Stolen to Darkness

[Rugs]

Tsubasa hunched over a small shelf in Macen’s ship. He was too restless to sit — every time he’d tried since finishing his conversation with Master Yarrow — and the shelf served well enough as a makeshift table for his datapad. He pored over the notes he’d collected with the Jedi Arcvhist’s help, searching for any clue that might have escaped notice during their frantic searching.

Ifrit, he had tasked with searching the dark corners of the Holonet to search for any hooks, any leads that might point them further along their task. It was a longshot — the Holonet was as vast as the Galaxy, and finding anything on some obscure, ancient cult seemed less likely than finding an offworlder living beyond the Outsider Citadels on Cerea.

Yet Tsubasa had been one of those, under his Cerean master. Not impossible, he told himself. Just unlikely.

Every time he tried to focus, he found his mind drawn away, to a lingering oppression that settled over him like mist above a lake on an early winter’s night. Some darkness choked Balosar; Tsubasa had felt that since he first set foot on the polluted world. This was different. This was a shadow that crept, searching for something...

A hiss and hum shattered the silence. Tsubasa, trusting instinct and the Force, rolled out of the way as a red blade swept down through where he’d stood a heartbeat earlier, leaving a trail of angry molten metal in its wake.

Tsubasa brought his jian to hand as he stood — the narrow confines of Macen’s ship were less than ideal for his wan-shen — and stared down his attacker. They were wrapped in dark, ratty robes, with loose flaps of red cloth hanging from each wrist. Their hood was up, and they wore more of the same dark red cloth wrapped around their face, hiding all but yellowed eyes.

Tsubasa suspected from their stature that they were male, but it was hard to tell with their loose clothing. It didn’t matter, in either way.

He took a defensive stance, half-crouched with his sword extended before him. He called to the Force and it answered him, filling his body, his bones, his soul with strength as he stared down his attacker.

“Tsubasa!” Ifrit yelled. “I will-”

“No,” Tsubasa cut in sternly. He did not need Ifrit setting Macen’s ship on fire. “Contact our friend immediately. I will handle this... intruder.”

The robed assailant grunted, a throaty noise that might have been a laugh. “You speak of intruders, Matukai?” Another grunting laugh as a ripple of surprise touched Tsubasa’s face. “Oh, yes, we know you. You, who have poked and prodded where you don’t belong.” the attacker’s voice rasped, leather dragging on dry leaves. They seemed to be a man.

The assailant twisted their lightsaber, leaving molten gashes in the floor, and crept slowly, smoothly forward. “Even children learn quickly not to stick their hands in the fire wasps’ hive. But rejoice, Matukai,” he twisted the title with contempt. “You will serve our needs excellently — more than that boy ever could.”

Tsubasa was not granted time to consider the words. In a flash the attacker was upon him, lightsaber darting out for his neck. Tsubasa rose to block the blow, motions smooth and flowing like water. Another attack bit as his side and he twisted his jian gracefully, knocking it away with a flash of sparks. He counter attacked immediately, using the momentum from his defense to slash at the assailant’s chest. This, they batted aside, along with another at their hip.

They attacked again, a downward, two handed slash. Tsubasa stepped aside and pushed the attack away with his blade, using Force-enhanced strength and the attack’s own momentum to force the lightsaber down to the floor. The attacker, caught off balance, lurched forward and found Tsubasa’s fist planted firmly in his stomach, followed by a hard kick that sent him staggering back into the wall, knocking loose bits and baubles to the floor.

“Ifrit!” Tsuabsa shouted as the assailant growled angrily at him.

Ifrit, who’d retreated to the back of the room, was establishing a link to Macen’s comm. “Macem,” he said, lightsaber whirring in the background as Tsubasa and the assailant resumed their struggle, “we are being attacked. We require assistance immediately.”

[Ysmir]

"Masai, that's a good name," Macen said with a smile. "We 'M's have to stick together, right?"

The boy smiled along with the Jedi Knight, cradling the stingcrawler within his clasped palms gently. Even now, unconsciously, the boy channeled the Force to keep his new companion calm. Macen could feel it -- powerful and subtle, flowing like a gentle breeze rolls over the hilltops. He was untrained, but strong; Macen did all he could to lessen the reach of his signature. Were somebody looking for such a thing as a Force-sensitive child, it would be more difficult on this world. Difficult, not impossible. Macen had felt Tsubasa amidst a crowd, after all.

"Your sword... they had one, too," Masai spoke in a low tone, eyes down to the dirt path ahead of them. As they weaved by their lonesome through city streets, not a soul was about. The back alleys that led from the dockmaster's office to Macen's own landing pad were cramped and winding, making the trip take far longer than it normally would.

"You mean my lightsaber?" Macen questioned, looking down to the boy as they plodded along.

The boy nodded. "Theirs were red."

Macen looked back forward. His brows furrowed. There was a darkness, alright, and the boy had confirmed their running theory. Dark Jedi, searching for Force-sensitives. But why? The darkness grew, and grew. It seemed to be encroaching. This wasn't the underlying shadow that hung over Balosar, this presence was hungry and... searching. Macen closed his eyes as he turned his hooded head downward. He reached out through the Force, a spider's web of his presence searching the area around him. It was subtle, almost not there, as though it was trying not to be found.

A second. Macen's eyes opened. He threw his arms back as his right hand splayed open, calling his lightsaber's hilt to his hand while his brown cloak fluttered to the ground. The yellow blade sprang to life and washed the alley in light as it swung over the boy's head. There, a lanky figure in tattered black robing with red trim withdrew his own saber -- yellow and red clashed with a brilliant spark as the boy ducked behind Macen's figure. The mysterious figure had nearly evaded Macen's perception, intent on stealing the boy back.

"Very good," the robed figure hissed in a feminine tone, thrusting her free hand forth. A concussive blast of air caught Macen off guard, though the Knight regained his footing quick enough not to be blown to the ground. He slid across the floor, bracing the boy with his arm as they skidded to a halt. Another figure leapt off of a nearby rooftop, landing in a roll on the ground and standing next to his companion. A second crimson saber ignitied, the two taking offensive stances as Macen stood and narrowed his eyes; Form VII, the Jedi noted. He'd need to be cautious.

"Masai," Macen stated calmly as he breathed in through his nose, stepping forward, "stay behind me."

The boy nodded. A sickly chuckle came from the feminine figure.

"Two against one? The arrogance of a Jedi... it never ceases to amaze. Are you amazed, Urgal?" she inquired to her companion. The man only grunted in response.

Macen lifted his lightsaber as he planted his feet, closing his eyes. He took another deep breath, exhaling through his mouth. He focused the Force through his body, drawing energy up and through his core. He'd need to get back to Tsubasa, and fast. This fight could not linger. A quick, decisive strike was what he needed.

While he prepared himself, the two took off from their position; a hail of red flurries crashed down upon Macen's figure, the lightsaber specialist deftly parrying and deflecting each strike as they engaged in a battle of wits as much as blades. His eyes remained closed as he focused his breathing, allowing the Force to guide his hands when each of their blows came to pass. His footwork remained true, taking careful and balanced steps back to retreat from the onslaught. The ferocity of Juyo had never ceased to surprise the Jedi, but he had a surprise of his own in store for the duo.

A simultaneous strike came from overhead. Macen blocked the two blades and locked the cultists into a parry; then his eyes opened. After pushing their sabers away, Macen stomped forward and pressed his hands outward. Thrown off balance, the duo were wholly unprepared for a sudden and violent surge of telekinetic power that emitted from the Jedi's palms. A vacuum of air was formed behind the attack as it swept the two off of their feet, sending them careening through the air and into one of the clay walls off the alley. Their bodies collided with a meaty thud, the stone cracking beneath them. Dazed, but not defeated, they lay groaning on the ground, one scrambling for their fallen saber. Macen turned.

"Now we go. Run!" Macen said, turning and darting through the alleys at an increased pace with Masai in tow. When he approached the landing pad, the communicator in his ear buzzed to life.

"Macen. We are being attacked. We require assistance immediately."

Macen checked to see Masai was still behind him as he held a finger to his ear. "Hang on, we're almost there!"

As they rounded the corner, Macen could see the strobing flashes of crimson showing through the viewports of the corvette. He charged up the loading ramp into the main bay of the starship, where he witnessed Tsubasa and another cultist locked in a melee battle as he had been earlier. Looking above the two combatants as they resumed their blows, Macen's lightsaber hissed to life, and he took aim; releasing his blade, a telekinetic hand guided it through the air so that the saber slashed through piping on the ceiling. Sparks rained down upon the cultist's face, distracting him enough to allow Tsubasa an attack of opportunity.

[Rugs]

The attacker surged foward, not long phased by his trip to the wall. He struck at Tsubasa with a yell, lightsaber crashing down from above in a powerful two-handed stroke. Tsubasa, recognizing the same attack from earlier, stepped aside again. The blade avoided him, but this time, the cultist had a trick up his sleeve.

Lances of white-blue lightning exploded from his fingertips as Tsubasa motioned into an attack. This caught the Matukai off guard and he yelled as the Force Lightning surged into him. Despite the pain lighting every nerve afire, Tsubasa retained enough focus to call the Force around, to a barrier than hugged the air in front of him, then strengthened and spread as the shocks stopped and his focus tightened.

“Why do you resist, Matukai?” The attacker yelled at him. The lightning died and he darted forward again. He struck at Tsuabsa’s left side, which he deflected. Another attack, then another and on and on the onslaught came. His strikes were powerful, deliberate, attempting to overwhelm Tsubasa.

Yet Tsubasa was patient. Disable him if I can, he thought as the cultist’s lightsaber hissed against his jian. If he’s alive, we might get information out of him.

He was in the middle of evading a diagonal slash when he heard footsteps clomping up the loading ramp. Another lightsaber hissed in activation and next he knew, the yellow blade was slashing through the ceiling in a shower of sparks.

The cultist recoiled as some fell onto his face. Tsubasa saw all the opening he needed.

With the Force raging through him, he darted forward in a blur. With one hand, he grabbed the cultist’s saber hand by the wrist. A quick tug to extend and a hard knee to the elbow resulted in a loud crack as the lightsaber dropped from suddenly-lax fingers.

Before the scream had escaped the man’s mouth, Tsubasa planted and pivoted around, bringing his other leg to bear in a strike across the cultist’s chest that put him in the ground.

Tsubasa let the motion carry him around so that he was facing the newcomer with his jian ready, and smiled to see Macen.

“Ah, Macen,” he said, smiling to the Jedi and the boy behind him. He flourished his sword briefly, tucking it under his arm as he bowed fluidly from the waist. “Your timing was excellent. This one,” he pointed at the mysterious assailant who was now writhing on the ground, “either was waiting for me here or knew where to come. He knew me.” Tsubasa frowned slightly; J’aqar’s warning was very true, it seemed. “Though, whether he thought to find me here or you, I cannot say.”

Ignoring the cultist’s yelling, he turned and scooped his lightsaber off the floor. He fought off revulsion as soon as he touched it--a wave of darkness, of cold, murderous hunger, rolled over him from the weapon. He put a hand on a shelf to steady himself.

“It was a surprise to see an attacker using one of these,” he said, motioning with the hilt, “but I don’t think he’ll be any threat for now.”

[Ysmir]

The lightsaber came back to Macen's hand in a fluid and rapid motion once its job had been done, and Macen deactivated the yellow blade once he noted that Tsubasa had firmly repossessed control of the situation.

He winced only slightly at the sickening crack from his summary disabling of the assailant, who seemed worse for wear, but very alive.

At the Matukai's confident flourish, Macen cracked a smile as well; he clipped his lightsaber hilt onto his belt as he and Masai boarded the ship. Turning, Macen pressed a few buttons on the panel next to the corvette's loading ramp. A single confirmation press caused the ramp to begin lifting upward to close and seal. Apparently, Macen had little intent of staying at this particular landing pad. He turned and began to walk into the main hold. "I'm glad to see you and Ifrit are safe," Macen said, looking to the quirky droid with a subtle wink.

Then, he turned to the Cultist on the floor, still rolling about in agony. Macen prodded at him with his foot, tapping his shoulder as he examined the garb -- eerily similar to his own opponents.

"I ran into two more like him on my way here," Macen stated, his eyes peering over to the lightsaber in Tsubasa's hand, which he gestured to, "also wielding their own. I'd say we've certainly attracted some attention to ourselves. That being said... we can't stay here. Best we move the ship somewhere more discreet. Masai --" Macen turned toward the boy who stared around at the interior hull in wonderment, still cupping the stingcrawler in his hands. Bright eyes peered over to Macen and Tsubasa, the boy smiling as he recognized his other saviour.

"If you walk down that hall right there," Macen crouched down to be at the boy's height, pointing down the ship's starboard side hallway, "you'll find a refresher on your right. You can go use it, if you want."

Without hesitation, the boy nodded and sauntered off -- Macen stood and pressed his foot down onto the Cultist's chest now that they were alone with him. Assisted by the Force, Macen pushed down onto him with surprising and enhanced strength, enough to make the Cultist grit his teeth and cease his squirming for the moment.

His eyes on the Cultist in a calculating glare, he spoke without even looking up. "And to answer your question... I don't think they were looking for either of us. They were looking for the boy." Macen looked up to Tsubasa.

"His name is Masai, and he's strong in the Force. Untrained, but brimming with natural potential. I saw him calm and befriend a stingcrawler like it was second nature to him. Those critters are usually nasty and vile, but it took to the boy like a moth to flame," Macen explained whilst keeping the struggling Cultist pinned, uncomfortable but light enough so the man could keep breathing, "I think I understand what these people have been trying to accomplish. I think all of their victims, to some extent, are sensitive to the Force. It would explain the echoes we felt at the lair, and why our senses seem to be limited here. There's a wound on this planet, and it won't close so long as they're present."

Macen turned his eyes back down to the Cultist. "What were you able to find out about them, anyway?"

[Rugs]

“We are, with thanks to your quick assistance,” Tsubasa said, bowing his head to Macen. Without the Jedi’s intervention, the fight against the cultist might yet drag on. While he never doubted that he would triumph, a prolonged fight would waste time and energy.

That and he rather doubted Macen would appreciate Ifrit setting his ship on fire.

The news that there were more cultists skulking about was distressing, however. It was no surprise — their undertaking was beyond the power of one man alone — but to see that they were moving against Macen and himself already... Not good.

As Macen dismissed the boy to the back and spoke on, Tsubasa sat down, forearms propped on his thighs. His gaze followed the path the boy had taken to the refresher and he thought for a long, quiet moment. A Force-sensitive child. Held captive by cultists with an apparent penchant for ceremonial sacrifices.

Troubling.

“When he revealed himself,” he finally said, voice cold, “he said that I would serve their purposes better than the boy might.” Tsubasa nudged the cultist, still nursing his broken arm on the floor. The cultist groaned through grit teeth. Tsubasa ignored him at set the lightsaber on a tabletop beside him. “In the heat of battle, I did not have time to consider his words, but now, with what you say it makes sense.” He nodded toward Macen. “They might feel the same for you — whatever the boy’s potential, we are trained and he is not yet.

“As for what I learned, with the assistance of Master Linora Yarrow in the Jedi Temple’s archives, I’ve found that the Ember of Vahl was an ancient cult that worshipped Vahl. Whether Vahl is some deity of the Dark or the Dark itself, I do not know. Long ago, your order crushed the Ember and scattered its followers — the Vahla people — on the winds.”

Tsubasa folded his arms across his chest, brow furrowed in thought. “This information is helpful. It gives us past context that can help color the present picture, but that picture itself remains unclear. Or at least, it did until a certain cultist dropped into your ship.”

He leaned forward, glowering at the cultist laying on the floor. “I think, Macen, you are right. We should move this ship; at the very least, it will give us time before this one’s friends think to come aid him. Then we can find out how much he’s willing to talk.”

[Ysmir]

Macen nodded. Perhaps, with some probing, the boy could lead Macen and Tsubasa to the Cultists themselves; the last thing the group expected was to have the fight brought to them.

"Whatever their intentions with those they've taken, I doubt any of it is good," Macen said with a sigh and a small shake of his head, furrowing his brow at the Cultist of Vahl, "isn't that right?"

The Cultist seethed. The pain in his arm was unwelcome, but the teachings of the Dark allowed him to draw defiant strength from the wound. "Enjoy your time as the walking dead, Jedi. You and your friend will never escape this planet alive."

Without another word, Macen sent a pulse outward toward the ensnared Cultist through the Force. Telepathic in nature, it scrambled the individual's psyche and induced unconsciousness within moments. Fight as he may, the Cultist -- already weakened through combat -- fell victim to the basic technique as his eyes fluttered shut. Macen released his telekinetic grip on the man afterward, allowing his sleeping body to slump harmlessly onto the floor. In summary manner, Macen retrieved a pair of cuffs from the central well of the ship's hold, locking the man's wrists together magnetically behind his back in case his willpower allowed him to reawaken prematurely. Macen gave Tsubasa a curt nod before headed toward the cockpit of the ship, speaking as he went. The sound of the refresher running echoed through the closed the door as they passed it in the hall.

"As much as I'd like to rest on our laurels and analyze the situation a bit more thoroughly, I get the feeling that we don't have an abundance of time," Macen observed as they reached the cockpit, the Jedi taking a seat within the pilot's chair. The Corvette's engines hummed to life as he primed the auxillary systems for liftoff. "Under circumstances where I'd be facing down a superior force, I'd call in back-up from the Order. But they're spread thin as it is, and I think it's best if we keep this as a clandestine as possible."

A few flipped switches later, and Macen had begun the takeoff process. Compressed, hot air shot out from vents on the ship's exterior as the repulsors hummed and pushed the elegant hunk of metal off of the ground. The landing gears retracted as the ship furthered its ascent, rising above the shanty spaceport that winded through dusty trails like a grand labyrinth of depravity. The moonlight shined through the ship's viewport as it shot off into the skies of Balosar. Macen had punched in coordinates for another seedy spaceport nearby; unlike this one, he had no contacts there, but he thought that this may be a good thing. The less individuals who knew the face of him and his new companion, the better. Plus, the covert nature of the landing pads near their destination meant they could land with a registered visa. That would have its advantages. Macen looked to Tsubasa.

"Though, I do agree; we should try and squeeze as much information from that heap back there as we can," Macen said as his eyes travelled past Tsubasa into the main hold; the feet of the resting Cultist could be seen through the hall. "We can decide what to do with him afterward."

The hissing of sliding doors prefaced the pitter-patter of slightly damp feet walking down the hall toward them. A freshly washed, much happier Masai stood as he dried his shaggy black locks. Macen turned to him and smiled. "Feeling better?"

The boy nodded. "Yes," he began, bowing over at the waist in a proper manner, "thank you."

The nav chimed. They were about halfway to their destination.

[Rugs]

Tsubasa lingered a moment behind as Macen went to the cockpit to get the ship up and going. It was good that they agreed on that; the longer they remained in one place, the more likely more of these cultists — the servants of Vahl or Ember, or whatever they called themselves — might find them. If indeed they were seeking Force-sensitives, two trained Force users with an untrained boy had to be a tempting target, no matter the danger.

At least this one will not be trouble. He eyed the unconscious cultist on the ground. Binding his arms behind his back probably wouldn’t be very comfortable, but it wouldn’t aggravate the damage further. Not beyond Tsubasa’s ability to heal. If he earns healing.

Even as he turned to follow Macen to the front, Tsubasa paused by the small table where he’d left the lightsaber. It was a simple construction of smoke-grey metal, with a round knob for the ignition switch and little else in the way of ornamentation. Tsubas contemplated, then grabbed it from the table — fighting back a grimace and twisting stomach at the wave of malevolence that washed over him as he touched it — and clipped it to his belt.

Better to remove the temptation, in case their guest stirred from his slumber. Just in case.

He was quick to rejoin Macen in the cockpit, having only delayed a few moments behind the Jedi. He took what he assumed was a co-pilot’s seat as Macen spoke. Ifrit perched on the seat’s right shoulder, leaning forward to eye the ship’s controls as they readied for takeoff.

“Even getting assistance would take time,” Tsubasa observed as the ship lifted skyward. “Welcome it may be, but as you said, time seems to be against us.” How close were the cultists to reaching their goal? How many Force users — knowing or otherwise — were in their sights with Masai out of their grasp?

Tsubasa closed his eyes and found the Force. It was calming, as ever, but even its presence couldn’t bring total peace. Not with so much left to cover and so much apparently at stake. He felt as though he were aboard a raft in a sea in storm, drifting up the leading edge of a towering wave without a clue what lay over the crest.

But not alone. He glanced at Macen as the ship sliced through Balosar’s polluted skies. The Force brought us together for a reason. We will see a way through this.

A beeping from the control panel caught Tsubasa’s ear as a newly-freshened Masai entered the cockpit.

“A vessel of some sort is approaching,” Ifrit chirped in. He’d made himself comfortable on the panel itself after launch. His holographic dragon wings spread wide, and for a moment shifted in color from neutral white to wary orange. “Very quickly.”

“Two more are coming,” Tsubasa said as a pair of smaller markers on the ship’s radar screen marked ships flanking the lead chaser. “Escorts?” The Force felt very dark, and not from the lightsaber hanging from his waist.

“Attempted transmissions from the lead ship,” Ifrit said. Tsubasa looked at Macen for a moment, then to the droid. “Put them through.”

“You who would stand against Vahl,” the voice coming through was garbled through a filter and unnaturally deep, “put down your ship now, or we will bring it down.”

How did they find us? A thousand different thoughts raced through Tsubasa’s mind at once. Could it be...? He looked over his shoulder, past Masai’s terror-stricken face. The cultist in the back had to be unconscious, but if he carried a beacon of some sort...

“It’s going to be okay,” Tsubasa said, trying his best to soothe the boy. Searing red flashed in front of their cockpit as one of their pursuers fired a warning shot.

“Put. Down. Your. Ship. Now.” The voice urged obedience. “You will not be given another chance.”

Tsubasa looked to Macen. “Unless we can reasonably outrun or outfight them, I don’t that we have a choice.”

[Ysmir]

As Macen piloted them toward their destination, his eye caught Ifrit as he perched alongside the shoulder of Tsubasa. A small smile graced the Jedi's features; he'd always found droids to be a far sight more trustworthy and dependable than almost any sentient he'd ever met. This particular example seemed to be no exception to that rule.

The trip would only take a few more moments, but it seemed like they were pinged before they'd even left the docking bay; Macen's features saw a swift downward turn as Tsubasa and Ifrit made him aware of the tail upon them.

They had not come this far to go quietly. Macen gripped the controls of his ship tighter as he tried to rationalize a way out of this.

Then, a flash of red. The ship rocked slightly from the force of the beam that passed them. The shields would hold up for a few direct hits, but after that...

Macen sighed. He closed his eyes and reached out to the Force for some sort of guidance, an answer, anything to ease his mind; and then it crossed by. A glimmer, faint and humming lightly like a hyperdrive on standby, with a warm and radiant glow like that of a distant white star. It called to him, not by name, but he could tell that it was for him specifically. He tried to follow it to its source, but it seemed suppressed by something -- held captive, even? It was hard to tell. But this inkling of a feeling that remained nestled in the dark core of this world gave Macen something he hadn't felt since landing here, and that was hope. He opened his eyes and looked to Tsubasa.

Then, the ship began to slow its travel. Macen began bringing it down toward the planet's surface as per the instructions from the unknown voice, giving Tsubasa a nod. "Call it a hunch, but I think this is for the best. Let's not resist; I have a feeling they won't harm us immediately."

The three fighters followed the corvette down as Macen touched onto the ground just outside the city limits. The outskirts of the heavyily industrialized city were a hellscape of pollution where nothing living grew, and the few creatures that existed were highly adapted carnivores which filtered the thin atmosphere. It didn't take long for the ships' inhabitants to make themselves known; more of the Cultists, if Macen had to guess by their attire. They approached the loading ramp of the corvette and waited.

Macen turned toward Masai and touched his hand on his shoulder. "Go along with this, my friend. We'll see ourselves out of it yet. Now more than ever is the time to be brave, alright?"

The boy nodded his head and veiled his fear as best he could; captivity, Macen could sense, was one thing Masai truly never wanted to experience again. Hopefully, it could be avoided.

Macen walked with the trio to the loading ramp of the ship, which promptly began lowering downward after Macen's activation. At the foot of the ramp, five individuals stood.

Two were the assailants from before that had ambushed Macen in the alley way, snarled lips and scowled brows indicative of their attitude toward being evaded. Two were masked and clad in similar black robes that the others wore, and were flanking another, more eye-catching individual who stood in the center. Appearing male, the spines on his head indicated that he was an Iridonian. Shirtless, blood red war-paint covered most of his exposed skin, with black rings lining his eyes which burned a deep orange. A black cloth wrapped around his neck and lower face covered his other features, and he stood nearly seven feet tall. Thickly muscled, a double-bladed lightsaber hilt hung loosely from his belt. He was the first to speak.

"My name is Xanthran, and you've made my life quite difficult. My Master would very much like to meet you," he said, his deep voice reminisicent of the one that came over the intercom. "Come without incident, and you have my word that we will not kill you or the boy -- for now."

Macen sensed no deception from the Iridonian, but looked to Tsubasa for confirmation. They were outnumbered, and Macen could already feel the pollution of the planet's surface bearing down on him. To maintain his concentration in a prolonged fight against many adversaries might prove too difficult.

They make take us exactly where we need to go. But it's your call. The Matukai could feel Macen's voice faintly in his mind, shielded from the perceptions of the five cultists before them.

[Rugs]

“I hope, Macen, that you are right,” Tsubasa said. A darkness gathered on the Force — the winds ahead of distant storm clouds rising over the horizon. This storm, Tsubasa knew, wasn’t so distant as it seemed.

He prayed they’d weather it.

Macen set the ship down in the polluted wastelands beyond the city’s refuge. Holding the Force as he did, Tsubasa could feel the disease, the taint wracking the land. It was not borne of the Dark Side, but of greed — of exploiting a world far beyond what it could naturally sustain, and then pushing further because technology allowed it.

No, this pall was no creation of the Dark Side, but it was every bit as foul. And none the better for their present company.

As the ship’s ramp set down with a pneumatic hiss, Tsubasa stepped into the gloom. Here, his Matukai training would prove useful; he possed considerable skill in filtering toxins from his body, and Force-aided breath control would be necessary, should hostilities erupt in such poor conditions.

As they reached the bottom of the ramp, Tsubsa turned his attention from himself to their pursuers.

Five of them. Each with the echo for Force sensitivity. Each likely as powerful as the cultist still cuffed and knocked out on Macen’s ship. Xanthran, the tall, broad-shouldered Irdidonian spoke, ordering them to give themselves over.

Tsubasa remained silent, weighing the situation.

From what he could feel of the Iridonian, he’d be a tough foe on his own, even with Macen’s help. With the four other cultists backing him, and the boy to defend. Things are too heavily against us. Tsubasa thought, glancing at Macen after hearing the Jedi’s voice in his mind.

He was loathe to turn away from a fight. But if they fought and died, then Masai would end up back in the cult’s hands, or worse.

Should they fail here, the Ember of Vahl would be free to continue their plans — their return, whatever that entailed — unabated.

“You are going to answer,” Xanthran said. “Or I will take your silence as a refusal.”

“We will come.” Tsubasa spoke up. “But you must not harm the boy. He has done nothing worthy of punishing.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Xanthran wore a dark smile. “We do.” He raised a large hand. “Nindo.” One of the masked cultists stepped forward. “Knock them out.”

Tsubas glanced apologetically at Macen. He had a moment before some unseen force slammed into his mind. He might have resisted — he could have resisted — but resistance would invite conflict.

Something within him snapped and the last thing he remembered as darkness clouded his vision was the feeling of falling forward as Ifrit shouted his name.

[Ysmir]

Nindo.

Macen closed his eyes.

Knock them out.

A swallowing darkness overcame him, one he was sure he could fight off if need be, but he surrendered to it. He felt the world come to meet his torso as a forced sleep took hold.

---

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. When Macen first awoke, it was facefirst on a dirtied cell floor that was cold and unwelcoming. He coughed a few times to clear the dust from his lungs as he pushed himself up to his feet, shakily, though sturdy enough to stand. As he walked to the steel bars that served as his containment, he could see through to the central rotunda of the prison block which contained nine other cells identical to his, one of which housed the still-unconscious Tsubasa across the way. He tried to sense where Masai might be, but he found his perception blocked out by the sheer dark power that swelled from somewhere deep within the area. His intuition told him they were underground; a skylight perched high above filtered in orange-ish light. It was safe to say they were no longer within the boundaries of any spaceports.

Caverns, maybe? Macen thought, mind clouded, as his eyes regarded a pocket of balo mushrooms growing in the corner of the rotunda near a rock wall.

His robes and protective garments had been replaced by rags, and his lightsaber was, unsurprisingly, no longer by his side. He smiled, and might have chuckled were it not for his exceedingly dry throat; no humour was to be drawn from this situation, but he found the slightest bit of amusement at his own sheer helplessness.

They'd find a way out. He trusted the Force.

And just as he made this resolve in his mind, he heard the clanking of a steel door swinging open. From the hallway came the Iridonian, Xanthran, who regarded Macen with venomous eyes before turning to Tsubasa's cell. He kicked at the cell door violently, shaking the bars.

"Wake up, mongrel," he ordered coldly.

Moments later, another individual walked in through the hall, and their very presence was drenched in darkness. Tattered black robes clung to their body, skin a pale white from years spent hidden away from the sun's glow. On the center of the robe was the image of Vahl, very much fresh in Macen's mind from when Tsubasa had dug it up.

When they spoke, the voice was whispy and feminine. "You are the Matukai; the one who has been such a painful thorn in my side," she said as she drifted over toward Tsubasa's cell. She pulled her hood back, revealling a thin, snake-like face, eyes a stark yellow against her white skin. Her lips were pitch black, and the symbol of Vahl was branded prominently on her forehead. Her hair was shaven. "And you shall be the final cog in our machine." She grinned with delight. "Have him prepped, Xanthran, and bring him to the central chamber with the others -- and the final ceremony shall commence."

With that, she redonned her hood and turned from the cell, walking as if on air back into the hall from whence she came. The Iridonian bowed his head and pressed a fist to his chest. "At once, Mistress." From his waistline he produced a key, which he began to use to unlock Tsubasa's cell.

Macen's grip tightened on the iron bars that held him as he tried to focus. A fleeting voice was heard within Tsubasa's mind.

This is it, Macen projected, draw your strength. We have one chance.

[Rugs]

Tsubasa drifted through a restless unconsciousness, not awake, but neither fully asleep. Echoes of outside stimuli prodded dully at his in-and-out awareness. He felt, faintly, that he was being carried somewhere. Then darkness. Something changed. It was cooler. Musty. Something lay beneath him, hard and uncomfortable.

Awareness began to slip again. He could feel what physically touched him, but couldn’t recognize further, couldn’t actively thi-

Loud shaking split through the darkness. The fog obscuring his mind did not break, but faded. Dulled.

Tsubasa’s green eyes opened slowly, as his face contorted into a grimace at the pounding in his skull.

Where-

"Wake up, mongrel."

He turned his head to the voice, squinting through the dim lighting. Xanthran towered above him. Tsubas realized he was in a cramped holding cell, laying on the grungy floor. He pushed himself up slowly. His body felt fine, but his head felt as if a nail had been driven into his skull.

“Good to see you too.” Tsubasa’s voice was hoarse, his throat dry, but the scowl on the muscular Zabrak’s face said the irreverence in his tone carried through.

Another Force user entered the... wherever they were. A woman, thin and frail, but with a dark presence that reverberated powerfully around her. Tsubasa suspected that this woman, whoever she was, sat at the heart of the miasma in the Force suffocating Balosar.

Tsubasa looked to Macen at the silent urging from the Jedi, as the woman left. His head still rang, and his weapons were expectedly absent, but he was far from defenseless. Not with the Force as his ally, and even without it.

He stood, slowly, as Xantrhan began to unlock his cell. The big orange man looked at him warily as the lock clicked and the door began to turn open.

“Now don’t go getting any ideas, Matukai. You can’t-”

And then Tsubasa was on him. His first blow came not physically but through the Force. He motioned at Xanthran, setting the processes of his own body against him. The big Zabrak staggered and shot a murderous glare at Tsubasa--one that broke was nausea washed over him like a tidal wave.

Malacia was a new technique to Tsubasa, but it was powerful. Debilitating, without causing permanent damage.

Tsubasa seized the opportunity. He slammed the door open, hitting Xanthran’s skull with a loud crack. He stormed out of the cell, ducking a wide, awkward punch, and responded with one of his own. Xanthran staggered further back, dropping the keys. Tsubasa followed with a looping kick to the side of Xanthran’s head, putting him on the ground--dazed, but not out.

He grabbed the keys and hurried to Macen’s cell. “We must be quick,” he said as he put in one key after the other to find the correct one. “He will not be on the ground for long.”

The fourth key clicked and turned at Tsubasa’s urging. The door to Macen’s cell swung open.

[Ysmir]

Macen watched with wide eyes as Tsubasa went to work.

It was incredible, the resilience this Matukai displayed. Even starved, dehydrated, disoriented, and weary, the man moved with a grace that belied his calm and unimposing demeanor as he went about dismantling the large Iridonian. Xanthran, for his part, was woefully unprepared for the waves of nausea and malaise that overtook him from Tsubasa's display, fruitlessly attempting to defend himself as practiced strikes broke down his defenses and sent him tumbling to the dusty prison floor in a dazed heap. The Iridonian clutched the side of his head and groaned aloud as he tried multiple times to push himself up from the ground, but the monster of a man was simply too rattled to keep up for long.

"Wasting no time... good," Macen quipped in a hoarse voice as the door to his cell was unlocked. With a grateful nod, he stepped out, feeling the dim light from the hole in the high ceiling wash over his skin.

Macen walked by his companion to the still-struggling Xanthran. Having taken the prior moments to collect himself, Macen wasted no time in lifting the Iridonian by his neck. The Force surged through his muscle and granted the human preternatural strength sufficient to lift the Iridonian from the ground briefly and press him against the rock wall between two cells. Xanthran grunted and reached for his lightsaber at his side, but a flick of Macen's wrist caused a telekinetic force to grasp the hilt and send it flying away from the Dark Jedi, tumbling across the dusty floor until it knocked against the far wall. Xanthran chuckled.

"Do me a favor, Jedi... and kill me. My Mistress will do so much more painfully when she discovers you bested me..." the Iridionian said as he closed his eyes, smiling a sickly smile. Then, he opened them, looking over to Tsubasa. "Or perhaps you lack the spine? Maybe the Matukai will be more willing?"

"Believe me, nothing would bring me more pleasure," Macen bluffed, "but we have bigger problems than you. Tell us where our equipment is and we'll put an end to this."

"Why bother, Jedi? You -- and all on this wretched world -- are doomed." The Iridonian settled his eyes back on Macen, the grin on his painted face growing wider.

"Fine," Macen said, pressing a hand to Xanthran's forehead, "we'll find our own way."

A telekinetic shock rippled through Xanthran's skull, causing the briefest moment of blinding pain that caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and grunt, but then his body fell limp as he was rendered unconscious. Macen allowed him to slump to the floor. With a twist of his wrist, Xanthran's lightsaber flew to his grip. Macen would rather die in this forsaken prison than wield the weapon of one so embroiled in the darkness, and thus went about deconstructing the lightsaber on the spot, removing its focusing crystal and leaving the hilt itself inert. Macen slipped the crystal away and dropped the useless hilt to the ground before looking toward Tsubasa.

"There has to be a storeroom somewhere around here. I imagine Ifrit and our things are there," Macen said with a nod, then gestured toward the only doorway leading out. "Shall we?"

---

The halls that extended throughout the cave system were linear, but numerous. Strangely, the entire complex seemed decidedly empty, as though all its residents had simply vanished. As they ventured through, Macen and Tsubasa passed multiple side rooms that appeared to be barracks of a kind, all of which bore the same mark upon the wall as the shop that they had investigated the day prior. The corridors were dusty and dimly lit by wall sconces that burned loud enough to provide solace from the eerie silence that seemed to pervade their surroundings. Eventually, after a few minutes of wandering, the duo came across a distinct pair of black double doors with windows that showed a view of the interior, where one could vaguely make out a workbench and a wall of tools.

Cautiously, Macen stepped up to the doors and pressed on the center, pushing them open. The old metallic hinges creaked and whined as dust was kicked up from the floor, but it seemed they had found what they were looking for. Inside the room were multiple shipping crates and other containers, and against the far wall were two opened footlockers which housed a variety of objects, most notably two familiar lightsaber hilts and a pair of phrik gauntlets. Leaning against the nearby workbench was Tsubasa's Wan-Shen, as well as his custom jian.

Although his robes were nowhere to be seen, Macen was merely relieved to find his weapons unaltered. He knelt by the footlocker and retrieved the two hilts, concealing one beneath his rags and hanging the other upon a makeshift beltloop composed of hemp rope. He stood, turning his head to look to Tsubasa.

"Any sign of Ifrit?"

[Rugs]

“There’s no time to waste.” Tsubasa smiled at Macen’s quip, but the warmth was absent from his, dry, scratchy voice. Time was of the essence. Whatever Vahl’s servants planned, the Jedi and Matukai had reached a critical juncture to stop it. So many lives depended on them acting quickly, decisively.

Macen did just that. The Jedi handled Xanthran adeptly, affording Tsubasa a much-needed moment of respite to gather himself. He could push his body, enough to see the job done, but any rest, any breather was a welcome one.

“Yes, I am ready,” he said when Macen finished breaking apart the lightsaber. “But one thing, before we go.”

He approached the taller Jedi and reached a hand to Macen’s forehead. Tsubasa’s eyes fluttered shut as he delved into the Force, to check Macen’s condition. Thankfully, the Jedi was no worse shape than he himself — tired, in need of water, but in a condition, he could fight through. Tsubasa knew he would. They both would — they had no other choice.

There was nothing for the Matukai to heal, but the Force stirred within him as he made use of another technique. The energy he drew from the Force, he imparted to Macen. It would help with some of his weariness, ease some of his aches.

Tsubasa smiled as he withdrew his hand. It was not something he could do for himself, without meditation, and time was against them.

“Let’s go.”

---

Ifrit was growing impatient.

Time passed differently for a droid than organics, and Ifrit, with little else on which to spend processing cycles, was keenly aware of every wasted millisecond that slipped by in his tiny prison. The Servants of Vahl had separated him from Tsubasa. They lacked restraining bolts, but the burst of lightning one of them had so rudely turned upon him served just as well for putting him out of commission.

When his system rebooted, he was in a makeshift energy cell in a small, dark room. He surmised the cell was made of cobbled-together projectors that were intended for other purposes, but it worked. After a few self-diagnostics, he learned that his systems were in perfectly acceptable working order.

But that did not solve the issue of escaping his new prison.

His fire could perhaps break through the barrier, but if it did not, Ifrit risked roasting his own circuits. An ignoble end, and one that surely would not amuse Tsubasa.

Ifrit’s holographic dragon wings, now bright orange, rustled irritably over his back

Where was Tsubasa? Or the Jedi?

Something stirred outside. Ifrit’s head perked up, his aural receptors focused. Someone, no, more than one person, stepped into the room beyond the small closet’s door.

”Any sign of Ifrit?”

That was Macen’s voice. The Jedi.

”None that I immediately see, though it appears they’ve left our belongings in here.”

That was him!

“Tsubasa!” Ifrit raised his vocalizer as high as it would go. “Tsubasa I am in here!” Something heavy scrapped along the floor outside.

---

Tsubasa grunted with the effort of pushing aside the heavy shipping crate that hid the door to the closet. When he pushed the door itself open, he found Ifrit, trapped within a small holding cage that was connected by some wires to a power generator that appeared to have been torn from something else.

“Ifrit!” The field flickered away as he ripped the wires free. “It’s good to see you. Are you okay?” He inspected the droid, noting a few burn marks along the edges of some of his plating. “You look a little singed.”

“I am fine, Tsubasa,” Ifrit said as he clambered up Tsubasa’s arm onto his shoulder. “I was contemplating the use of my fire on the energy field. However, I do not know how effective the measure would have been. I had not yet run the calculations.”

“Well, you probably would have set the whole place on fire if you did,” Tsubasa said, smiling at the droid. “So it is good that you didn’t. Do you know where everyone has gone?”

“Unfortunately, no. I was disabled during your capture, and by the time my systems rebooted, I was in the cell. I know no more of this place, it seems, than you do.”

Tsubasa nodded. “Well,” he said, turning to Macen, “it seems we have no other choice than to press on. Surely these pathways lead to a convergence point?”

[Ysmir]

Macen's head turned sharply at the voice soon after he stood. He exchanged a knowing glance with Tsubasa, the first genuine smile in a good while gracing his features.

Macen followed behind Tsubasa once he had moved the crate and opened the door, revealing where they had hidden his companion. He turned over his shoulder to check that their ruckus hadn't garnered them any unwanted attention before looking toward Ifrit, just after the small droid clambered up onto Tsubasa's shoulder where he belonged. "Good to see you, my little friend. I'm almost sad you didn't try; it would be a gift for this place to burn to ash."

Macen's eyes locked with Tsubasa, and he nodded. "We'll find them, and we'll set this right. A shadow's hung over Balosar for too long." He spoke with an optimism restored by their swift recovery, and it seemed his trust in the Force was well-placed.

Now was their turn to strike back.

---

As they ventured deeper into the cavern complex, a distinct feeling of despair became more and more apparent. It wasn't so strong as to completely invade their minds, but the Force-attuned could certainly tell that there was a thickness in the air that hadn't been present before. It seemed to eminate from a particular point, a central chamber that Macen could envision through his mind's eye, where all the corridors eventually led. The Watchman steeled his nerves; it was no small matter, confronting the Dark Side. While it was a well-known fact that every Jedi had to at some point in their life, it never got easier. Each step down the path of Light was obstructed by the lure of pain, hatred, and anger, emotions that were difficult to control and easily succumbed to. This would be no different, as despite his experience, Macen found himself excited. Anticipation was the best method he had for combatting his fear, and so he drew upon the approaching battle's inevitability as a strength.

Eventually, he, Tsubasa, and Ifrit reached their goal, and that suffocating feeling from before reached a zenith, as though a weight pressed down on their shoulders. Their feet swept across dusty duracrete floors, all the way up to a wooden gate that was slightly ajar. Macen moved his hand toward it with the slightest of hesitations, as though nearing this sickening presence would rot his very skin. Slowly, he pushed the gate open, revealing the chamber within to their waiting eyes.

A central skylight like the one in the prison sat in the high ceiling, letting in a ray of orange sunlight that shined down upon the Mistress, who floated in the middle of a rotunda, surrounded by the four acolytes they had fought previously. The acolytes knelt down, their eyes rolled back as the Dark Side's influence stirred within them.

Around the rotunda were hundreds of old, decrepit seats, reminiscent of what once may have been a theater. But the audience was not there of their own accord, and this was a show they didn't pay to see; in cages and in binds, dozens of men and women, young and old, moaned out in pain and despair as their very life force was ripped from their bodies through the Mistress' vile machinations. The sight caused a churning in Macen's stomach that the Jedi had never before experienced, his presence in the Force wavering as he felt the captives' pains as his own. With hollow expression and parted lips, Macen clutched his chest, his eyes sweeping around the large theater. What he and Tsubasa stood within could be described as nothing less than a wound in the Force, the abject absence of all light and good. It shook him, made him falter.

"And now, you see it. Power. Control." The Mistress' voice rang out in a venomous falsetto. Her eyes opened from her floating position, gazing downward at Macen and Tsubasa as they stood in the entrance to the circular theater. "It is an old teaching of the Sith, from the days of Darth Nihilus and Darth Sion, to feed on the life force of others, to use their power as your own. Where Sion was ruled by his pain, and Nihilus by his hunger, I am ruled by neither. And with this new strength, bolstered by you and your companion, the Ember of Vahl will rise again, more resilient than ever."

Macen looked to the Mistress and tried to speak, but he couldn't find the words. His throat twitched and strained, struck silent by the sheer darkness that pervaded every inch of their room. A bead of sweat formed at his brow.

"Did you really think you had the upper hand, Macen Oran? That we did not know of your presence here? Foolish," she said as she shook her head like a dissappointed mother, "foolish child. You have delivered yourself to us, a fine gift for an even finer cause."

And as she uttered her last words, the four acolytes sprung upward. Their sabers ignited in unison, filling the otherwise shadowy room with a red glow as they stood in a line before Macen and Tsubasa. Their eyes held the same yellow glow as the Mistress as she fuelled their resolve with her own, their bodies mere puppets to the Dark Side.

In face of the sight, his eyes closed.

---

He stood within the Archives, conflict stirring in his heart as it never had before. Grandmaster Moho regarded Macen with a kindness scarcely seen in other sentients. A gentle pressure was felt on his shoulder, the Grandmaster having rested a pincer there.

"Sometimes, Knight Oran, the greatest victory one can achieve in life... is letting go. Of an emotion. Of the illusion of control. Of the things that were. Of the things that may be. And, one day, even of life itself."

---

Macen clenched his jaw; without hesitation, he retrieved his own lightsaber and lifted it, the yellow blade crackling to life. His eyes opened and locked directly with the Mistress as he took a defensive stance next to Tsubasa.

"You're arrogant, not to mention short-sighted," Macen said as the Force swelled within his chest, pushing back against the Dark influence that surrounded them, "and I'm done mincing words. This ends now."

He glanced at Tsubasa from the side of his eyes and nodded, before bounding forward in a leap assisted by the Force. He twirled in the air acrobatically as he engaged two of the Acolytes, bringing his lightsaber down to meet theirs in a tremendous avalanche that sent a spark of yellow and red flashing through the room. The battle had commenced as the Mistress let out a roar of defiance.

[Rugs]

The labyrinthine compound wound on and on. Tsubasa wondered at times if they’d gotten turned around doubled back through some of the same hallways they’d already traveled. It was that or much of the makeshift base looked similar. The Matukai decided that this must be the case; surely this rogue group didn’t have the time and funding to build a compound with the purpose of tricking their Light-aligned intruders.

With Ifrit riding his shoulder, their group was whole again — save for Massai — and so Tsubasa pressed ahead regardless of his misgivings. Something dark, something sinister lurked in the heart of this place, calling them onward with each step across the rough stone floor. Tsubasa initially dismissed it as a trick of his imagination, as the tension in the air causing his mind to play tricks on him. But no, this was no trick. This call, this beckoning was a thing of the dark side and like gravity, it grew louder, stronger every inch closer they came to it.

The weight felt near-suffocating as they finally reached the worn wooden gate. Tsubasa had long since called on the Force, seeking shelter from the overbearing miasma in a sort of moving meditation as they walked. Ifrit perched forward on his front legs, commenting on the door’s unusual nature as Macen pushed it open.

Tsubasa could not help but smile. In this situation, he envied the droid and his blissful ignorance of the power that crushed down upon them from all sides.

They emerged to a gathering in a great rotunda, lit dimly by light filtering through an oculus that opened to Balosar’s polluted sky. No, this is no gathering. Tsubasa’s green eyes widened in horror at the people — hundreds of them — in cages and chains all around the rotunda. They were no audience, here to watch the Ember’s great triumph.

They were the missing. The captives dragged to this vile place to fuel the Ember’s rebirth.

“Macen.” Tsubasa put a hand on his companion’s shoulder as he saw him, felt him, struggling against the Dark Side influence pervading the rotunda. “We must stand strong.” He understood the Jedi’s struggle — a part of him screamed that he should run, that he should turn and leave the captured to their fate. That wasn’t an option. A great tree might bend and sway under a tempest’s howling winds, but the roots would hold firm.

Tsubasa’s roots, deep in the Light, would not allow him to run from this. “Not for ourselves. For them. They cannot stand on their own.”

Whether his words helped, he could not say. Whatever the case, Macen gathered himself and ignited his saffron blade. As he pushed back on the Misstress and her gloating, Tsubasa closed eyes, focus shifting inward as the inevitable battle drew near.

Their foes were four and their Mistress. She was the strongest among them; he didn’t need the Force to guess that much. Dispatch the four. Deal with her.

Tsubasa’s eyes opened, hard and focused. His fingers closed around his wan-shen’s shaft and he extended the weapon with a flourish. He returned Macen’s nod.

“Take flight,” he muttered. Ifrit sprang from his shoulder and the dance began.

While Macen jumped through the air, Tsubasa closed on the ground. Two of the cultists rushed forward in unison to meet his twirling wan-shen.

One crimson lightsaber came crashing in from overhead. Tsubasa swatted it aside with his wan-shen’s counterweight and stepped aside around a lurching poke from the other acolyte’s sanguine blade. The twisting of his wan-shen continued and the reverse end came up to smack the first attacker’s face, sending them stumbling back clutching at their bloody nose.

Tsubasa allowed a subtle smile as he slipped away. He took a solid stance, drawing strength from the ground and with his legs slightly bent. The wan-shen, he held forward, blackened blade at the ready as the acolytes regrouped and renewed their assault

[Ysmir]

When you combatted the Dark Side of the Force, you combatted fear itself. You faced down and turned away every doubt or misgiving you've ever had. Every moment that you spent locking blades with the Dark Side was a moment spent staring your worst traits in the face.

So Macen turned them into his own weapon.

Spurred on by Tsubasa's words and his own resolve, Macen felt the Force surge through his body like a roaring stream propelling the Jedi Knight into the fray with the power of a hurricane. When his first blow came crashing down from his Form V stance accompanied by an exclamation of conviction, it nearly knocked the defending acolyte off of his feet. Just as quickly, the acolyte's companion jumped forth and struck out venomously at Macen, who regrouped well enough from the landing to parry the strike with expert timing. One stood and joined Two in the assault, Macen backpedalling across the dusty stone floor as he focused intensely on the whirring red blades coming at him from every direction. He could tell from their stances, their drive, that these were the two he had evaded with Masai earlier; evidently, they hadn't forgotten Macen, either.

But they were sloppy. One struck low at Macen's foot, which he lifted to avoid the blow. At the same moment, Two stepped forward to lunge with an overhead strike which Macen rebuked by shoving his lifted foot into her stomach, sending her tumbling across the ground with a hiss.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Macen turned his head quickly as he felt a surge in the Dark Side centered on the Mistress, her eyes boring into Tsubasa's turned back, full of spite and hate. Her teeth clenched, she extended her fingers toward Tsubasa from her elevated position, energy crackling at their tips. Macen wasted no time with a warning, crouching and leaping overhead with acrobatic grace, landing back-to-back with Tsubasa just as the purple Force lightning erupted from the Mistress' fingers. Macen lifted his saffron blade and caught the arc, gritting his teeth as he stepped back to brace himself and fight against the pressure. Finally, he grunted and redirected the stream into the ground, which blew away chunks of the stonework.

The Mistress seethed at Macen's intervention. Her hands fell flat by her sides as she began conjuring more energy, fuelled by the lifeforce she still absorbed from the captives. "You delay the inevitable, Jedi... Matukai. Your deaths will be slow -- this, I promise."

Lifting her hands, a rush of her dark presence shot outward. When it hit Macen and Tsubasa, it almost made their stomachs churn; for the acolytes that now surrounded them, however, it seemed more of a boon. The four Dark warriors closed their eyes in unison and breathed deeply in the sickly energies that pervaded them. Then, they reopened, focusing on the duo with burning orange eyes that matched the Mistress' own.

"Oh, boy..." Macen uttered as he took a defensive stance with Tsubasa, eyeing One and Two from before as they prepared to pounce again.

[Rugs]

Tsubasa ever carried a cocky streak, all the way back to his days as a young boy. It was that streak, that love of testing himself that often propelled him into fights with his young friends and enemies alike, that got him into the brawl that’d first caught Barsavi’s eye. That same streak gave him the confidence to stand tall in the face of odds where others might falter, to press ahead where all common sense said to turn back.

Age, and wisdom that came with it, dulled this streak — tempered it from boyish arrogance to steady confidence in his own abilities. But temperance was not elimination. When circumstance allowed, that old streak resurfaced and Tsubasa — the meek, gentle Matukai — showed his true colors.

He twisted and spun in a deadly dance with the duo of dark acolytes. They tried to force him to give ground. He refused, keeping his position as if rooted to the dusty stone floor itself. Despite this refusal to yield, his motions were as graceful and fluid as ever as he initiated a spinning parry that batted one dark one’s blade harmlessly past him and set his wan-shen’s counterweight crashing into the acolyte’s back and sending them crashing to the ground. The other assailant’s blade chopped in at his head and he ducked, slamming the counterweight into the ground for balance.

As he rose, he twirled the wan-shen ‘round and brought its blade around in a rising cut that the acolyte barely avoided; a tearing of cloth left the front of his ratty dark robes hanging open.

Tsubasa resumed his solid stance, lead foot stomping to the earth as a challenge to his attackers. The one that’d fallen to the ground scrambled away and to his feet, growling curses under his breath.

“You might have a chance, if you fought in unison,” Tsubasa offered. “You are passionate but sloppy. Uncoordinated. You will not beat me. Not like this.” His advice was earnest, spoken the way a mentor might to an impatient student — a tone he’d been on the receiving end of countless times as a boy. That wasn’t to say he was offering it from the kindness of his heart. He could feel the frustration, the anger, simmering beneath the surface in both of these acolytes. If only he could prod it the right way...

“You think the lecture us, Matukai?” The one with the torn robes hissed at him. “Know your place!”

Tsubasa smirked as the acolytes closed in him. To their credit, they attacked as one, blades whirring as he blocked, parried and evaded. His weapon offered a defensive advantage, and they were still too raw, too impatient to formulate any offensive that would batter through his defenses.

Eventually, they came together with heavy, overhanded blows that he caught on each end of his wan-shen, held over his head. They pressed together against him. With four arms competing against two, Tsubasa should have been overwhelmed, but with his strength in the Force — his strength from the Force — a deadlock emerged.

“Better,” Tsubasa said, voice only showing some strain from the effort of keeping the lightsabers at bay, “but not quite enough.” He tensed his body and crouched slightly, then threw them both off with an explosion of power from the Force.

They staggered back, and as Tsubsas resumed his stance, he felt the Force churn behind him. No sooner had he turned to look over his shoulder with a green eye than Macen was there, blocking a blast of lightning from the dark Mistress.

He turned as the exchange ended, as the acolytes retreated to their master. The woman spoke — issuing more threats — but Tsubasa said nothing in return. There was no need to exchange further words with her. The dark power that flooded the room was unsettling, but deep within the embrace of the Light, Tsubasa let it wash by him, unperturbed.

Much more concerning was the acolytes, now drawing strength from whatever magicks their master employed. “This is worrisome,” he admitted to Macen. “We cannot afford to waste too much more time.”

A flash of silver overhead drew his attention. Ifrit, still airborne from when the fight began, had escaped their foes’ notice so far. A droid ally, absent of the same presence a living thing carried in the Force, was a blessing in this clash of light and dark.

Ifrit banked tightly through the air, setting up for a run on the acolytes if Tsubsasa ordered him ahead. “Be careful, Macen,” Tsubasa said under his breath to the Jedi.

“Now!” he yelled.

The acolytes blinked dully at him. Ifrit cackled gleefully as he dove, releasing his terrible accelerant. It burst into bright, angry flame as soon as it touched the air as it fell in oozing globs to the ground. Tsubasa raised his arm in front of his face against the light and the scalding heat.

The Mistress scowled as she deflected it away from her with the force. The Acolytes yelped in surprise as they dashed or rolled out of the way. All save one — the one with the torn robes — who screamed in agony as the flames clung to his robes, to his skin, and burned him alive.

Now three disciplines remained were once there were four. If they felt any regret for their immolated comrade, Tsubasa could not tell as they prepared to fight again, now in the light of the insatiable flames.

[Ysmir]

Macen nodded to Tsubasa's words. Caution could not be thrown to the wind here, with what they were confronting.

Macen was called to attention by Ifrit's sudden cackling, turning his eyes upward just in time to see him release a deluge of flame from above upon the unsuspecting acolytes. Macen hopped back a step and shielded his eyes as it splashed down and outward, bathing their makeshift coliseum in light and heat. He heard the mangled screams of the acolyte in tattered robes as he failed to evade the bombing, the sticky substance clinging to various parts of his body and lighting him in holy flame. Macen tried to feel even the subtlest sense of guilt, but he could not. His mind was only focused on the battle ahead.

Their ally fell to a heap on the ground, the napalm burning away the last of his tattered robes and leaving a smouldering body in its wake. Just behind him, the three acolytes held their sabers aloft as the Mistress pointed at Tsubasa and Macen. A ragged and inhuman hiss emitted from her lips, which Macen recognized as the ancient Sith tongue.

The three acolytes charged forth.

Two broke off from the line and went straight at Tsubasa, his meddling tone and arrogance having earned their ire -- not to mention his droid, who had just singed one of their own. Perhaps they did feel some rage for his death, after all. One lifted their hand and aimed it at the swooping Ifrit, intent on blasting him from the air so he could be a nuisance no longer.

Macen lifted his blade in retaliation to the efforts of the lone acolyte who charged him, clashing against hers in a brilliant spark of yellow and crimson. They stood in the deadlock, their faces inches apart from the crackling sabers as Macen gritted his teeth. Right off the bat, Macen could feel the strength she drew upon from the influence of her Mistress. The Dark Side flowed through her like the Light in Macen, but hers was more like an eruption than a hurricane. From this distance, he could see her eyes clearer. She was a Cathar.

"You'll pay for his life with your own, dog," the Cathar acolyte seethed through the black cloth that covered her lower face.

Even in the midst of all this chaos, Dark energy and hatred swirling around them all like a whirlpool, the Jedi smiled -- it was bold, and only slightly strained from the muscle he put behind keeping her blade at bay. "Many have tried -- you'll be the latest to fail," Macen said. Then, he grunted as he pushed her blade back.

But the Cathar hissed and pressed the offense with increased fervor that took Macen by surprise. She came at him with a furious rain of blows, lacking the same hesitation and disorientation from before. Each strike he deflected -- barely -- carried increased force and sureness behind it, and he could tell from her body language and the orientation of her attacks that she was no longer fighting to incapacitate. Each and every one of her precise blows were aimed for vitals, and if he let even one slip through, it might be the last mistake he ever made.

He backpedaled as she continued pushing forth, now fully in his Djem-So stance, where he was most comfortable. He could feel her growing tired with each strike, and his eyes continually darted around her body between the savage slashes to try and spot an opening in her form. Closer and closer his back grew toward the surrounding bleachers on the exterior of the circular floor; he was losing space to back up. Panic grew in the usually stoic and confident warrior as he stepped, parrying each of the acolyte's attacks perfectly but failing to spot any weakness in her assault.

But then, it happened. The Force showed him as he breathed in through his nose. Macen separated himself from the fray, and in a brief flash, he saw past the Cather to Tsubasa, locked fiercely with the other acolytes in a battle all his own. Time seemed to slow for the Jedi Knight as he refocused on the Cathar. He saw her right shoulder hitched back, cocked like the release of a catapult and ready to unleash and mighty blow. Macen blinked, and when he re-opened his eyes, he shifted his footing.

Then he ducked under her arms and charged forward, slashing his lightsaber horizontally across her midsection. He stood on the other side of the Cathar as he heard her gasp a breath of surprise, a bead of sweat falling from Macen's nose as she collapsed behind him.

Wasting no time, Macen stood and looked across to Tsubasa. With the Force guiding his hand, he threw his lightsaber outward. The yellow blade spun through the flames left behind from Ifrit's earlier attack. The saber found its mark as it plunged directly through the back of one of the distracted acolytes, surprise clear in his eyes as he stumbled backward, looking down at the yellow blade sticking through his chest. Then Macen called it back to his hand, leaving a cauterized hole where the acolyte's blackened heart once was. He fell to the floor in unison with the last warrior that Tsubasa had just handled. Macen turned his eyes to the Mistress.

"And then there was one. Give up, and we might consider sparing you," Macen stated as he stood up fully, holding his lightsaber aloft.

Then, Macen found himself flung to the floor by an unseen force. Dust kicked up as the Jedi barely caught himself, gritting his teeth and rolling just in time away from another telekinetic slam. Macen recalled his lightsaber to his hand and quickly activated it as a hulking figure leapt from the shadows, striking down with a blackened vibroblade.

Xanthran locked blades with Macen and stood a full head taller than him. A wicked and enraged expression was clear on the Iridionian's face. "The Mistress will never submit to slaves of the Code."

Just as sudden as his arrival was the Mistress' own retaliation to the death of her beloved acolytes. Drawing even more lifeforce from the enslaved victims, luminescent purple energy swelled around her as she levitated further in the air, mixing with the flames in the room to wash her in dancing color. She turned her spiteful yellow eyes onto Tsubasa and, without a word, charged her fingertips and unleashed an arc of Force Lightning at the Matukai.

[Rugs]

The battle renewed, with more ferocity than ever. Tsubasa found himself once more outnumbered, with a pair of acolytes breaking off from the third to bullrush him. He drew on the Force as breath and returned to the wild waltz, with so much on the line.

To their minimal credit, this ‘Mistress’ had bled all of humanity from her dark students. They lashed at Tsubasa with a rage now that eluded them before — a furor he could only see springing from the violent, painful death of their former companion. Tsubasa took no joy in the immolation, nor the scent of charred flesh burning his nostrils, but neither did he spare sympathy for the fallen cultist.

For one, he lacked the time, as he ducked beneath a venomous lightsaber stroke aimed at his head. The smell of burning air, fresher and nearer than what would have come from Ifrit’s attack, told him the blow — launched by the leading acolyte while the second circled around him — had come much too close for comfort.

The second acolyte assaulted him, after launching a finger of lightning at Ifrit that the droid narrowly avoided. Tsubasa gave ground, expression darkening at the vigor with which the pair of acolytes pressed at him. Before he’d been on the verge of toying with two foes, but now he found himself genuinely pressed as they attacked, relentless and in tandem.

His wan-shen blurred as it danced around his body, meeting blow after unending blow. Tsubasa’s form shifted, from the stalwart, earth-bound defensive posture he’d held in the first round to a fluid form that flowed like water from motion to motion. The newfound strength these acolytes displayed, fueled by the loss of their fellow, was remarkable. On one occasion, a lightsaber came very near to meeting Tsubasa’s flesh, before he danced out of the way and rebuked the attacker with a quick thrust of his polearm’s butt to the gut.

On and on they fought until the acolytes began to tire and slow. Tsubasa, lost in the rush of battle, was nearly as surprised as his opponents when Macen’s lightsaber took one in the back. He recovered more quickly, however, and put a crushing blow with his wan-shen’s counterweight into the side of the remaining acolyte’s knee. The crumbled to the dirty floor as their leg bent too far inward at the knee.

Whether the follow-up blow to the head killed them or merely knocked them out, Tsubasa could not say. He knew only that it put them out of the fight, and that he and Macen still had matters to attend.

Macen began to warn the Mistress to back down. Tsubasa, though, felt an encroaching presence — darkness that, if it did not match the Mistress’ in intensity, was far colder than what they’d just dispatched. The Iridonian.

“Macen watch out!” he began to yell, too late. The blast that threw his Jedi friend to the ground nearly caught Tsubasa, forcing him to stumble back. Xanthran lept into the fray to engage Macen, but Tsubasa found no room to come to Macen’s aid.

The Mistress’ terrible gaze found him, sending a shiver running down his spine. Blue-white lightning arced from her slender fingertips and Tsubasa desperately threw a shield of the Force up before him.

Force met Force with a crack and blast of air that radiated out from the contact point. Tsubasa’s defense held strong, though he felt himself straining to keep the crackling electricity at bay. “You cannot win,” she said. “We hold the might of countless souls, all for Vahl’s glory. Before it, you are nothing.”

More power poured into the Mistress’ onslaught, and Tsubasa found his will cracking. A breach appeared in his shield, then it collapsed at once as a wave of lightning tore through and flung him against the far wall.

“Tsubasa!” Ifrit cried over the roaring flame. He dove again, tail spewing fire.

“Begone, droid,.” The Mistress lifted a hand without looking toward Ifrit and threw aside the burning napalm. Ifrit himself was taken in an invisible hold and thrown aside like a useless toy.

Tsubasa groaned with effort as he stood. He’d tucked himself into a ball and hardened his body as he hit the wall. That the Matukai trick prevented any serious damage did not mean he felt no pain, from the impact or the lightning’s electric ravages.

Elsewhere, Macen was still locked in battle with Xanthran, Tsubasa took a step toward the battle, help his friend end the Mistress’ most loyal servant so they could focus on her together, but a tightening around his neck arrested his advance before it could begin.

“No, Matuaki,” the Mistress said. “Your battle will be with me. Let the Jedi stand alone, if his Code makes him so mighty.”

Tsubasa extricated himself from her hold before she could begin to strangle him. He snarled up at the floating woman. “So be it.”

[Ysmir]

Once Tsubasa's face-off with the Dark Mistress had begun, so too had his with Xanthran.

They broke away from their bladelock and stood a meter or two apart from one another. Macen circled the massive Iridonian who brimmed with vibrant, lashing energy, supplemented by the seething hatred and desire for vengeance that Macen could sense deep within. This was no ordinary creature of the Dark Side; this was one embroiled entirely within it, likely from a young age. Not a Sith, taught the ways of the Force by a trained instructor and raised to wield it as a weapon. Xanthran's aura followed him ominously and without a will of its own, as though the Iridonian subjugated the Force to his will. His thoughts were wild, untamed, too densely clouded by violence for Macen to read properly.

Xanthran spun the vibrosword in his hand. He extended his arm and pointed the blade at Macen.

"Now we see, finally, whose conviction is stronger," the painted man said with a toothy smile. The edges of his canines were sharp and feral.

"This isn't about conviction, Xanthran. You're worth as much to her as those poor souls she drains the life from," Macen said as he set back in the Form V stance. Xanthran's brows furrowed and his smile faded. "Once she has what she wants, you'll just be dead weight."

Xanthran lashed out in anger, spurred by the Jedi's words. The descending overhead blow was parried by Macen's lightsaber, but the power it carried was enough to nearly stagger the Jedi. Macen regained his footing and thrust his offhand out, blasting Xanthran with telekinetic force. The quick shot caused the Iridonian to slide back across the dusty floor, as arced lightning from Tsubasa and the Mistress' battle behind them cast a blue glow over the other duo. Macen pursued Xanthran as he was briefly knocked off balance, striking quickly and surely.

But the Iridonian was good -- better, perhaps, than Macen was expecting. The cortosis-weaved vibrosword deflected the lightsaber's blade at an unfavorable angle, one that left Macen's midsection open for counterattack. Xanthran struck, kicking a mighty boot out that caught the vulnerable Macen square in his chest. Preternatural strength enhanced by the Force caused electric pain to ripple through Macen's core as he was sent tumbling across the ground. His saber bounced from his grasp and deactivated as it hit the ground.

Xanthran wasn't done, though. He pressed onward, a slow walk building into a jog as he seethed and dialed in exclusively on Macen, who was coughing and pushing himself up from the floor. He reached out wearily for his hilt, calling it to his hand with the Force just in time to look up and see Xanthran's blade ready to crash down upon his shoulder.

But it stopped. A great plume of red and orange came from above and bathed Xanthran, who released a roar of pain and anger as his swipe struck the concrete next to Macen, kicking up sparks. Ifrit had swooped over after recovering from the Mistress' attack, and Macen smiled as the little familiar continued on after the dousing to aid his master once more.

Xanthran, for his part, fared much better than the acolyte had before him. Using the Force to clear the majority of the napalm from his body, it nonetheless left streaks of bright red and sooty black burns across his already painted flesh. The pain seemed to be more of an aggravator for the Iridonian, who stood fully, his eyes burning brighter and more intensely than ever before. The veins of his arms threatened to pop from beneath his flesh from how tightly he gripped the hilt of his vibrosword.

Macen stood and activated his blade, the yellow saber springing to life. Locking eyes with his opponent once more, he readied himself for Round Two.