhanced quick movements to equate to his massive size, he was not know for his acrobatic prowess.

[Slade Xandir]

One hand against two as far as single blows were concerned; the Zabrak had both attack and defense up on the blows which passed. Unless he combined both hands together in his own blows, hitting the Zabrak with two blades to meet one, he wouldn't be able to break through such a spherical defense. But unlike the Zabrak, Blood didn't fight fair. His mind adjusted to this unparallel series of constraints, bringing up new options as they broke their surface. With every adequately defended blow, Blood absorbed the force through the energy it bombarded into him. Each brought a new level to him as the power was stored away for retrieval, and Blood inwardly smiled at the whiplash which would come to decimate the horned fool.

"My horns are better than your's, Kroxata," he childishly teased. Arrogance wasn't in this statement as much as the jest was. Blood was enjoying himself despite the severe comparison stat difference between he and the sand-skinned brute he jousted against. Something warned him of the coming onslaught, the Force tickling his stomach moreso than the upper helm of his body. Acting accordingly, he brought only a single burgundy blade to defend against the diagonal blow across his top, and it was then he was forced back as the other end of the staff flew forward to impale him. Luckily he took that step back, giving him enough room to see the milliseconds he had before the saber would come to meet his gut. Pivoting on a grounded right leg, the left acted accordingly, setting itself in an opportune spot to keep Blood from toppling or being felled physically. Where his movement was, his tail once again swung to upstage the Zabrak in a cumbersome swat of thickly scaled meat and spikes.

Defended properly, Blood refused to indulge the aspect of his mind that craved a reversal. It would leave him vulnerable if he attempted it, from behind. He wasn't as agile as what he was as a human, unable to bend and twist with that keen dexterity. However, the heft of his weight wasn't to trade blows or strike the Zabrak down - it was to endure and watch this Zabrak wittle himself down. Then he would have the upper hand. Patience, endurance, and passion. If he was struck by the blade, it would only fuel him more. The Orbalisks were majorly immune to saber plasma, thus making the Sith near invincible to the strikes. Yet the Danger Sense continued, overriding the potential arrogance that would sprout from his knowledge.

Blood had master expertise in the battle between sabers. He had fought so many and come across to live to fight even more. He was triumphant in quite a few situations, and not all of them called for brute strength. It called for intellect, and he was ready to show the Zabrak exactly why, as the up and coming Dark Lord, he was meant to be feared.

Every step taken, was a step earned.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

Distance was created, finally a level playing field, Slade had learned much in his long absence from the known galaxy but even he was close to shocked as to how well he received his feared barrages of powerful strikes, in fact he seemed to be welcoming with open arms this over exposure in offense, his blade dancing swiftly over each slash and stab. There was no doubt in the Zabrak’s mind that this may be his final battle but now he only fought so it could end on his terms. The final strike saw the two lock blades temporarily, that jesterly smirk in a mocking manner enraged Kroxata to limits that no other foe has ever before, a deep genuine disgust and hatred emitted itself from the hulking berserker that had never surfaced before to anyone other than the dark confines of his chamber. His teeth grit, accidentally biting into his own lip allowing a small trial of blood flowing from the small gash, his eyes now vibrantly glowing a thick amber, the Dark Side of the Force was taking over.

Kroxata lunged forward a second time with his blade pointed to meet that of a...tail? A large scaled spiked serpent like appendage lashed out slamming across his face, the spikes impaling into his forehead, Kroxata felt the instinct to flinch back, away from mace like weapon to free himself from its clutches, but a resolve kept him from shying away from this opportunity. Slade was open, vulnerable, maybe his jestering arrogance or attempt to further anger the warrior into becoming reckless and easy to disassemble and yet the polar opposite came to be, Kroxata stood in place, taking the blow head on even pushing himself further into the tail causing more damage upon his head causing Kroxata to truly feel the pain letting out an intense set of growls with each inch he made, but in doing this he edged closer and closer towards his enemy. A strong beaming aura of the Force could be felt around him, a flow of roar unlimited energy flowed down his body into his arms, the air around it visibly blurring to the naked eye over his hands and the hilt of his lightsaber, ready to disperse on impact.

Within what felt like a fraction of a second, Kroxata raised his blade slicing a piece of the tail that still remained lodged into his head, he followed through with his lightsaber planting his left foot into the ground, his blade rotating clockwise, spinning back around hoping to land a hit anywhere on the Sith Lord. His lightsaber fully charged with destructive Force energy, he clung onto this moment without a hesitation or risk of him missing, this HAD to strike true. The impact would cause the energy to be unleashed, to cause a shockwave aimed towards Slade in the slight chance that in this moment he could overpower him, if the impact was strong enough and Slade as knocked off balance or sent backwards, his next strike would be what determined if he would win or lose this battle, using the remaining Force supply he had left through his body to propel himself like a bullet, his blade swirling around him in a chaotic manner even Kroxata had little idea where he wanted it to land but he hoped to any of his kind, any of his gods he once worshipped were blessing him this day, blessing their champion in this last ditch effort of honourable combat for his life. Or if that were not possible, to go out in glorious fashion like the way of the legendary heroes that were told to him and many other warriors on Dathomir.

[Slade Xandir]

He felt a shove forward with the heat and disconnect that came swiftly after-
And then the dull throb that shot heavily through his spine. Fangs bared as he pulled his front to face the horned bastard only to meet the energy tax of a Forcibly Charged strike. It came down on the draconian with the weight that he could barely afford to block. The quake of Force aided precision and depth struck Blood's weight low, and the dual sabers had to be combined against the single of Kroxata's Staff blades. An eruption of volcanic growl rumbled heavily from the Dragon King to meet the rolling tirade of the Zabrak's, a baritone duet of swearing in primal language only barbarians understood. It was strength against strength, and even with his enhanced body, his hard work of Dark Side Sorcery, Alchemy, science and genetic engineering, Blood felt himself losing! Dathomirians were clearly bred for war, and with his knee beginning to buckle under the locked strain, he had to think swiftly. Desperation forced his guile.

The tyrant unpaired the sabers and stepped aside, vermillion and golden-inscribed loincloths following with the bold decision, both ending up speared and incinerated where Kroxata's staff would have halved him. It took enough of that rush for Blood to withdraw from the ludicrous intimacy and get some breathing room. Kroxata had nearly gotten him- he didn't like that in the slightest. His heavily scaled brows knotted in a severely telling pass to the Zabrak; something devilish was going to happen. And so it did-

The air began to crackle with something sharp, a snap here and a zip there. A flash of red and white, a thin zigzag of light crackling between the pair as Blood centralized his vex at Kroxata not even remotely being dead, countering Blood's own unnatural strength with a pair of genetic prowess, battle expertise, and Force aide. "I'll show you how to use the Force, you child." Teeth grit in their bear-trap vice, as he outwardly scalded his senses with the need to simply take from Kroxata. What was it that he had that Blood hadn't?! Because he was a stupid alien with heritage on his side?! Jealousy fueled the heat in Blood's veins, pouring through pores with an immediate extension of flared reality. That vehemence was sparking, electric, judgement passed from one hateful bastard to steal what Kroxata had naturally garnered. From the braced King, red and white edged in neon blue scattered between clawed fingertips and threw themselves at the tan skinned mutant. In Blood's eyes, Kroxata had no right to surpass him in anything. Anything remotely close to such needed to be in Blood's arsenal, and each digit electrically grabbed what it could. Blood could frantically keep up with each direct wiring of electric connection, flashes of heat and warmth, of vigor and generous strength coming to meet the Wicked Messiah's thirsty grab. The electricity wasn't high enough of a voltage to murder the Zabrak, especially not with his brute strength, but surely the thing would retaliate to stop the voracious dragonoid. And with craft comes cunning. A vibrant stain of ivories glared at the dathomirian hungrily.

The Dark Lord would be fed either way, he mused as he prepared the counter.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

Yes! It had worked, his blade sliced the disgusting mutation from the abomination before him, the riggling appendage rattled uncontrollably before shriveling up before him. Whatever foul dark rituals Slade performed to become this monster did not allow him to escape the harsh reality of mortality, his strike was true. Impacting against the Sith master felt like punching a wall of steel, the two furies of the Dark Side that had reached its peak limit in both Sith created an ominous dark aura. Slade’s snarling fanged teeth that matched those of Kroxata’s glared to each other, two predators battling for dominance, roaring to each other in a show of intimidation but this carried a much deeper meaning and purpose, for Kroxata it was a sign of defiance, for Slade it was insolence. The blades locked and the champion thrusted forward with the resolve of beating back his foe, the tide was changing.

Unexpectedly the false Lord disengaged, the Dathomirian hesitated to immediately react, his instincts told him to charge like the primal predator would to fleeing prey and yet a single second of dread struck into his mind, that dark aura, that was not his own for he could sense this through the Force, it came from him. Kroxata recklessly sprinted forward,trying to prevent whatever the abomination was planning his Light staff raised high above his head aiming to slice down through his body when a flash of amber light burst into view. A streak of amber sparks darted towards the warrior, like a wave of chaos it washed over him, the crackling bolts sizzling through his armour into his flesh.

At first Kroxata believed this to be Force lightning, an ability that he had heard rumours of as a staple in the Dark Side of the Force, but if that were it he would surely have died upon its impact. The torrent forces Kroxata to his knees, his Lightstaff becoming too heavy to hold, slipping from his grasp, there was an agonising cry the Dathomirian let out as his body became heavier and heavier, he could feel his blooming Dark side aura fading away every second he remained trapped.

Kroxata collapses, barely keeping himself up on all fours, trying to use all his physical might to fight against this, it was a losing battle. He became exhausted, short of breath, his eyes barely could keep conscious and yet he was able to lift his head enough to see a terrible sight. a grinning abomination, looming over his defeated foe with an ever wide grin to his success, a dishonourable ‘Lord’ that did not fight his battles with his skill in combat but rather abilities that for many are inconceivable to comprehend. Kroxata would not fall like this, not like a rodent to an exterminator, he could feel the Dark Side of the Force rallying to his aid but being subsequently torn away the second it became his, he finally understood this ability.

He was running out of time, soon he would no longer be conscious and at the mercy of the great pretender. He darted his eyes to his environment trying to find anything that could interrupt Slade’s concentration, he searched around for stray objects that could be used as projectiles or something to stop the stream from impacting directly. He noticed the walls where his blade had sliced through the hull revealing the network of architecture that made him his capital ship, until finally, the solution revealed itself. Beside Slade was a small slit into the metallic hull, steam gently expelled from it where they had indirectly sliced into one of the many ventilation pipes to keep the Dreadnoughts entity from overheating from the engines. With whatever strength he had left Kroxata reached out with the Force, his hand extended out towards the hidden pipe, the hallway began to rumble and the wall slowly caved in on itself, but it was not enough.

He let out a roar, the sheer concentration and strength he needed took its toll on his mind and body, clenching his hand slowly before finally crushing it into a fist, upon this the wall burst open, the pipe exposing itself, shooting out a thick smoke that hopefully engulfed over Slade breaking his focus, the interior lights switched to a dark red and a shrill of an alarm broke the silence.