The Leviathan and A'den [Tarsis]

[Hawkins Grime]

"Boss...?"

Morrolan e'Drain sat on the front of the speeder, holding his collar up closer to his mouth for the umpteenth time. They had finally found this place on Chiron. Supposedly this region was not that bad but for a region of space known as the Ash Worlds, e'Drain was positive that he could still feel the radiation.

"Do not waste your breath. A'den does not need you, besom, checking on him. He goes down there to fight whatever the locals said wiped out that village we came through. Whatever it is, it hunts what we hunted. Now A'den hunts it."

The tall and lanky Mandolorian leaned against the speeder just beside e'Drain. Just close enough for Morrolan to reach over and sock the Mandolorian in the back of his black-green helmet.

"Quit calling me that dren. You could've gone the whole galaxy calling me that until you told me what it meant. Dren, kid."

The massive droid standing off to the side, seemingly staring up into the sky noticed the act of aggression, regardless of no harm intended. The burning orange eyes regarded the two and the droid seemed to growl. e'Drain was the first to put his hands up.

"Chill, frakking murderbot."

Then the scoundrel caught a glance of the Mandolorian in his periphery who already had his slender long knife drawn.

"Hey kid, you too. Dren."

The boss would kill him if he came back out of that hole in the ground and only e'Drain was left standing amidst a heap of bolts and a dead wanna-be.

==========

The bunker was quiet. The scavengers and squatters that had inhabited the facility that reached deep underground were dead and cast aside the path of carnage that Hawkins Grime followed. This had been a shelter for the weak and the depraved of this planet. A slum in a wasteland, inhabited by the dregs, who had presided over more than they had known. Grime appraised the handiwork in the darkness. His helmet, green eyes glowing, gave him perfect vision in the shadows. Nothing was alive on this floor to note his passing. The prey used a lightsaber, that much was obvious. Groups of scavengers, likely the guards were the first clumps of bodies encountered. The further Grime had come, the more personal the deaths had become as he saw them in more isolated scatterings. A rodian with a structure pylon impaling him from throat to his left leg. A Sullustan who had been torn apart at the shoulders. Slaughter wrought with bare hands. Excellent.

His heavy boots made no attempt at stealth as he headed down another flight of stairs. His gauntlets were free, talons scraping down the walls of the stairway. Four stories down now, heading to the fifth. Grime could feel it at there at the bottom. Not the prey, but the eventual prize. It beat like a heart down there, somewhere, beneath him. Hawkins could not sense it in such a way other than its pulsing presence resonated with the objects that were pressed into his very flesh beneath the heavy plates of his exoskeleton. The large spikes, like reversed dorsal fins rising from his back scraped against the wall as he turned. The cloak with its wookie fur lining and collar flowed behind him. The next floor was significantly less populated with corpses.

Hawkins slowed only slightly as a hot breeze came from behind him, carrying the scent of corpses and carnage with it. The prey was ahead. Maybe it already had it's hands on the prize. That would save him that much more effort in the end. His gauntlets curled into fists, metal stressing against metal as his chest heaved, the quiet and closed in space, so deep down, resonated on a personal level with the wretched flesh buried within Grime's exoskeleton. The temperature had raised significantly, the stale air thick with the stench of death and suffused with Grime's building wrath. The double vault doors ahead of him were closed but from beneath them came a thin line of light. Beyond that came the heart beat. Prey and prize. Hawkins' fake teeth gritted together, his artificial face pressing against his helmet, the visor a demonic rendition of Mandolorian style.

There was no other way out but through Grime. The prey would come and there would be a struggle. No complex traps, no games. Grime appreciated the full scale slaughter he had witnessed on his way down and this prey deserved an all out assault. Grime's arms tensed first, then his chest, the plates locking against one another as the coiled metal muscles went taut. The vault door screamed in protest as it began to twist open, the edges of it becoming orange with the heat.

[Tarsis]

Tall pillars lined the room on either side of where he stood. Very little light, with the exception of the torches lit by the scavengers, filled the room. In the center was a single pedestal, adorned in runes of some forgotten language that Tarsis cared little about and sitting on top was an obsidian block. Closer inspection revealed it to be a box with a single latch and two hinges with were located in the back. A quick glance around the podium revealed no significant information, but Tarsis was willing to bet that it was booby-trapped. Draining the surrounding room of the force, Tarsis braced himself for whatever may happen when he opened the box and to his delight, a series of clicks and clanks set off like a choir, echoing throughout the silent room and with a soft tuff of air, Tarsis could sense the dart flying towards him. He could almost taste the ancient poison that coated its tip as he stopped it in midair to his right. Primitive, but effective. Waiting only moment for any further delays, Tarsis waved his hand and sent the dart flying toward a corpse, digging its tip into her forehead.

Scavengers… Tarsis thought to himself. “Absolutely useless.”

Once again turning his attention to the now open box in front of him, Tarsis could clearly see that it was some sort of amulet. The informant said that its history was rooted in the legends of some species that formally called Chiron home, but are now extinct. Tarsis knew better almost instantly upon entering the temple that it’s really history was rooted in Sith legends, but he was unsure which Sith. Tarsis rarely smiled but he allowed himself this brief moment of excitement as the thought of more power and connecting to some ancient Sith enticed him beyond measure.

Slowly reaching outwards towards his well-earned reward, Tarsis realized he wasn’t alone. A single individual. A scavenger? Had he missed one? No…this person had immersed himself in the force. He was strong. A Jedi or Sith he wondered. Holding his hand over the amulet, allowing himself to bask in its radiance, Tarsis closed his eyes and embraced the dark side. Ripping the stagnant, incorporeal energy from the room and its deceased, Tarsis pushed the force into his muscles. First his chest grew, his core tightened, his arms bulged, his legs tensed in anticipation of action, and his hands clasped tightly, fingers pressing in his palms as his knuckles turned white.

The rush of augmenting his body was intoxicating. Eyes rolled back, Tarsis exhaled slowly…next came the rage. The flame that ignited his hunger, an insatiable appetite only sated by the rush of battle. As Tarsis prepared himself for what was to come, he could feel the doors to the chamber begin to crumble under the weight of the strangers roaring power. With a loud clang, the metal doors fell and Tarsis turned to see a dark visage silhouetted against the remnant of heat emitting from the twisted doors. Emerald eyes pierced the darkness, staring straight at Tarsis. Using the force to enhance the low light of the room, Tarsis could make out some sort of armor covering this stranger. The sound of its servos and shift metal plates gave it away almost instantly. A powersuit... An all too familiar concept as Tarsis used one previously, back when he was weak and need the aid of the mechanical uniform. The difference being that this was an advanced suit. That much was obvious and regardless of the aid the suit actually gave, Tarsis could feel the force reverberating off the stranger. He was no apprentice and it was clear he was here for the amulet.

The thought of fighting such a worthy opponent sent chills through Tarsis. Up until this point, he had fought mercenaries, scavengers, bounty hunters, and on occasion, a force sensitive, but they were never trained and offered no real challenge. This was power Tarsis hadn’t felt since his days on Korriban. This…this was sure to be the challenge that Tarsis craved. Here and now, would be the beginning of his war. Words were not needed. It was clear that both craved the power that the amulet offered.

Unclipping the hilt of his lightsaber, Tarsis slowly began to walk towards his opponent. Increasing his stride and unleashing the pent up force like a spring, Tarsis leapt through the air, igniting his lightsaber as he closed the distance between him and the ebony figure. His crimson blade casts shadows across the pillars as he grew ever closer to this target. The dance of death had begun.

[Hawkins Grime]

The red glow cast more shadows across the room as the large man approached. Grime's teeth slid against each other as his footing shifted. His machete, the thing that had once been the talon of a Terentatek, deflected the lightsaber blade only just, Grime felt the jarring impact of the attack to his core. His machete was half the length of the lightsaber therefore Hawkins continued to remain well within reach of his prey, pushing that proximity as he blocked a barrage of heavy hitting attacks. The intensity behind each blow was a power that Grime could recognize, enhanced by the Force, beyond mortal means. His exoskeleton absorbed some of the concussive impact that resonated up his arm but five parries later and Grime was through drawing the Force adept in.

The wind that swirled around them on the fifth floor of a bunker underground rose in temperature sharply. Grime's ragged breathing was in counter sync with the heaving of the vents built into his back. The dark side attuned relics implanted within his own carcass thrummed as Grime's fury and rage fueled his body. The trinkets embedded within his demonic rendition of Mandolorian armor sang to the implants and the armor moved like his own flesh as Hawkins went on the offensive. The air around him ignited in slivers of flame. Two corpses caught on fire in the room and the smell of burning flesh filled the make shift arena.

Grime swung low than high then stabbed towards the midrift; his own attacks, his own momentum spurned on with his wrath. He would meet this prey head on, Grime's willful destruction and hatred of everything permeating the room like a miasma of negative energy.

[Tarsis]

Tarsis was surprised that his lightsaber was actually stopped by such a simple weapon. He had of course heard of such weapons, things that would resist a lightsaber, but had never seen one. Nonetheless, his surprise quickly turned into reaction as his opponent went on the offensive. Falling back on his training, Tarsis assumed the defensive form of Djem So and began trying to turn his attackers counters against him. Dodging the first slash, Tarsis was able to swing downward and to the right, deflecting the second slash, but to his own chagrin, underestimated the speed of beast in front of him and tasted the sting of his blade across his rib cage.

Blood flowed freely down his right side as anger churned without obstruction through Tarsis. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, Tarsis stepped into the attack, allowing the machete to slice further along his side and with a gloved hand, delivered a brutal uppercut, denting the chin guard of the fiend’s helmet. Tarsis liked to get his hands dirty when possible, not wanting to rely solely on his lightsaber, he enjoyed hand to hand combat.

The uppercut had the intended effect that Tarsis wanted and put a little distance between the two of them. Tarsis could feel the hatred and malcontent permeating through the armor of the man in front of him. Whoever he was, whatever his story, he was defiantly someone not to take lightly. As if what he was sensing wasn’t enough, Tarsis noted the two bodies that had spontaneously ignited as his rival’s agitation grew. Was this a direct response to his growing anger or was it something more repulsive like magik? Putting the thought aside, Tarsis reengaged his foe.

Utilizing the force, Tarsis sent out a telekinetic wave in front of him. Hoping to catch his adversary off guard, Tarsis immediately went back on the offensive, implementing the Vaapad technique or form 7 of lightsaber combat. Dragging the tip of his sabre across the floor of the catacombs, Tarsis carved upwards, channeling his own hatred and malice into a series of strikes.

[Hawkins Grime]

The force wave hit Grime and instead of resisting it, Grime used the momentum to carry him backwards and out of the range of the prey's following attack. Grime's free hand adjusted his helmet, vaguely aware of the dent to his helmet's jawline and chin. His shoulders shook and his breathing rasped in the scant moments before Hawkins had to react to the oncoming assault, having dodged the first, he sidestepped, nimbly over a corpse that was smoking, and then again to dodge a third attack. The fourth went horizontal and would not give Grime the same opportunity. A pulse wave of heat blasted from Hawkins Grime as his fury coalesced and he stepped into the attack. He caught the lightsaber with his machete, his arm shuddering with the impact, and parried it away only to have to bring his weapon back a second later for another parry. The man had changed his method or style or something, but the momentum of the fight had just escalated drastically, and not in Grime's favor.

Grime idly wondered if the poison was taking effect yet. Was the necrofying paralytic working its way into his bloodstream that much quicker with how much he was exerting himself now? It was painless, taking some prey minutes to realize that their faculties were shutting down in mid struggle. This large of a man and a wound in his midrift, his heart might stop beating before his brain even has the time to realize what's happening to him.

The onslaught was overwhelming, and it was driving Grime into a literal corner. The frustration at this man's juggernaut-like attacks put Grime back to his frequently asked question whenever engaging a Force Adept that showed some new alarming capability granted by the Force: how did he obtain that power? He had his own aspects, no doubt, the seven bodies burning around them in conflagration were sign enough, collateral intensity caused by his own rage. Then there was always the pain.

Another swing of the red saber came in and Grime snarled, the noise sounding like an explosion within his own helmet, the artifacts embedded within his own flesh pulsed rapidly. Hawkins stepped into the swing, raising his free hand, using his gauntlet to block the strike. The cortosis-laced plating sparked violently and Grime screamed something ferociously awful. Now well within the guard of the large man and having taken a blow to his own body, his other hand, the one holding the most wicked machete on this side of the galaxy, came inwards. The thirsting blade went back for the already bleeding wound.

==========

"Besom. A'den has found his akaan beneath us."

e'Drain raised an eyebrow at the kid.

"How the frak do you know that?"

"I see the striilir."

"I hate you."

Morrolan whispered it as he sat up. The Mandolorian was already headed to the entrance. The droid trudged behind him quietly but for a low growling that e'Drain was pretty sure was the deathbot's version of humming to itself.

"Fine. Wait up. Dren..."

[Tarsis]

Rage pulsed through Tarsis like never before. His head was throbbing, his heart was racing, and his muscles ached, but he hadn’t felt this alive in years. He could practically taste the mad warriors rage as his snarl echoed throughout the chamber. Caught in the moment, something that almost never happened, Tarsis stared with child-like amazement, as sparks violently erupted from the contact between his lightsaber and the man’s armor plating. Shaking his head, Tarsis had only a brief moment to register the closeness of the ebony warrior and the imminent attack his nearness herald. With a quick pulse of the Force, Tarsis applied an upward push against the assailant’s machete, deflecting it at that last moment. This gave Tarsis the opportunity he needed. Deactivating his lightsaber, Tarsis dropped to the ground and swung wide with his right leg, sweeping the feet out from underneath the metallic behemoth. With a satisfying clang, the man was flat on his back.


Not wanting to lose the momentum, Tarsis attempted to stand quickly, hoping to reignite his lightsaber and deliver the cou de gras, but in that moment, Tarsis noticed that his body was failing him. His breathing had become ragged and his reactions seemed slower. This caused a brief moment of panic for Tarsis as he trained rigorously and knew exactly how far his body could be pushed before failure and he was nowhere near that point.


Forgoing his attack of opportunity, Tarsis backed away from his opponent; all the while using the Force to scan his body for the cause of this unknown weakness. His vison had gone blurry in the few moments he had wasted, but at last, Tarsis was found the cause. Poison. Probably coated on the machete that had recently cut his side. Tarsis cursed himself for allowing that to happen, but he would reprimand himself later. Grabbing ahold of that fear he was feeling, Tarsis concentrated inwards, using the Force to find and remove the vile venom that was contaminating his body.


As he concentrated, Tarsis could hear the sound of metal scrapping against the floor. Tarsis’ anger grew as the sound echoed around him. Whatever the metal cocoon housed, man or beast, Tarsis no longer cared. This man had tarnished the sanctity and honor of combat by using something like poison. The only thing worse would have been magik… With a sudden burst of rage, Tarsis excreted the last of the corrupted blood from his body with a sickening splat on the ground next time him. With his vison returning to normal, Tarsis could see that his attacker was standing and ready for his next attack.


Tarsis clipped his lightsaber onto his belt.


Placing his left hand across the wound on his right side, Tarsis tested the wound. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the pain was still fresh. The cut, while not deep itself, felt like it had seared his insides. A side effect of the poison no doubt. With every nerve around the wound screaming, Tarsis took a deep breath and relished the pain. It was time to end this. With rage pumping through his arms and legs, Tarsis charged. Feeling his muscles bulge and tear as the Force augmented every fiber, stretching every bit of tissue, Tarsis let out a roar of his own. This man had sullied one on one combat. The only punishment for such a crime was death and Tarsis would see it carried out with his bare hands…