A Dark Alley

[Dire Wolf]

Besides, I know that you're not important: important people don't do the dirty work. Lyssah had said that once, but her name had been Rhissai then. Rhissai had a seat on the Jedi High Council, and was a being of great influence and power in the galaxy. Her presence inspired soldiers on the field of battle, and struck fear into the heart of the Republic's enemies. Lyssah was a very different creature. Instead of being the focal point of a battle, she was little more than on the periphery. Before the mythics she would have been one of the people in the crossfire, but after joining she was one of the troops. A strong troop, but a troop nonetheless. Troops patrol.

That's precisely why the proud woman found herself walking down the large streets of Demas, clad in little more than leather armor with the circled star of the Stellar Mythics emblazoned over her heart. A sigh forced its way past her teeth as she walked along her route, hand resting on White Fang's hilt without thought. the patrol was a two man route, but Mythics were needed everywhere... and Ly was skilled enough to take on most anything she came across. Her partner was sent off to another part of the city, not that Demas was much of a trouble area for Unum and lawlessness alike.

Some inkling in the back of the woman's head caused her to stop, and the tumbling of her gut had her pull White Fang from its place on her belt. The pitter patter of feet behind her caused Lys to whirl around, a long silver star exploding out from the katana hilt. Her mind hardly had time to register that nothing was there when something hard and heavy crashed into the back of her knees, and forced them to the ground. Catching herself before falling on her face, Lys noticed that shards of broken glass had seemed to appear from nowhere. Pointing up, and floating just above the ground.

Her body threw itself to the side just before the glass spears rocketed upwards in a blur, and soon she found a thick iron bar at her throat. With both of her hands pressed against the bar to stop it from crushing her neck, and White Fang somehow out of her grasp, she was all but helpless. Some immense weight was at the other end of the bar, or enough telekinetic power to level most things. It took all of her power to keep the bar from sinking lower, even with all of the Force's power conjured within her muscles.

Soon enough she was sliding into a dark alley, still fighting the bar from falling, until nothing but black surrounded her. "Jedi, Dark Jedi, Jedi again. Jedi without an Order. Vigilante. You are so many things, yet nothing. Rhissai'arckan," a woman's voice spoke, "your betrayals have finally caught up with you. " Once her eyes adjusted, Lyssah saw that an armored figure stood over her. Their presence within the Force was nowhere, but that was easily explainable: Force Concealment.

"Yeah," her voice was thick with strain, "well..." Her fingers shot out, and soon the bar slowly sank until she could feel the cold steel touch her throat. No matter. Shadows danced within the blue light from the multiple arcs of lightning, and the figure was caught within its paralytic bolts. The weight lifted from the bar instantly, and she cut the power to her lightning only to cast a wave of power out of her left hand, throwing the figure into the far wall. Lys shot up in an instant, speeding towards the figure, and swung the bar with every ounce of energy and power poured into it.

Steel met the thick bar, sending a wave of pain shooting up her arm. One that she ignored. Things soon got worse. Lyssah's simple makeshift club turned into an iron rain on the figure, but somehow she seemed to parry each swing. Not only that, but the figure could counter as well. Whoever this schutta was, she was faster than the Jedi Master and both knew it. The schutta began to push her back through the alley and even into the well lit street. The assailant was one clad head to toe in white steel, with the circled star of the Mythics at her heart.

How was she so fast, with each swing packing a horse's kick at its back? Lyssah stole the time to wipe the sweat from her brow as the battle progressed for longer than it should have. It wasn't long before her simple bar gave way to the familiar looking blade. It was an Aphithiri Warblade, but not just any warblade... her old warblade. The runes and depressed aesthetic lines running along the blade told her as much. Unphased by the half length pipe, she did her best to parry only to lose more and more length to her weapon until she was down to throwing things in the heavy blade's way to slow it. Time slowed to a crawl as Lyssah watched the blade edge towards her, and knew that she had no way to block it with another object. Or enough distance to evade. So what did she do?

She prepared to take the hit, but instead tripped on a bit of upraised concrete. As that thrust flew forwards to where her chest used to be, she struck the ground with a crash. Her enemy didn't even blink before sending a sharp, metal clad kick to her ribs and a boot to her chest. Lys watched as the blade rose, and smirked as her hands grasped the boot and poured volts of lightning through it. Throwing the woman back was nothing then, neither was keeping the lightning going as she stood.

Lyssah wiped the sweat from her brow and bent down to pick up her old sword. "If you're going to kill someone, kill them. Don't talk about it." As her nemesis lay there on her back, Lyssah held her blade high. For a second, time hung still as the heavy falchion hung there like the sword of damocles... until it started to fall. That runic blade had barely traveled an inch when a great thing slammed into her back, carrying her past her opponent and into the far wall. Bricks collided with bricks, and the wall came apart in a grand show of dust and debris. Lyssah herself had a wonderful view of the now dusty floor, and found that her wind had been lost. She barely had time to rise to her knees when a great armored gauntlet grabbed her by the hair and flung her back out of the shop.

Every part of her screamed out in pain as she hit the ground with a thud. Her only counter to the attack was a wheezy cough as she rolled so that her back was to the deck. Those green eyes caught a large chunk of wall missing from another building; probably because it was ripped apart to be flung at her. An invisible hand grasped her throat before lifting her off her feet, its grip wasn't gentle. Another invisible hand grasped the sword that was once hers and lifted it to her throat, which was stretched as her head ripped backwards. "Rhissai'arckan," a muffled voice stated stoically, "the deepest circle of hell is reserved for the betrayer to his clan and country. Dod o hyd i heddwch yn y cynnwyes Kaijun."

She casually read the runes on her sword's fuller as she waited for her world to end in a spray of red.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

A sigh could be heard as one hand scooped up what was, clearly, a lightsaber hilt.

No doubt in trouble again.

The sound and feel of fighting wasn’t far, nor was it difficult to follow. The dim street was desolate, even for this time of day…especially for this time of day. It may have been dark, but it wasn’t even an hour prior to midnight yet. Of course, battling adepts tended to clear whole blocks…assuming the people around were even remotely intelligent. This was going to be a sticky situation for him, however…keeping that blasted woman in the dark about his abilities, still he had a few tricks up his sleeves, so to speak.

Pacing down the street, he kept an easy stride, picking up a long metal bar that had been knocked loose (or perhaps it had been cut, he didn’t take the time to study it) and would suit as a makeshift staff. With the two so focused on each other he was counting on neither of them noticing his ‘appearance’ in their fight. As it was, he was completely buried in the force, his presence little more than a speck on this life-filled planet, and that wouldn’t change even as he clipped the ‘missing’ saber to his belt and reached into a pouch, pulling out a decently sized sphere. With a soft crack the launched sphere collided with the pavement, a burst of confusing smoke issuing forth…just enough for him to whirl around the corner into it and let his presence (such as it was when he wished to be little more than ‘normal’) seep out. A soft clatter across the ground and Lyssah would find a familiar cylinder near her leg, and her assailant would find a heavily swung pole colliding with the back of her armored shoulder a moment later.

What had made the reaction so slow? Simple, he could see the armored form now…concealed in the Winds or not, that made her a far easier target for mental attacks, and with the smoke (swiftly thinning as it was), he was able to speed his movements without it showing. The moment that attack struck some of that hold on her presence slipped. It was minute, but it was a start…enough of a start for him to lash his mind out like a whip to try and force her to slip further on her hold even as she turned on him, forcing him to sidestep and bring that pole up defensively….and wait for the eventual retaliation in the Winds.