A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
Aboard a luxury yacht high above Harnaidan, the Muun have spared no expense to give their investors an experience that will not soon be forgotten. A reddish gold sunset paints the horizon ahead as night slowly consumes the hazy planet to the rear. What no one anticipated, however, was the vicious storm sweeping across the planet. The crew is discreetly attempting to convey the dangers without alarming the guests, but worse yet, all hell is about to break loose- and no one could have seen it coming.
You have ten posts before the beginnings of the storm start whipping against the yacht, and it's all downhill from there.
Will Harnaidan below provide a safe haven, or will it become collateral damage in your fight to the death?
[/ul]*I silence the crew member with my upraised palm clenching into a fist.*
[/font][/ul]
*All the while muttering his protests, the poor fellow. No matter; to say nothing of the immeasurable power of the Force at my beckon call, this man—though of average height and not wholly out of shape—does not even measure up to my physical prowess. So as he gives a mere halfhearted attempt to block the hallway, I brush him aside with no more than a brisk stride and a stiff shoulder. Juggernaut.
There is a lesson here: Words are meaningless when you lack the ability to enforce them. And, as the last pneumatic door hisses open to admit me onto the sun deck, with the last light of Muunilinst Prime stretching across the sky, and a tremendous gust of wind immediately bursting upon my body, another lesson: Not for nothing did he try to bar entry. Surely this is but a taste; just one of the outermost rain belts of the storm centered over the blackened section of sky to our—I turn in place briefly to catch my bearing—southeast. And fast approaching, as if the storm itself is drawn to the same source I am.*
[/font]
“Ryu, why did you pick a luxury cruise run by such an idiotic company? Don’t they realize that they can just fly this ship above the cloud layer? Did they forget about that?”
“None of my business how foolish they choose to be.”[/ul]
*Devient, my mask, adorns my face, and I must admit that for once she and I were thinking along the same lines. Why isn't there a procedure for flying the ship over the storm? This whole scenario seems like it really could have been avoided altogether with a modicum of common sense.
Striding across the deck, I have quickly become accustomed to the strong, steady blowing of the wind. It appears I will not have any issue with mobility, at least not until the storm worsens. Even the occasional strong burst of wind isn’t causing me to lose my footing. No, far more troublesome is the massive heated pool inconveniently sunk right in the middle of the deck, restricting the amount of traversable terrain, and the deck chairs ringing its rim. Well, I say restricting, but there’s still over five meters between myself and the nearest one. I am right at the ship’s railing, though, so perhaps if you are perilously obese, or of ronto descent, you might find it a bit claustrophobic here.
I make my way towards the bow, following the starboard edge as it gradually curves towards its apex. As I walk, I casually shift my gaze, observing my surroundings. An albino bat flitters across the sky, seemingly unperturbed by the approaching squall. On the bowsprit, an abnormally large metalmite is perched, motionless. Nearby, some vandal has emblazoned the symbol of the Rebel Alliance on the ship. Surely that will be cleansed soon. But so far, beyond this general sense of foreboding, no sign of others around here.
To any and all, I must look at least somewhat horrifying. Possibly not entirely out-of-place on a ship reserved for the extravagantly rich, who include in their number some of the most eccentric of all beings in the universe. But as hinted at, I, an Icarii, bear a somewhat imposing frame at 190 cm in height and about 100 kg mass. Larger than the average humanoid, but given the right crowd of alien species or body builders, I’m absolutely miniscule. And well-trained, to be sure; if you know me, then you know. To add to the shock factor of my appearance, I wear Devient. She is a mask I fashioned with my Sith Alchemy. Function over form was the rule. Her function is to reduce the efficiency of my Force Sight, and reduces my ability to use the Force overall. There are a few side effects, too, such as the fact that I tend to hallucinate, and hear her voice often in my head. We converse, it’s a thing. Her form is an expressionless sheath, both mouthless and eyeless, covering my face; an alchemically-enhanced polished metal surface with apparent depth and stylistic swirls of various shades. Stare too long, and their subtle, lifelike movements can have a hypnotic effect. Fully resistant to lightsaber strikes. And pronged, too; two to count, razor-sharp, 15 cm horns protruding from the top of the mask. I think, once, I managed to gore someone while wearing this mask. It was a long time ago, I don’t remember the details.
As the gale continues to gradually intensify, I am glad that I thought to wear Freedom, a duster coat. Of Zeyd cloth weave, its fibers have been imbued with Norris root dyes, making it flame retardant and slightly less susceptible to damage from energized attacks. Nightmarish to repair, let me tell you. The Norris dye was worth every penny. Clasped over the right forearm sleeve of the coat is a bracer, housing a personal shield projector. Saurez is his name, and the shield he projects is a perfectly circular, slightly curved entity, one meter in diameter. It is impervious to lightsabers, blaster bolts, and physical strikes until his batteries are depleted (proportional to the amount of damage he sustains; for instance, he’d probably be able to take a single shot from a decent sized starfighter, but that would take an entire battery charge). I happen to have one spare pack—a diatium power cell, actually—reserved for such a purpose, though if there’s to be a fight, as I imagine, I do have trouble picturing how I might make enough time for myself to change it out. In my right hand is what, to any onlooker, could be identified as an LL-30 blaster pistol. If you thought so, congratulations on your extensive knowledge of blaster makes and models, but that’s not correct. This is Crux; it is the twin brother to an actually functional LL-30, Crisis, who decided that it would be more comfortable to stay in my room on this ship than to come with me. Crux’s internals were replaced (by me; Sith Alchemy can sometimes be thought of like surgery for inanimate objects) by mechanisms reproducing the effect of the Exocron-native weapon, the flash pistol. I have heard rumors that some people were able to make flash pistols capable of dealing damage to their foes, but I did not attempt that; by my estimation, managing to secure a few seconds of blindness in my opponent is all I need. It puts myself and my foe on even yet unequal footing: I have managed my blindness for years with Force Sight, a power I’ve not seen used by almost any other in this whole universe. The grooved section along the LL-30’s nose, and the butt of the handle, have been filled with unrefined cortosis ore (which was a massive headache in terms of craftsmanship). And, since the pistol’s sight is useless to me, a man who sees with the Force, I replaced it on both Crux and Crisis with a 420 nm heatbeam emitter.
All of these trifles, all of these toys with their cute tricks and clever functions, pale in comparison to the masterpiece in my left hand. An ornately-hilted lightsaber emitter, second only to one in my entire arsenal. Vol. A lightfoil, to be exact. She emits a brilliant cyan blade, when lit, stable and confined to a blade thinner by about one-third than the typical lightsaber. Longer than the standard length, as well, by about three centimeters. The hilt itself features a hand-guard made from phrik, elegantly curved into a slim bell guard encapsulating the entire hand on one side (the other side is half-exposed so as to actually be able to insert the hand that grips it). Everything about Vol suggests Makashi, but it is worth mentioning that I have never been trained in any of the classical forms, instead choosing to fight with my own, self-instructed style. Do I therefore lack the muscle memory of ingrained techniques taught for thousands of years? Of course. But I have my own ways; not using Makashi does not preclude my ability to strike with precision, where needed. And there are many advantages to that; for as my coat suggests, I am Free.
A smile spreads across my face, beneath the mask, followed by a quiet chuckle as I continue my slow march. Juggernaut, indeed.*[/font]
Cooler than less than an hour prior, the forceful wind tossed Alkor's already messy hair all around. The cool, deep blue of his eyes reflected the imposing bursts of lightning as they slowly encroached. Where the crew and guests had started to evacuate the main deck, the Dark Jedi had come to this place for a reason. He did not shy from the promise of death, or even blink as it barked ferociously.
The Muun Minister of Finance barely eluded him, thanks to unforseen circumstances. It should have been simple- a quick, surgical kill in the middle of a crowd, and a rapidly destabilizing economy swiftly in its wake. Things rarely went as planned, it would seem.
For now, Muunilnst would maintain its soverignty, and those who lurked in the dark would find themselves empty handed. That was what he thought, at least, until the storm ahead of him seemed poised to do his work for him.
Alkor just had to ensure there were no survivors.
He glanced backward when the sudden, strange presence blinked into existence. Something restrained, but markedly powerful, was approaching. While others filtered steadily below deck and the speakers blared intent to rise above the firmament, they could do nothing until they were certain every man, woman, and child was safe and such an ascent would cost them nothing.
Alkor and his new friend were very much in the way of that plan.
He became increasingly aware as the hulking mass of a man appeared from the sea of bodies, and the familiar mask became visible. They had crossed blades before, another time, another place.
Lightning cracked the sky once more in an arc, followed shortly thereafter by a much louder report. There was scarce little time before the weather conditions destabilized, and the beautiful sunset became something more malicious. The peel of electricity mirrored the half smirk on his face as Alkor picked himself up and took hold of one of the lightsabers at the small of his back. He rarely carried many other weapons, and his clothing was little more than ornamental, but he relished the thrill of combat unlike any other man. The prospect of what his opponent offered boiled his blood.
He took a single step forward, no more than fifty feet between them now.
*When did that guy get there? It isn’t until he starts moving that I actually notice Alkor’s presence. As motionless as he was standing, and being that close to the foremast, I mistook him for the ship’s figurehead.*
[/ul] *Come now, Devient, that's not a hard and fast rule. Who are we to say what the rich and famous will use to testify to their opulence? Just because it isn’t traditionally done is no reason not to start. Anyways, there’s probably some sort of symbolism at work here, but I was never very good at wrapping my head around that sort of thing.
Speaking of tradition, as I approach, and while we are still separated by a gap of about 15 meters, he ignites a single saber in his left hand.*
*All this races through my mind as I approach, apparently uncontested, with him waiting for me, having taken one step and then stopped. Alkor, don’t you know that it would halve the time to engagement if you were walking towards me, too? It’s possible that you really enjoy fighting, but that doesn’t make sense given that your choice to remain stationary would appear to be a measure of delaying it as long as possible. Are you perhaps savoring the anticipation? Bah, if that’s the case then it just means you’d rather think about fighting than actually fight. But I don’t blame you; it’s far more comfortable to leave fighting me in the realm of the imagination, where you still stand a chance.
Nonetheless, despite my unfavorable impressions about his weapon of choice and recalcitrance, I credit him this: using a single saber is a good mask. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Sidious both used single sabers, yet their styles were as different as night and day. No matter, though; you may employ an ocean of Soresu or Juyo or whatever style suits you best, I will devour it all, overcome it, and show you the truth of the Way of Lapay. So what style will it be?
A head shorter than me, and far slimmer in build. There is a good chance that this guy will try to defeat me on the basis of being faster. That’s fine; maximizing your strengths relative to your opponent is all a part of what being powerful means, and that’s probably what I would try to do if I were in his position. I am no slouch when it comes to quickness, however, so it’s hard to imagine that he really is much stronger than me in the domain of speed. At 20 paces apart, I nevertheless decide that I will squelch that possibility and outright deny it, because that is also what it means to be powerful. In this case, it means I start focusing my willpower in the Force in preparation to employ Force Reflex at a moment’s notice. Thanks to Devient, it takes me more time than the usual man to plan on using the Force in that manner. Thanks to Alkor, I have that time.
Another bolt of lightning flashes across the sky—and this time, it strikes the ship! At the stern, though, far from us. The scent of ozone doesn’t reach this far, other than what is produced by the lightsabers. The ship has a cap drain (fancy folks, after all) and so nothing appears to have been damaged by the electrical surge, nor did the deck nor the railing just beyond my arm's reach become electrified. But as the light fades, Alkor will note that I likewise have ignited Vol, and illuminated Saurez. Cyan on the left, orange on the right. An aesthetically pleasing combination, or so the experts in color schemes say. Both of my arms are bent to almost 90 degrees, with Vol held at a slight inward angle and extended (tip at chin height on Alkor), and with Saurez in ready position on my right side guarding shoulder to waist, eager to go toe-to-toe with the enemy’s blade. I halt by taking a longer step than all the others, at three meters’ distance left between us, several steps beyond striking range. Left foot is forward, right foot turns to an outward angle, I rise onto the balls of my feet, and I bend my knees and waist to sink down somewhat while leaning forward slightly. Unhesitating, well-practiced, balanced, a posture I’ve assumed a thousand times.
I have centered myself, in body and in Force. But I voluntarily cede Alkor this one last chance to initiate the bladework; no more than a pause, really, drawing measured breaths before I make my strikes. Once you start to duel, you’re underwater. Alkor, if you don’t make the most of such a chance now, and come to regret it later, that is no fault of mine.*[/font]
There was a time when his master had to beat into him the importance of the virtue. Not simply due to the folly of rushing headlong and unprepared into combat, but because overeager enemies were prone to the same mistakes as allies of the same persuasion. To be human, he said, was to be shortsighted and disingenuous. The wounds Alkor still wore beneath layers of bandages were intended to absolve him of that humanity.
The pain served as a constant, almost dull reminder.
Where his opponent seemed just as ready to engage as he did, Alkor did not know why he chose to relent. He seemed calm, almost steady in the midst of the dangerous weather, as if prepared for anything. That suited Alkor fine-
A meal worth eating was best savored, not simply devoured.
That was why, for the initial seconds between realization and approach, Alkor took a slow and measured breath, letting the tumultuous emotions permeating the yacht seep in through every pore. He did not simply stand still, however. To believe he would was among the aforementioned follies.
No, Alkor began several steps into Ryu's movement to respond in kind, closing the distance as swiftly as his enemy apparently desired. As the juggernaut of a man dropped, Alkor spun his blade and increased his speed to a jog.
The difference between a lightsaber and a weighted blade is just that- it found a disadvantage against the more archaic weapons when they could resist its innate heat. Where it truly shone, however, was that its weightlessness afforded it manueverability that the latter could not achieve. Despite his love for the sight and scent of blood, he opted for the traditional weapon for function over form.
When it came crashing down from above, Ryu could try to understand that.
He brought the blade down at a slight angle from his own left to the right, vectored toward the shoulder of his opponent- a strike intended for the head ought be aimed for that spot, accounting for drag and movement, so that it would automatically correct and make the proper contact.
Of course, it was unlikely that the blow would make its mark-
On its own.
The strike began a split second before the actual attack, a subtle tug at Ryu's left heel that would graduate into a proper pull at the precise instant the brutish behemoth would be prompted to meet the attack head on.
The common misconception about Telekinesis is that a hand or some other medium is necessary for the power to work. It helps with focus, certainly, but for something like this, where the lightsaber strike was secondary, it was hardly compulsory.
*Alkor moves towards me, so the final moment at which I take my stance is earlier, and not as close to the prow of the ship, than initially estimated, but nothing else is interrupted by his decision to move towards me instead of waiting. And as he approaches, he breaks into a trot, and then he unleashes his attack. Far more satisfactory than initially expected. Nobody wants to devote any more thought to Jedi than they have to.
He launches a downward strike towards my head. A commendable target; let’s make this duel high-stakes, why don’t we? And, the clever man simultaneously executes a deceptive and perhaps nigh-undetectable Force Pull on my left heel, intending no doubt to stagger my defense and throw me off-balance for his next attack, should I manage to successfully defend! Truly a delightful combination.
And, this is a rare moment! We get to see both an advantage and a disadvantage of Devient come into play. The disadvantage is that I fail to detect the imminent Force Pull. If I weren’t wearing her, I would have seen him use Telekinesis. The advantage is that Devient, being of Alchemical fashioning, is as wholly impervious to lightsabers as the Sith Swords made by those same methods in the olden days of yore. I need no other means of blocking Alkor's lightsaber than her.
So; as his saber wails towards my head, six discrete events take place, all almost inseparable in time but still best described piece-by-piece: First, I tilt my head up, so that the blade's path will take it to impact at the point tangent to my hairline; if I remained still, his saber would still be blocked, but a little too close to the upper edge of the mask. This ever-so-slight adjustment of position gives me more breathing room. Breathing room that I would not need if I gave in to the temptation to use Force Reflex now, perhaps, but the time is not yet right. Second, Alkor's Telekinetic interference tugs at my left foot, which is my front foot in the stance I had assumed, towards him. This takes place a mere instant before the third event. From my balanced posture, this results in pulling me into a lunge; a move I would very much consider doing regardless, but I will admit that it is a bit sooner than I planned. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. The sudden movement lets my head pitch back a little more than planned; middle of the forehead instead of hairline, then. While initially put off-balance, the fact that it is so similar to a lead-in to lunging allows me to rapidly recover. My right foot shifts its angle slightly, and my right knee extends, and all of a sudden I'm back in business. And, as this involuntary lunge is Forced upon me (get it) my body sinks lower, which always happens whenever you take any large step forward in this manner. Third, his saber blow lands, and, as predicted, does not slice through Devient. Thanks to his Force Pull, my head height is lower than when he initially swung. His lightsaber therefore strikes along my forehead, with the tip extending past my head, between the two prongs of my mask. Reflexively, as I feel the impact, I angle my head slightly to my right. His saber will slide down to the joint where the left horn erupts from the left temple vicinity of the mask. The impact itself does not grieve me; as Alkor has pointed out, the weightlessness of a lightsaber gives it greater speed than non-weighted weapons. The kinetic energy it delivers upon impact is therefore likewise negligible. Fourth, at the exact moment I register the feel of his saber landing on Devient, I deliver my answering strike. The lightfoil's tip had been around mouth height on Alkor when he approached; thanks to the lunge that he has pulled me into, it is both even lower and closer to him than before. Any speed difference can be compensated for, as you should well know, by minimizing movement. Doesn’t matter if your can move even twice as fast as me; if your motion makes you travel three times as far as mine does, I take less time to complete the trip. My left hand tilts forward and inward to my right, traces out a small “Cherek” (rounding off the corners, though, definitely a sloppy shape for writing purposes, you could probably use it as a captcha, if you took a picture of it), and returns to near its starting position, but slightly lower and a bit further out to my left. A truly snakelike strike. The effect is that the tip of the foil should pierce well into the left side of his chest (not far enough to exit the other side of his body, though), and then follow a half-circular path by which Vol’s blade would enter, cleave his pectoralis major tendon, and then leave. Alkor’s choice of head for target means that his blade is higher than mine to begin with, his body angle in relation to me neatly exposes his chest to this attack, and Devient’s interference in completion of the swing from the third event means that he will struggle to move his saber any further to his right because of my left horn. Fifth, concurrent to the retraction of my strike, I adjust the angle of my right arm, raising the elbow upward and turning my fist so as to allow Saurez to minimize the opening to my throat, and cover the gap over the right side of my neck, lest Alkor try to exploit an opportunity to try to sever my trapezius muscle. The final position is similar to, if you imagine me with no equipment, I were drawing my right arm up over my shoulder as if winding up to to deliver an overhand smashing punch to Alkor’s nose. But the shield is in the way, so no way could I deliver that kind of fist-on-face action. Sixth, as more of an afterthought than anything else, when his Force Pull relinquishes, my lunge will come to its landing position; if his left leg is anywhere near that spot, I try to maneuver my foot such that it lands on his left toes in order to pin the foot of my foe. The least of my concerns, but I will be gratified if it lands, all the same.
A cadence of discord, and I claim the best is yet to come. The Force is so ready to augment my Reflexes, yet even now I resist the urge. I know about patience. I know about restraint. Both are worthless unless you practice them: not for their own sakes, but only when they prove advantageous. Well, how does one determine when that is? The answer is an exercise best left to the student.*
As the sky screamed once again, and a blast of wind tore at the two men in motion, Ryu responded to Alkor with a brilliant set of motions. First, the taller man tilted his head in response to the incoming strike. Alkor instantly responded to this as his opponent's leg gave way to the Telekinetic pull by stepping to his own right, left leg behind the other. The lightsaber glanced off of Ryu's mask as his enemy no doubt predicted, but it remained, as previously noted, the lesser of two evils.
Because of his movement, the intended "blade catch" by Devient (a most wonderful implementation of a mask that seemed, by all appearances, to be little more than a device for intimidation!) managed only to ilicit a begrudging hiss as the lightsaber resistant material ground against superheated plasma. The two croaked loudly as Alkor followed through.
Alkor steadily pushed downward, as if to place the hilt of his lightsaber into his right pocket across his own body, which violently ripped the blade downward extremely close proximity to Ryu's face. The mask may have been warded against sabers, but were his cheeks safeguarded against the heat?
Alkor twisted his waist and lashed out in time with this motion, beneath his own saber, with his right foot. The Force pull was all but abolished at this point, but the laces of his boot were aimed straight for the back of the other man's leg. Instead of pressing the onslaught with his lightsaber, he utilized the weapon to prevent loss of limb as he attempted to further torque Ryu's leg into an abomination of the splits.
"Attention all non-essential personnel on the flight deck, please make your way below immediately," boomed a voice, mechanized through some manner of sound system. "We will attempt to maneuver through the storm until you can comply, but we can only hold out for a short time. Failure to move below deck breaches our terms of services, specifically the liabilities clause, and we can not be held accountable for your actions."
Below deck, the crew prepared for heavy turbulence, and the captain gave orders to prepare for ascent. If those bastards on the flight deck weren't going to move, that was their problem. He wasn't going to sacrifice the ship, crew, or passengers for a couple of basketcases.
*Somehow, my lightsaber strike had failed to find its mark. In masterful control of his gait and momentum, given that he had been rushing straight at me, Alkor manages to pivot and drop-step his left leg behind his right, which means my target—the junction of left pectoral and shoulder socket—will fall out of range. With his saber still pressing against my mask, however, his bicep would be what occupied the space where his chest had been before this dance-like step. A fundamental rule of combat is that, if you are able to reach your opponent, they can reach you, too. You do even better to assume they can reach you even when you cannot reach them. Well, perhaps he twitched his arm just so that my blade flashes beneath and burns naught but air. It is of no consequence. Another fundamental rule of combat is that you do not release your guard until your opponent releases his last breath. In due time it will be clear how the follow-through I made to that attack is the perfect example of this mantra.
In response to his foot-y readjustment, I make a very slight one of my own. Emanating a soft ~shuff~, the sole of my left foot slides along the deck without lifting off, following him, turning to my left, toes pointing directly at my opponent. My right leg will slide around in turn, though slower. It is just a good habit, don't you know, to endeavor to keep your opponent in front of you. The position he took up for his kick would, if left unchecked, allow him to take my back in due time. It must be denied. Seems like he might be the kind of person to attempt a grapple with his free hand.
He keeps his lightsaber in contact with the mask. I do not understand this, but I have no complaints. Were I to understand his motive, I would admit that it is true that the mask will eventually heat up and burn my face. But, much in the same way that you can place a pan on a gas stove-top and leave your hand on it for several seconds without thermal discomfort, it will take time for this stratagem to pay off. Different temperatures involved, say you. Different metals involved, say I. It will take time to bear fruit, and it seems highly unlikely that Alkor can afford not to use his weapon for anything else during that time. Though, I'll not afford him the chance to choose otherwise, as much as it depends on me. As he pushes down, I stiffen my neck and resist the pressure. You're too weak to manipulate my upper body from that position, standing on only one (same-side) leg, body momentum going in a tangential direction, with your sword arm reaching across your own chest. Alkor will have to manage to free his blade by lifting it up from whence it came, or by extinguishing it. Neither of which is a good option, which is why he wants to take my leg out, or force me to retreat, or both.
With the momentum that Alkor has gained by switch-footing on me, he plants on his left leg and unleashes a kick with the right, coming at the side of my front leg (well, initially aimed for the back, but I am rotating). But here is the due time where you must take note: when I returned my lightsaber to ready position after executing my failed chest-carving maneuver, I brought it lower and further out to my left than before. It is poor form to use a blade to defend your lower body, for reasons that I will not delve into here. Yet, when Alkor makes this offer, I do not resist temptation; I had put Vol exactly where it ought to be to open up this gift, so let's do it.
I execute a short horizontal chop from right to left, because my blade is set up so perfectly to block, so to speak, this kick. A block that threatens a bisection of his leg just below the right knee.
The motion does not end there, however; he is planted on his left leg, after all, and one should accept gifts in their entirety. I rotate my left hand to arrest the momentum from the chop, and am prepared for the next sequence. And so, for the first time, I will strike with the type of thrust you really would expect from a lightfoil: a stab, the target of which demands that I extend my left arm almost fully in a whip-like lash. I aim to embed the tip into, and completely through, that back leg; at such as spot as to cut cleanly through the femur. As soon as my arm reaches full extension, hit or miss, I will twitch the wrist to my right as it retracts starting position, then incline the wrist upwards to restore a high guard.
It'd be pretty great if I manage to Matt him with this. Yet, we never count on such things.
Now, if this block-and-riposte has failed to have taken Alkor's right leg, nor forced him to abort his kick, I have no alternate defense; the kick will land. In that case, I will go exactly nowhere, since my weight has been almost fully transferred to that leg from the lunge. In such close quarters, and with my mass coming in at equal to his, plus half again, a physical strike to sprawl me out will require something more along the lines of a fully-committed leg sweep. Alkor's admirable choice of simultaneously attacking from above and below precludes him from executing a kick capable of that here.
At the moment I rotate my left hand, immediately prior to extending my arm, I squeeze Crux's trigger. From the angling of my shield and arm, the nozzle of the flash-pistol is pointed towards his face, no energy shield in the way to abate the flash (the rim of the shield is following my shoulder, and my arm drawn back as described before, so he will have clear line-of-sight to my right hand in which Crux is held). And it discharges, instantly illuminating the immediate vicinity as brightly as if lightning itself had struck from the ever-intensifying storm, though lacking the peal of thunder (which was provided in the aftermath of the most recent lightning strike) and also lacking the heat.
For me, anyways. I imagine to anyone with physical eyes that it would burn intensely.
And, at the moment I begin to retract my left arm, I feel that I cannot resist any longer. I give in to desire, sensing the wisdom at this moment to augment my reaction time. Force Reflex. It should come as no surprise, correct? Its effects, so far unseen, will be brief, but if even a fraction of what I have sought to unleash upon my opponent comes to pass, then just an instant is all I need. Relative to me, time slows...*
The sound of the Captain's voice rapidly bled together with the howling gale. His opponent moved to square up with him- the proper move whenever your opponent circles- but Alkor snapped his outstretched leg into a hook kick. This type of combination was common in the martial arts, transitioning from one attack quickly into the next. This one, however, had a two fold purpose.
As Ryu moved to renege his right leg, Alkor also lowered his body and drove his weight forward onto his own. This dragged him downward, bringing his own lightsaber between himself and the physically dominant larger man. He was smaller, and his opponent was much stronger by comparison (he could only assume), but his position placed him on a different vector of attack and defense. Instead of solely working to match his opposition with bladework, Alkor utilized the full scope of his training.
He came to a near-lunge position with his leg attempting to hook behind Ryu's ankle, driving into the lock between them in an attempt to force the man over in an inside reap as the other man brought the leg around. This would, ideally, remove his pivoting foot and, hopefully, his balance altogether. At the same time, Alkor twisted his waist and his left leg came around to help exaggerate the momentum carrying his right around- a penetration step, it was called in some circles.
He might have lacked the strength for direct upper body conflict, but there were other avenues to explore.
From his position, there were two distinct possibilities. First, if Ryu was driven over, his attack with Crux could potentially be thrown off course by the torque. If he was not, however, Alkor stood the risk of being flashed hideously in the eyes and momentarily blinded.
The sequence of events was, as of yet, uncertain.
The sky roared again and a torrent of rain erupted from the firmament. The deck began to rumble with the sounds of droplets around them, and the air felt increasingly humid. Another warning blared across the speakers, and the ship groaned in protest as it weathered the wild winds.
They would have to act soon, whether Alkor and Ryu were inside or not.
There is no other description for Alkor’s body movements. In order to evade my block of a kick initially aimed for the side of my left leg, he quickly transitions to a hook kick — which is a high kick that will enable him simultaneously to get his leg over Vol, and to at its completion re-take the inside position in what will provide opportunity for a heel hook that aims to sweep my front leg forward, with greater power than he could manage before thanks to the penetration step that he is executing with his right leg, which by default moves his right leg out of target position.
It takes great courage to face down a lightsaber-wielding enemy and decide not to use your lightsaber at all. Is it my error for bringing a lightsaber to a martial arts fight? Or is it Alkor’s error for bringing his kicks to a saber fight? I suppose we’ll find out.
The issue is that Alkor has overestimated the amount of time he has available. The horizontal chop with which I aimed to claim his right leg was short, exceedingly brief in fact. It was unnecessary to take a big swing, because Alkor’s leg was coming to me and so only a miniscule motion was required. All of the movements I have made in this duel have been quite minimal. There’s a pattern here. Moreover, remember what Alkor himself reminded us of earlier on? A weightless blade completes its movement faster than a weighted one, and given the mass difference between his leg and the lightfoil, my chop is done sooner than his leg crosses over to the inside of mine. And it was at the conclusion of my chop that I had pulled Crux’s trigger. In other words, it is as Alkor is driving his body down, and before his heel has reached mine, that Crux’s trigger is pulled, not after he performs the reap. And so, as Alkor knows well, without the attack from Crux being thrown off-course, he is indeed standing at risk of being flashed hideously in the eyes and momentarily blinded.
Let me comment for a moment on the operation of the flash-pistol. Unlike a blaster bolt, the burst of light emanating from the nozzle is not contained in a well-defined, magnetically-confined package. It is more like what you might expect from a sawed-off shotgun, in the sense that the photons are free to reflect many times over within the chamber, reducing the effective collimation factor of the chamber and ultimately leading to a cone-shaped emission profile. It covers less volume than a flash grenade, of course, which has that coveted 4π steradian area of effect, but it should do the job in this case.
To Alkor’s credit, none of his subsequent movements rely on eyesight, and so whether or not Crux finds its mark, the following sequence takes place. He reaps, I stab, he connects, I miss, he closes in, I Reflex. There is one exception to what Alkor intends: as his left hand moves to slide down and assume a centered position, that motion will be arrested by his left forearm coming into contact with Saurez (recall that it is angled at a slight diagonal below horizontal, enough to cover my right shoulder without compromising line-of-sight from Crux to Alkor’s face). With our bodies close enough for him to execute kicks, and stepping in as he is, it’s also close enough that an extension of my right arm (which I do) ought to keep his saber arm safely stuck up high, killing time on the top edge of the shield, for the moment.
His reap connects and pulls my left leg from under me, pulling me straight forward. I am unprepared for the quick readjustment leading into such a sudden change of direction, although given that all he has attacked this entire time has been my leg, perhaps I should have been more ready for it. Yet, as my left foot loses contact with the ground, the effects of my Force Reflex kick in. Relative to me, time slows. Even the wind’s howling seems to diminish in intensity, from my perspective.
I consider the situation. There is no way to recover my balance from here, the only question is how to maintain a fighting posture. I elect to drive my hips down, enabling me to prepare to drop onto my right knee in order to counteract sprawling on my face or being thrown over. The decision is quickly made — so soon that, in Reflex-time, gravity pulling me to the deck is very slow by comparison. Thus, while my leg has not even touched the ground, I have time and speed with which to counterattack (for if time slows relative to me, that means I speed up relative to others). By closing in with his preparation step, Alkor has brought his body astride the cyan blade of Vol. The natural end of my stab was to execute a slight flick to my right before retracting (that was originally intended to relieve his left knee of its attachment to the quadricep muscles), and so I continue the motion already in place while my arm is retracting: to drive the saber blade of Vol, already in perfect position to attack, across my body from left-to-right, in the direction it was already headed. With Alkor’s body having dropped closer to my level, this aims to separate lower from upper torso, to cut straight across at stomach-level.
I will use my Force-augmented Reflexes to overcome his defenses (in similar fashion to how his hook kick overcame mine) for I am compelled to do all in my power to ensure that this stroke lands. All of which will happen before my right knee has touched down. I must watch his response carefully and adjust accordingly. The effects of Force Reflex are potent and have not yet begun to ebb, but I cannot sustain this ability beyond this one attack.
The calamitous weather rages. The ship has pierced into the inner arms of the hurricane, and there will be no escape. The captain of the ship acts in vain, because the ship will soon be stricken, and thrust itself upon the city of Harnaidan. I expect that that fact shall only bear consequence for one of us.*
Well folks, this was shaping up to be nothing short of an epic encounter between two of the duelists I respect the most, but alas real-life has a way of rearing its ugly head, and Alkor found himself unable to continue to the extent required at this high of a level of competition.
Due to a voluntary forfeiture, I hereby declare Ryu the victor. Congratulations, your writing, short-lived though it may have been, was impeccable.
Alkor, I can't give you high enough praise for going up against an opponent who was absolutely armed to the teeth and using sheer bad-assery to hold your own. I sense a rematch in your future, hopefully soon!
Thank you both for participating in the Battle Arena, y'all come back now, ya hear?
