Seeking Supremacy

[Rugs]

A sandstorm blanketed the Valley of the Dark Lords. Karn squinted as he guided his sleek courier unsteadily toward the Sith Temple’s main landing bay. His piloting skills were... adequate to get to where he needed to in clear conditions. With dust blotting out anything more than a dozen meters in front of him, well--he was thankful for the vessel’s navigation systems.

He was returning to Korriban after a bit more than a week away, tending to a minor assignment at the far edge of Imperial space. As ever, he felt no particular joy at returning to Korriban. Despite his Master’s insistence to the contrary, Karn saw the Sith homeworld as a waste--a dry, forgotten rock at the edge of the Galaxy. Dromund Kaas — that was the heart of the Empire, of the Order, as he saw it.

Yet Korriban was his home, until he was Knighted and could choose his own space, or until Viren gave him clearance to move to Kaas City otherwise. Karn didn’t see the later happening anytime soon, though he wondered, frequently, about the former.

His courier settled easily into the landing bay, and after getting everything shut off, Karn rose from the pilot’s seat and made his way out of the ship. He emerged with a black sack slung over his shoulder. He’d coordinated with Imperial intelligence to recover some stolen artifacts a few scavengers thought they could unload to a wealthy buyer in Hutt Space for a nice payday.

Said scavengers’ corpses were floating, frozen, through deep space now. The idiots. Karn grunted at the thought. His long-hilted lightsaber hung, as always, from his waist, but a new hilt glinted beside it in the hangar’s sterile lighting as Karn walked away from his ship.

It was a hilt of ancient design, recovered from Agamar, restored to working order and imbued with a new silver crystal. It’d worked magnificently on the last job, simple though it had been. A good backup blade to have on hand, if ever needed.

The hangar was relatively empty, save a few technicians and maintenance droids tending to ships. Karn expected as much, with the sandstorm still raging outside. On Korriban, they could last for hours, and this one showed no sign of letting up anytime soon.

He approached a lift, getting lost in his own thoughts, when a presence, faint and echoing caught his attention. The thrum of a ship’s engine followed, and Karn looked over his shoulder to see a new vessel sliding into the hangar.

“There is no escape from what you are, bosom brother.” Karn scowled reflexively as the presence brought the words, the box left in his room just before his departure, rising to the forefront of his mind.e mashed a button to summon the lift.

“You are watched.” With some effort, he forced his expressions to stillness, but his white eyes still narrowed as he watched the ship land.

As he waited for the Sith he knew, as surely as he breathed, was aboard.

[Blue]

Moor watched Korriban slowly spin as he approached the planet. Originally, he was due to meet Lord Aurelius on Dromund Kaas, but a sandstorm hand grounded all flights out, and so he was instructed to meet with him at his chambers there. The ship that his master had provided was a decent vessel; nothing lavish, simply functional. It suited the assassin well. After all, he would not want a ship that drew the attention. That would defeat the purpose of his existence, of his mission. The droid that flew the ship announced that they would soon be entering Korriban's atmosphere and that he should take his seat. It was a good thing that Lord Aurelius had thought to add the mechanical pilot, as Moor's knowledge of starships ended in how to sneak on and off of them. The vessel was small, but on the trip out he had still hunkered down in the storage section; some habits were hard to break from. On the way back, however, there was another reason to stay in the small storage hold. The lithe Sith's mind wandered back to his cargo, and he checked the vitals on the datapad linked to the box. All within acceptable parameters. It was still alive... though he doubted that it would remain that way for much longer after the Dark Lord got his hands on it. As the ship landed in the hanger, the masked face of the assassin raised up, like a hound catching a scent. A familiar presence was lingering inside the hanger that his vessel was docking within, and not a welcome one... though there were no welcome people in his life. They're all obstacles, in the way- tear them down tear them down tear them down tear- They only want to hurt me, press their foot down on my neck- Moor's head twitched. This one, though. With this one, the fear was overwhelmed with contempt and hate. Moor did not know why. Perhaps because he is the first person I've had prolonged contact with that was not far more powerful than I am. Whatever the case, the assassin found his teeth baring in an angry sneer as he loped down the ship's ramp, followed close behind by a hovering box that was too small to fit an adult human male inside... at least, not in one piece. As he approached, it became clear that Moor's stealth suit had been damaged, with field repairs ensuring that his the suit's integrity remained intact. All in all, it looked as if the assassin had been in an intense fight, and though he had healed himself over the course of the journey to Korriban he still rolled his stiff shoulder as he stepped silently towards the hanger's sole life. Moor came to a stop next to the pale man. His masked face did not turn to look at the other Sith as the sound of the elevator humming filled the silence. "Acolyte Albrecht," the assassin greeted in his scratchy, whispery voice. Though it was difficult to tell with the mechanical buzz from his voice modulator, there could have been a hint of derision in the lithe Sith's tone. When they had first met, Moor had thought that, as a disciple of one of the lords of the Inner Sanctum, Karn Albrecht was at least a knight. This was not so, and he judged that it was more than likely a sore spot for the proud Arkanian. And Moor would not be very good at his job if he declined an opportunity to twist the knife.

[Rugs]

The assassin emerged. Karn gave a sidelong glance to the lift control panel. The life was close, but not enough to let him avoid his favorite Sith’s company. Joy. Karn’s jaw muscles tensed as he worked his face to practiced neutrality. Of course, even if the lift did come, he couldn’t leave now — no, that’d be too much like turning tail.

The assassin approached, with some sort of box in tow. Karn wondered idly at its contents, and at whatever Moor had been up to away from the Temple. His stealth suit looked as if he’d been tied to the back of a speeder and pulled through a rock pit. But that, Karn decided, would be far too gentle a treatment for Moor.

For his part, Karn shifted his weight from one leg to the other, apparently at ease as he made eye contact with the smaller Sith. And then they were there, side by side, as the lift crawled, ever onward, toward them.

“Acolyte Albrecht.”

Karn managed a barely-audible snort. I know what you’re up to. By all rights, Moor was Karn’s superior--in rank at least. He could even knight Karn, if the fancy so struck him, though with their track record the Arkanian very much doubted that would be a concern—to say nothing of his apprenticeship to Darth Viren.

Yes, with any other Sith that had rank on him, Karn would respond with the proper titles, even if he didn’t personally like them. But Moor? His distaste for Moor was different.

“Kol Klairn,” he said casually, as if speaking to a peer. Let that catch the little freak off-guard. Karn had done some digging, beginning as soon as they’d returned from their trip to Syko’s manor. True insight into Moor’s background was frustratingly hard to come by, and his efforts had been doubly frustrated with the assassin’s sudden move to the Cult of Ascension. “You look like shit.”

Ding!

At last, the lift arrived. Karn shifted the sack on his shoulder and stepped on, unsurprised but disappointed still to see Moor follow behind him. When they were in, Karn hit the button for one of the Temple’s main floors and let the assassin choose his own destination, should they differ.

For a moment, Karn considered quipping about Moor’s ‘gift’ — the returned wine bottle left waiting in his room shortly before his departure for his latest mission. He decided that might give the assassin too much satisfaction, and so kept it to himself.

As they rode on in silence, Karn noticed, not for the first time, that the assassin’s box seemed to move occasionally. After a bump that touched the edge of his boot, Karn huffed and glanced to at Moor.

“Y’know, if you’ve gone pet shopping, you really oughtta poke some holes in the box. Don’t want your new friend dying.” He smirked subtly, and the expression faded as he added, under his breath, “Though that’d be better for it than living with you.”

[Blue]

CW: Mutilation Moor fought down the twitch that threatened to overtake him when he heard the old name. It was a clear sign of disrespect, an attempt to shake him. A year ago, the assassin would have felt a wave of fear upon hearing it, and he might still do so if the one invoking it held any real power, but now, with this insect... if that was the only thing Albrecht could dig up on him, it spoke volumes of his ability. "So it seems you are capable of reading," Moor stated in his whispery voice. A mocking tone could be heard bubbling just below the surface. "It would appear I must adjust my opinion of your intelligence." The elevator arrived soon after it was called, but not swiftly enough for Moor's liking. He sincerely hoped that the trip to the main hall would be faster; a trip that it seemed the two of them were fated to take together, as Albrecht hit the button to the hall before the assassin had a chance to. He quelled the motion to touch the button before it was born so that the pale fool would not get some bizarre pleasure out of touching the button first. For the first few moments, silence descended on them as the whirr of the elevator's motors combined with the strange, faint music that was piped into the lift for some reason. This ended faster than Moor anticipated, as the box jumped and nudged Albrecht's leg, leading to a caustic remark. The masked visage turned to look at Albrecht, then panned down onto the box. Under the helmet, a ruined mouth peeled back into a vicious grin, and a hand reached down. The box beeped as Moor pressed a few buttons, then opened with a hiss. Within, a man was laid down, his chest bound and his limbs missing. Around his neck was a metal collar and his mouth was gagged. Tubes and wires dug into his flesh, feeding biometric data into the machines. Wide eyes, almost mad with anger and fear, swivelled around in their sockets as he grunted a non-verbal threat... or a plea. Moor's hand pushed a few more buttons, checking vitals and machinery, before he shut the box once more. "The sedative is wearing off, but the ventilation system is functioning normally," Moor confirmed, his featureless visor turning to face the elevator doors once more. "But thank you for reminding me to check. It would have been a shame if Lord Kainen had suffocated before Darth Aurelius had a chance to question him, especially after all the trouble it took for me to... persuade him to come in." There was a ding as the lift finally stopped moving and the doors smoothly slide open. Moor spared Albrecht one last look before offering some parting words as he stepped out of the elevator, unable to keep the sneer from his voice. "Nice sack."

[Rugs]

Moor’s masked face turned to Karn. The Arkanian sneered, and not for the first time, wondered what lurked below that opaque visor. One day I’ll find out, if I have to pry it off myself. Oh, that would be satisfying.

Such thoughts were for later though, as Moor reached down to the box and pressed a few buttons on its surface. A hiss followed, and Karn found himself staring at the corpse of a horribly mutilated man.

No, not a corpse,, he thought, narrowing his eyes as he looked closer at the box’s contents. It was a man, and he was very much alive. If not for the fact that he’d already steeled himself to keep reactions in check around Moor, Karn might have recoiled in shock. As it was, there was a downturn of his lips, one that deepened when the assassin mentioned Darth Aurelius, and a narrowing of his milky eyes as he looked once more to Moor.

A ding announced their arrival on the main floor. Karn shifted his weight again, mind working through the implications of Moor’s words. The note, announcing his transfer to the Cult of Ascension. Returning a Sith--presumably one with traitorous intent--for Darth Aurelius’ inspection. Best a Sith Lord? Alone?

For a brief moment, Karn intensely considered infecting the man through the Force, as he had with Syko. To ruin Moor’s hard work at the finish line--oh, how sweet it’d be, for the assassin to have his hard work pulled out from underneath him. But no, if this was really, an assignment from Aurelius, Karn would be setting himself on fire to spite Moor. Not a good strategy.

Moor’s quip garnered a barked laugh, and Karn rounded on him. “You’re not the first to tell me that,” he said bitingly, as he shot Moor a look of feigned pity. “Though I doubt you’ve had the compliment uttered your way, strange thing that you are.”

He emerged from the lift, relics still slung over his shoulder, and began heading on his way, only to note that it seemed he and Moor were not yet done with each other’s company. Their paths continued onward, and as Karn mulled Moor’s words further, he found himself increasingly aggravated.

Darth Aurelius was Janse’s master. In a different world, he might have been Karn’s--the Dark Lord had watched the two acolytes duel, in a fight Karn picked. In a fight where he’d been humiliated. Janse and Karn were not friends, but a sort of camaraderie existed between them. An understanding of each other. Perhaps because losing that spar set off a chain of events that led to the Araknanian losing his temper at Viren and the Prophet Nostos, which ultimately ended with him under Viren’s wing. His apprenticeship under one Dark Lord made Janse’s acceptance--and his own tacit rejection--at the hands of another sting less, if at all.

But Moor? Did Aurelius choose him too? Even with Moor in a different Cult, Karn could still cause him headaches, if he acted carefully. But if Aurelius had chosen Moor, that changed things considerably. It made them equals, of a sort.

“Now Klairn, you say you’re to take your... pet,” Karn motioned idly at the box behind Moor, “to Darth Aurelius. But what could one of the Sanctum possibly want with you? Hm?” He looked to Moor as they walked on, and did not care if some aggravation crept into his voice. “You are no one, nothing. Just a sad little creature clinging to the Order.” He snorted. “Like a tumor that needs to be removed.”

[Blue]

Moor could not help but feel baffled by Albrecht's retort. At first, he thought it strange that the pale fool would take pride in someone complimenting him for doing the work of a labourer, but judging from the tone that he used it was some strange, juvenile jab. As such, the assassin maintained his silence, since such a thing required no response. A scowl appeared on the lithe Sith's twisted features as the Araknanian continued to walk in the same direction. Paranoia began to flare in his mind: Is he following me? Is he going to try and hinder my mission? There aren't many people around right now, perhaps he is considering killing me. Should I kill him now? As his mind inched towards murder, Albrecht began to talk once again, seemingly incapable of maintain an uncomfortable, but preferable, silence. Despite the words that were spat out the pale fool's mouth, Moor felt another grin pull at his mouth. The tone and choice of words... it proved that he knew nothing of what Moor had done since he joined the Order. He could not find out about, or was not granted the permission to view, the numerous missions and tasks he had performed during the Pan-Galactic war and beyond. And his whining opened up a world of self-inflicted pain. Moor came to a stop at a branching corridor, the mask tilting as if in perplexity. "Since I joined the Order, I have killed countless people," Moor stated. There was no anger in his voice. Simply pure disdain. "During the war, I was sent behind enemy lines to assassinate key Republic personnel. Politicians, commanders, Jedi, I faced and murder them all, alone. I never once failed to carry out my assigned mission. Darth Aurelius was my handler and, as such, he knows my worth. To the point that he was willing to pull me from Strife to attain my skills for himself." Even with the featureless helm blocking his face, there was no mistaking the smile in Moor's voice. "As I am sure he knows yours. And considering how he tossed you aside like trash and took on the one that beat you to a pulp, well... that says it all, does it not?"

[Rugs]

Moor stopped, turning his masked face to Karn. Karn halted in lockstep, glaring at the smaller Sith. His face twisted into a sneer as Moor began to answer. As if being a killer was supposed to impress him. “Who among us isn’t a murdere-” he started, but Moor kept on, relentlessly. Karn frowned, as if to growl, but he found his anger fading, replaced by creeping doubt.

Colubus, his former master had deemed him too young, too inexperienced to participate on the war’s frontlines while it still raged. He had precious little experience dealing with Jedi at all, and the missions they’d undertaken away from the front had been manageable, for him to find his footing and learn. And when he’d had his first taste of battle, at Nar Shaddaa...

If Aurelius had an eye on Moor for so long, even while Karn was still learning what it was to be Sith, could it be that he’d been wrong? Was he the one striving to rise to Moor’s level?

No. Karn pushed that memory away. Since coming under Viren, he’d managed achievements that generations of Sith before him and tried and failed at. If some of his self-assurance had faded in the face of Moor’s litany of accomplishments, it cams surging back, stronger than before.

Until the last words left the assassin’s lips.

"As I am sure he knows yours. And considering how he tossed you aside like trash and took on the one that beat you to a pulp, well... that says it all, does it not?"

Sparks crackled around Karn’s free hand as he glared at Moor, eyes narrowed dangerously. His other hand, still holding the sack full of recovered relics, tightened.

The memories flashed through his mind, all together at once. The smell of ozone as lightsabers collided, the sting of Janse’s saber on his skin as he hit Karn over and over again.

"But... if it is a test of skill you desire,” the lordling had said as their battle began, “well, sometimes a mutt can at least provide sport.”

Visarion, a Knight of Mysteries, had once called Karn’s temper “volcanic.” The Force surged around him, within him, threatening to erupt. “And what the fuck do you know about what happened there?”

“Look, Albrecht,” a voice. Darth Aurelius, intervening with Karn on the verge of a trick attack after Janse had already beaten him. “Far be it from me to stop you if you want more of a beating, but I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Karn acted at once, without thinking. In an instant, the ancient saber was in his hand, silver blade searing through the air between Moor and himself, but not at the assassin. He struck at the box, at Moor’s hard-won prize.

His blade came close, but not enough. Moor’s crimson saber ignited and blocked Karn’s way and for an instant, the two stood there, deadlocked. Karn thought that if he’d put the whole of his strength into the strike, he might be able to overpower Moor, but with the one-handed stroke and his other hand still tight around his bag, there was no point in forcing the issue. He snorted and withdrew as Moor’s laugh grated on his ears again, though his blade remained ignited.

“If you are so sure of your worth, Klairn, then let’s put it to the test, then,” he growled. “Go, turn in your pet to your handler. Then we’ll finish what you were unable to on Agamar.” Karn turned to leave, quieting the lightsaber and returning it to its place at his waist. “Meet me in the sparring chambers one the training level in two hours.” He looked over his shoulder to look hatefully to Moor. “And we’ll see which one of us should be tossed aside.”

[Moor's action taken with Blue 's permission]

[Blue]

Moor was not wholly certain what result would spring from his provocation, only that something would happen; the fool could not let such an open attack on his pride go without response. The assassin watched Albrecht's face as it flickered through several emotions as he spoke, before it was schooled back into neutrality. It will be now. As anticipated, a reaction came. But it was greater than anything that he could have hoped for: a strike against the prize of Darth Aurelius. Moor's own lightsaber ignited and caught the descending blade, and his laugh echoed in the hall as Albrecht retreated from his failed attempt at childish revenge. The challenge was not much of a surprise either, though it did send a thrill of fear through his heart. He embraced it, his senses sharpening and ballooning out, his muscles twitching in anticipation of conflict. "If you want me to show you my worth, I could kill you in your sleep, instead. That's what assassins are for, you idiot," Moor uttered, laughing in his strange, coughing manner once more. "But I will play along with your petty, wounded pride. Win or loose, I will enjoy the opportunity to hurt you." This was the truth, so pure it almost caused Moor pain. Albrecht was everything that he despised; earning nothing, falling into fortune, sitting on gold painted glory. Victory in this fight meant nothing to the assassin, so long as he was able to inflict some torture onto this pampered fool. And if he was able to beat him on top of that, that would simply be a delicious afterthought. He watched Albrecht walk away, continuing with his own journey only after the pale man had left his sight. Moor arrived at the office of Darth Aurelius, dropping to one knee before the Dark Lord. "I have brought Lord Kainen, my lord," the assassin stated. "If you wish for my full report, I may give it now. Only... an interesting thing just occurred that may draw me away..." Inside the sparring chambers, a small crowd of acolytes and other Sith were gathered, attending to their own affairs. The sound of grunts and pained cries pervaded the air as Moor passed by, unseen and unfelt. He soon reached the appointed chamber where Albrecht had indicated they would fight. Lurking in the shadows, the assassin waited to see when the pale fool would show himself.

[Rugs]

The challenge was sent, and Karn knew as soon as the words left his mouth that Moor would rise to meet it. There was too much animosity between them — the Force itself weighed heavy with unignited conflict even as they began to part.

But if Karn had planned to extend his invitation and continue on his way, Moor’s words — the first, at least — stayed his feet. “Is that what they’re for?” He asked, feigning realization as he turned again to regard Moor over his shoulder. He made note of taking an exaggerated glance of the assassin and his battle-worn suit. A smirk, at once pitying and cocky, pulled at his lips. “Could have fooled me. You must not be a very good one, then.”

Moor’s threat, Karn ignored as he walked away. Whatever the assassin claimed about winning, Karn refused to let Moor best him. Not today. Not after everything between them, starting with that attack in the Vikar estate.

You’re not the only one out to cause pain, Klairn, he thought, darkly as he ambled down the hall and around a corner. I’ll put you down. Whatever it takes.

---

A short while later found Karn in his room, staring at his reflection in the small mirror over his desk across from his small, hard bed. He’d dropped off the relics, and after returning to his quarters, taken a shower in his small private refresher and changed clothes.

About half an hour remained until his confrontation with Moor. With the initial rush of adrenaline and anger at the assassin’s prodding worn off, Karn found himself facing douts. He’d seen what Moor was capable of when they faced Syko. Worse, he’d experienced it first hand, in that stupid bedroom in the Vikar estate.

He’d have to be careful. However much he hated Moor, it’d be foolish to think he wasn’t a threat. The revelation of Aurelius’ eye on the assassin, long before Viren took notice of Karn, still echoed like thunder in his mind. If this backfires and he beats me...

Karn shook his head. No, he thought, hardening his resolve, I won’t let him.

He stood, pulling one of his jackets from a hook on the wall to his open hand. It was time to go. He’d return to his room with a victory. One way or another.

Whatever it takes.

---

The Sith Temple’s internal training areas were always busy, but that held doubly true today, with the sandstorm still raging outside. Karn kept to himself as he passed through crowds of younger acolytes, milling in between lessons, or gathered around to watch other spars in group settings.

The chamber he’d set aside for Moor and himself was at least a bit out of the way, and the far end of a wing near facilities more frequently employed by the Order’s Knights. He was, technically, facing off against a Knight, Karn thought bitterly as the doors hissed open to admit him into their private dueling ground.

As soon as he set foot through the threshold he spotted Moor, skulking in a shadowed corner as he loved to do. “Klairn,” he said, his tone mock-friendly, but with a subtle focus beneath the surface that’d rarely showed in their previous interactions, “glad to see you made it.”

Karn wasted little time stepping to the room’s center, or removing his long-hilted saber from his waist. “Shall we begin?”

His crimson blade ignited, removing the option of choice. Karn twisted the blade in his hand and its tip left a glowing trail in the floor. Lightsabers lowered to the training setting required by most spars in the Temple did not normally leave such marks.

Karn took an opening stance for Djem So as the Force surged into him, rather than his preferred form Juyo. He was aggressive by nature, as Moor no doubt knew, but here, he’d start by watching, calculating.

[Blue]

Albrecht entered the sparring arena and, the moment that he opened his mouth, Moor was already fed up with listening. Perhaps I should shatter his jaw, so that others should not suffer as I have today... but that would only be temporary. Maybe I should just cut his tongue out? I'll leave it for him in his room... I do so enjoy thinking of presents for Albrecht. As his opponent ignited his lightsaber it became clear that this was more than a simple spar, but Moor had known that from the moment the challenge was given. This was a battle to establish who ruled who, which of them was superior. It was a battle Moor could not lose. It was a battle that Albrecht could not win. The assassin ignited his own lightsaber... then tilted his head to the side as Albrecht took a different stance than what the assassin had expected. That croaking laugh came from Moor once again as he swung his blade around in constant motion, loosening up his muscles. "What are you doing?" he inquired as he strode forwards. "You brandish your lightsaber at full power for a spar, then take such a cautious stance and wait? Are you truly a Sith? Or are you nothing more than a confused Jedi?" Moor's weapon flashed upwards to strike from Albrecht's hip to his shoulder... then the hilt suddenly twirled in his palm and changed direction, instead sweeping downwards from the opposite direction as the lithe Sith's body flowed smoothly to the side.

[Rugs]

Lord Pervigil wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. The double doors into Darth Aurelius’ office slid open with a muted hiss and the lone Archon standing guard motioned him in. The summons had come out of nowhere, unexpected and with a hint of urgency that only a fool could miss. Pervigil was an Archon himself, though it was rare that Aurelius, the leader of the Cult of Ascension, called upon him directly.

“My Lord,” he said, kneeling before the Dark Lord as the doors shut behind him. Aurelius waited at the far side of the room, behind an exquisite metal desk. Pervigil dared steal a look at the Dark Lord’s boyish face. Was that amusement flickering in his eyes?

“Pervigil,” Aurelius said, “rise.” Pervigil did so as Aurelius continued to speak. “It’s good to see you made it here quickly. Our paths don’t cross that often, but your reputation precedes you. As you know, Ascension bears many functions, from seeking out those who turn against the Body,” Aurelius lifted one hand, then another, “to raising the next generations Sith to carry out Her Radiance’s will. I got my start here in the Order doing the latter, so I keep a close eye on those entrusted with bringing up the Sith who will carry this Order forward in the future.”

“I... have heard that this is the case, My Lord,” Pergvigil said slowly, cautiously. Why did Aurelius call him here? To chat about the basic functions of the Cult they’d both been a part of since its creation? “If I may ask, My L-”

“You want to know why the hell I called you here, away from whatever the fuck it was you were doing, don’t you?” There was that look again, a flicker of amusement across the Firrerreo’s young face. “Two young Sith, at this very moment, are preparing to have it out in the sparring chambers in the lower Temple. You are familiar with Karn Albrecht?”

Pervigil’s brow knit with thought, then he nodded, slowly. “Yes, Darth Viren’s apprentice. I don’t know him persopnally, but I have seen him here and there around the Temple.”

“Good,” he said. “And Moor, one of our Knights? Previously known as Kol Klairn.”

Pervigil’s dark-eyed gaze went distant. Moor, he didn’t recognize, but Kol Klairn... “Yes, My Lord. It’s been quite some time, but I remember Kol. A strange little boy. I didn’t know he’d risen.”

Aurelius smiled slightly, exposing the tip of one of his fangs. “Yes, Moor is my apprentice.” If he cared for the shock that crossed Pervigil’s face, he said nothing of it. “Moor and ‘Albrecht get along about as well as two young Nexu fighting over territory. They have, within them, the potential to be two of the Order’s rising stars, but not if they kill each other.

“Go to them,” Aurelius continued. “Watch them. Let them have their scrap to their satisfaction, but do not allow them whatever stupid deaths they might wish for. Iron sharpens iron, but it’d be a waste for either to perish, before their potential is realized. Besides,” Aurelius grinned broadly, and Pervigil realized his amusement had nothing to do with the present meeting, “a little rivalry may be good for them, in the long run.”

“Albrecht is headstrong, and Moor can be deceptively stubborn when his claws come out, so do whatever you have to to keep them in line,” Aurelius said. “But you’ve got plenty of experience dealing with jackass students, so I know you’re up to the task.”

Pervigil wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment. He nodded, regardless. “Yes, My Lord. I will see it done.”

“Good,” Aurelius said, motioning dismissively. “Enjoy the show.”

---

Moor’s lightsaber exploded to life. No turning back. As if that was ever a choice, anyway; they were locked into conflict as soon as the challenge left Karn’s mouth.

“I will enjoy the opportunity to hurt you.”

Moor’s words, taunting, echoed in Karn’s mind. Like I’ll give you the chance. he thought, grip tightening on his blade. It took every bit of self-control he possessed not to lunge forward as Moor swung his blade around before advancing, but he waited. Agonizingly. Patiently.

He scoffed at Moor’s prodding, but didn’t have time to answer immediately. The first attack came, and Karn was so on edge from wanting things to just start that he nearly bit into the feint. It was subtle — a slight shifting of his lightsaber to meet the blow coming from below, only to adjust and counter as Moor’s true strike came racing down from above.

Despite the near-disastrous opening, Karn blocked the blow with a clean, overpowering Djem So defense that knocked Moor’s blade harmlessly. “Who the fuck are you to question me on what it is to be Sith?” He retorted, venom plain in his voice. “If I ever need a lesson, I’ll let you know.”

Karn took hold of the Force. It surged into his body, strengthening him. He was naturally light on his feet, and trusted his own agility to keep pace with Moor. From their difference in physical size, he suspected he was naturally stronger than the small Sith, and with the Force to strengthen him, it was a mismatch he might be able to take advantage of.

He advanced in counter-attack, lightsaber crashing down in a vicious overhead strike, then swinging in from the side at hip-level. Yet even these were cautious, measuring motions — not the wild, aggressive technique he’d employed against Syko — as he continued to watch, and wait for his true opportunity.

[Blue]

Hit allowed with Rugs' permission This first strike almost proved to be a decisive blow; Albrecht appeared far more intent on watching and waiting than he was on taking action, and it almost cost him the match. Moor grinned as he noticed the flinching movement as the pale man corrected his defence at the last moment, blocking the overhand strike. Regardless of what Moor thought of the man personally, there was no denying that, in brute strength, he outmatched the assassin by a good margin. The block was solid and the lithe Sith rode the power as it shoved back his attack. "Is that not what you are doing right now?" Moor sneered back. The Force screamed, digging nails into his nerves as it was pulled into the assassin, as Albrecht had pulled it into himself. But where the Arkanian used it to bolster his strength, Moor became faster. His outline blurred as he slid aside, allowing the overhead strike to slip past him without giving Albrecht the satisfaction of feeling the blow blocked. "Begging for a lesson? Praying for a reason to feel superior, when you know already in your soul that you are not?" Moor's whispery voice continued. The swing came next, the energy of Albrecht's previous strike predictably flowing into the next. The assassin's feet left the floor with barely any warning, the slim body extending up and flipping above the pale man's head. A foot descended, connecting with Albrecht's skull with the full force of Moor's momentum lending the hit power, and the assassin landed behind his foe in a low crouch. He spun like top, chaining the flow of his attacks by lashing out with his lightsaber towards the Arkanian's ankles as his grin widened. "Aren't you just dying to win, for once in your life?" he hissed from his lowered position. This isn't enough, not yet- I need more. Burn for me. You know you want to rage against me- BURN! BURN! BURN!

[Rugs]

Karn’s swing met empty air and his saber dug an angry, glowing gouge into the floor as Moor skirted around, taunting all the while. He was opting for speed, as he had with Syko. As expected. Let him think he held an edge. Then match it, with his own capabilities, and force Moor to slow with the Force. Karn pivoted into the follow-through strike with a growl, but Moor was moving again, flipping into the air.

He barely had time to register that the Knight was employing Ataru when a kick flammed into the side of his head, sending him staggering and setting a ringing off inside his head. Karn groaned loudly before he could stop himself, revealing instinctively that Moor had already earned a part of his prize — the kick hurt, badly.,

Still, he forced himself to steady, with the Force rushing like fire in his veins as Moor landed and swept out at his ankles. Karn plunged his saber down, tip searing into the ground, to stop Moor’s stroke before it could reach him.

"Aren't you just dying to win, for once in your life?"

From there he twisted it around, forcing prolonged contact with Moor’s blade to move both weapons aside. As the assassin rose, Karn lurched forward, turning to lead with his shoulder and slamming it into Moor to use his size and augmented strength to push the assassin back and force a temporary disengagement.

---

Karn yelled as the heavy boot crashed into him, brutally tearing the breath out of his lungs. Another blow followed, this one a fist to the side of his face and he crumpled. His vision blurred as he tried to rise, but another kick came flying in from out of sight to slam into his hands and send his saber flying form his grip.

Karn groaned, clutching at his fingers and wondering if they were broken, as he curled up on the rock ground. His body ached, his head throbbed. It was getting hard to keep hold of the Force. Even so, he rolled over again, started trying to pick himself up...

“What’s wrong Albrecht?” Thraken’s hand gripped the hair on the back of Karn’s head. The Sephi, a longtime enemy, had ambushed Karn as he was making his way back from a trip into the Valley of the Dark Lords. Their last fight ended with Karn triumphing for the first time, after finally reaching deep enough to his fury to unleash a torrent of lightning at Thraken.

Thraken had not, it seemed, taken the loss well.

Karn cried out again as Thraken drove his face down into the rocky ground once, then twice, then began to drag him by the hair toward his lightsaber. “You dropped your lightsaber, buddy,” Thraken said. “You can’t do that in a fight — not if you want to win. But see, that’s what I’m here for. Think of it as a lesson from your dear friend. Free of charge.”

---

Karn touched a tip of his finger to the side of his head, near his hairline. It came away damp, with a drop sanguine red clinging to it. He didn’t need to look a mirror to know more red stained some of his pale hair or to see the thin trickle rolling slowly down his cheek.

Moor’s words dug into him, bringing up memories from the harshest of his early years in the Order, when he’d struggled just to prove he belonged. Fury swelled within him; the Force currents within and around him grew frantic, yearning, just as he did, to lash out.

“There’s not a thing you can teach me that I don’t already know, Klairn,” he said voice tight with the effort of holding back his fury. “But you seem to have a few misconceptions that need correcting.”

He threw himself forward, forgetting a bit of his measured approach as his desire to shut Moor’s mouth took hold. Still, his strikes, a diagonal slash from below, followed by whirling slice aimed at Moor’s arm, were very much Djem So.

It wasn’t time to switch. Not yet.


[Note: Any assumed hits/actions from this point on (including the above post) are with permission]

[Blue]

Yes! There it is. Release your anger and hate! Reach deeper into the Dark Side. Understand you cannot win with caution and surrender to your rage. Moor felt delight as his words finally broke Albrecht's feeble attempts at remaining cautious and calm, so much so that the pain of the Force enhanced tackle caused him to laugh. He rode the attack, his body arching back as he placed a hand on the ground, and somersaulted to prevent falling flat onto the floor. His lightsaber flashed upwards, a warding blow to ensure that his opponent would not seek to press his advantage, but it was not needed. Albrecht had once again retreated. This was fine, however; the fury Moor had felt poured into him, feeding him. The Dark Side energies writhed and crackled under his skin, filling him with power... but he did not unleash it yet. "I think not, Albrecht," Moor responded as his foe launched himself forwards. "Let me tell you what I've learned about you." The upwards slash came, and Moor leaned to the side and let the powerful strike ride up the blade of his own lightsaber, causing sparks to fly. "You spent your youth in comfort and ease, being constantly told that you were an outstanding specimen, better than others," Moor began. That was not a hard thing to guess; Albrecht's general demeanour of arrogance made it clear that his sense of superiority was drummed into him early and often. "You came to the Order late, in your early teens... and it was here that you were forced to accept your true nature. You were weak. Utterly mediocre." The lithe Sith spun aside as the second strike came for his arm, passing by him by mere inches, and the assassin's croaking, robotic voice maintained a conversational tone, as if he was barely putting in any effort to fight against the Arkanian. This information on Albrecht's early struggles was hardly difficult to find; not even an hour of scanning through the Academy database was all it took to dig it up. "How long was it? How many times did you get beaten bloody before seizing a victory? I'm sure that your sense of superiority started seeping back in after that," Moor continued, his verbal assault unrelenting. He evaded a few more strikes, at one point even extinguishing his lightsaber as he crouched down and reigniting it in time to deflect another blow. Moor was sent flipping back high into the air with the power the pale man put behind it. "But after all of that, what have you really done as a Sith?" Moor's voice hissed as he flew higher, his light body even touching the roof of the arena; a testament to the Force enhanced strike of his foe. The assassin's toes touched the ceiling and his arm swung, sending his lightsaber flying down at Albrecht. Moor then pushed off from his perch, his other hand reaching forward and lightning shooting forward towards his opponent's leg; not powerful lightning, simply enough to deliver a painful jolt if it connected. The flying saber stopped just short of touching the pale man and flew back to its master as the bolt travelled onwards to strike the target. Moor flashed downwards, ready to assail Albrecht with a sharp lunge with all the momentum of his fall.

[Rugs]

Karn fought, on and on, and Moor kept him at bay. With every block, parry or evasion--with every failure to connect with the little runt of a Sith and shut him up, Karn grew increasingly frustrated. With every word that left Moor’s mouth and dug into Karn’s soul, the Arkanian grew increasingly pissed.

He was losing control. Not of the fight--he arguably never had that to begin with--but of himself, and not in the way that his training encouraged.

Weak.

Utterly mediocre.

How long had he struggled against the other acolytes to stand out from the crowd? How long had he endured beatings and mockery under Korriban’s harsh sun before Colubus finally noticed his potential and decided to call him her student?

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!” he yelled at Moor, as he swung hard at the assassin’s neck. His crimson blade, again, met empty air as Moor ducked and disengaged his lightsaber. Karn planted his feet, drawing strength from the ground and the Force and followed with a devastating strike that would have cleaved Moor in two from groin to crown if it’d hit.

But the assassin blocked it, and rode the power behind it up into a graceful flip. Karn snarled, drawing on the Force as Moor taunted him again. But before he could do anything, Moor’s saber came hurtling through the air.

"But after all of that, what have you really done as a Sith?"

“More than you could ever hope to,” he spat back venomously. He stepped forward, lightsaber raised to knock Moor’s thrown blade away. His blade moved, but found no resistance; Moor called the thrown saber back. Then a jolt split the air. Karn smelled ozone, felt a crackling pain erupt in his leg and staggered back as his face contorted with pain. He managed to muffle an agonized grunt and fend of Moor’s lunging assault, but only just.

Weak.

Now suddenly on the defensive, Karn backpedaled as he desperately tried to regain his balance, physically and mentally. Moor gave him no quarter, and Karn retreated as strikes rained down on him from all sides.

Utterly mediocre.

Karn leaned back enough to narrowly avoid a high strike at his chest, then just barely got his saber up to catch the follow-through strike that threatened his hip. He answered a thrust at his stomach with a twirling parry, which turned into a brief tug of war as his saber locked with Moor’s. He lifted them both high, found an opening, and struck.

He stepped forward, letting going of his saber with one hand as their blades broke apart and put all he had into a punch at Moor’s side. The blow connected, to his great satisfaction, and moved the assassin back just enough to finally afford Karn some breathing room.

“Now you’ll see-” he started to say, then nearly squealed in panic as Moor resumed his assault. Moor took to the air, his blade extending down at Karn’s shoulder. Karn lifted his saber to meet the blow...

...and found nothing but horror as he saw the feint die as Moor sailed overhead and landed behind him.

A line of fire erupted across his side as the tip of Moor’s blade grazed his skin. It was a light touch, but agonizing. Karn began to scream, until he suddenly found himself lifted from his feet on a wave of the force and thrown sideways into the wall as a spike of pain shot up his shoulder.

[Blue]

Moor ignored the flat retort that Albrecht fired back and focussed on his next strike. He was not well versed in manipulating others, his nature and bearing making others almost instinctively distrustful or disgusted by him. But engaging in trash-talk with the foolish apprentice of Darth Viren was hardly the most difficult task; he wore his feelings on his sleeve, as well as his insecurities. In other words, he was easy prey for provocation, which made him easy prey for Moor. As the assassin pummelled the pale man with attacks that forced Albrecht on the back foot, Moor seriously considered approaching Darth Aurelius for lessons on manipulating others. As a leader of the Sith Order, he would surely have something of value to impart, and the thought of dragging out the negative emotions of others, so he could use it against them was a tempting power. Despite the pressure pushing down on Albrecht, Moor was still unable to land another solid blow, so he switched tactics. As the acolyte blocked a strike, Moor allowed himself to be pulled into a deadlock. This was hardly something which the assassin had an advantage in, as Albrecht was far stronger physically than himself, and it should result in... BAM The quick punch came. A normal unarmed attack would have had most of its power robbed by the Nihility Stealth Armour; while it was hardly complete protection, it did offer the same defence as most light armours. But Albrecht applied his Force enhanced strength to the blow, and Moor felt his ribs compress as the punch struck him. It was exactly what he was hoping for. The distance created would allow Albrecht time to breath, to regain his balance. As the acolyte let down his guard for the briefest of moments and attempted to snap off a threat or pointless mockery, Moor leaped. His saber struck down, and the wide-eyed Albrecht raised his own weapon to hastily block, only for the assassin's lightsaber to once again deactivate before the strike could be deflected. The blade then shot out and stroked the side of the pale man, eliciting a delightful scream. Moor landed behind his now wounded opponent and extended a hand, calling on the Force and pushing it forwards. Albrecht, already unbalanced by trying to defend against the deceptive attack, went crashing into a wall, which cut his scream of pain short. If Moor was not so focussed on the fight, he might have snorted in amusement at the sound. A good thing too, as the sudden influx of Dark Side energies swarmed around the beaten Albrecht and lashed out towards the assassin with a lightning strike that filled the air with the scent of burning ozone. It was a powerful attack, with no thought to preserving stamina or defence; in other words, a desperate gamble of a man close to defeat. Moor had only enough time to make a snap judgement. I cannot dodge, it's too wide of an attack. It will arc. I must block, then redirect. He brought his lightsaber up and took the lightning head on. Pain flashed through him as the force of the attack caused his body to slide backwards a few feet before he came to a halt, then he flicked his wrists. The lightning flashed upwards, striking the ceiling and leaving a noticeable crack in the stone, and the assassin thanked the makers of his suit for the insulation that it provided. Small arcs of electricity surrounded Moor's form for a few seconds before being grounded, and he breathed out, whipping his lightsaber back up into attack position and leaning forwards to- "Huhh... Really?" The tired sigh echoed in the brief silence that proceeded Moor's next attack. The assassin's head snapped up towards the sound, then he instantly turned off his lightsaber and kneeled. "I'm not even ten minutes late, and you're already trying to kill each other?" the proctor snarled in annoyance. His gaze slid between the kneeling knight and the acolyte pulling himself out of a wall. "Moor, you may be willing to disrespect Darth Viren by killing his apprentice, but you are Darth Aurelius apprentice, now. What you do reflects upon him. You will do well to remember that." "Yes, Lord Pervigil," Moor replied, his head still bowed. "Good. Now, lower the power of your lightsaber this instant! And you!" Pervigil continued, his gaze fixing onto Albrecht. "Either dust yourself off and take back the dignity Moor just beat out of you, or drag your carcass up to medbay. I don't care which, just get to it. Swiftly now! I do not want to waste all day here watching children slap each other!" Moor stood, altering his weapon's power output as he did so, and crossed over to the far end of the sparring area, swinging the blade of light around himself to keep his limbs loose for the continued fight.

[Rugs]

For a flitting moment upon colliding with the wall, Karn’s vision dulled. Moor’s burst of the Force was ferocious — it slammed him into the wall with enough force for it to crack and break, giving way to his body rather than dumping him cold onto the floor. The Force, strengthening every part of him, was likely the only thing that saved Karn from multiple shattered bones in the impact — even if it did little dull the pain that overtook him in a single, merciless wave.

Even so, the Force’s protection was a fortunate coincidence, if he’d had the wherewithal to consider it.

As things stood, it took everything Karn had to keep consciousness from slipping away. A raging, animalistic fear for his life drove him to lift a clawed hand with sparks already dancing between his fingertips and dump a tremendous amount of energy into a blast of lightning that set the air ablaze between Moor and himself.

So focused was Karn on the attack that he saw, but barely recognized Moor sliding back as the lightning overtook him. He barely registered Moor’s labored redirection of the blast into the ceiling with a boom and a cloud of dust as the dark energies that would have ripped the life from his foe’s body cracked open the stone above him.

The only thing that truly registered after his attack was that Moor was still standing, that his lightsaber began to angle forward for a renewed assault.

No...

Dread turned Karn’s stomach into a ball of ice. He began struggling to free himself from the wall, in spite of the dull aches that plagued him from head to toe and the saber scorch burning like wildfire at his side.

Weak. If Moor descended upon him while he couldn’t defend himself, it was over. Humiliation at the assassin’s hand; a beating invited by his own challenge. 

Utterly mediocre.

Karn refused to allow that. His saber reignited. The broken rock near the blade glowed angry orange and red. 

"Huhh... Really?"

The voice, and the unfamiliar presence that arrived with it, snapped Karn back to his senses. Not unfamiliar, but a voice belonging to one of the Archons of Ascension. Lord Pervigil — a Sith instructor he’d not seen since before Colubus selected him as a student.

Karn threw a cautious look to Moor, only to see that the assassin was kneeling, saber deactivated. A break then. As Pergivil fussed at them and their obvious attempts to kill each other, Karn slowly — painfully — extricated himself from the wall and stood. He let the Force leave him, for a moment, and instantly regretted that decision as the weight of his injuries came bearing down upon him with renewed vigor.

He staggered with a muffled grunt, silently hoping Moor hadn’t noticed, and steadied himself with an arm against the wall. It took every bit of control he possessed not to clutch at the saber burn on his side.

Karn grunted more purposefully as Pergivil attended him directly. Turn tail and run to the medbay. As if. He glared at Moor and stepped forward, ignoring his pain.

No. Not ignoring. Drawing on it, as the Force’s flame returned to him, burning brighter than it had. “My Lord, I’d return the favor to dear Klairn,” he said, voice as cocksure as ever despite the obvious precarious position he’d just held, “but I’m afraid that one doesn’t have much dignity to spare.”

Karn began removing his coat, leaving on the black training shirt with three-fourth sleeves he wore beneath that fit well to his slender, athletic frame. It was a stall, but a minor one, to consider.

His gamble, to approach the fight and learn what he could of Moor’s methods, had failed. Spectacularly. His gaze shifted to Pervigil, wondering at the instructor’s arrival. Had he sensed their conflict stirring through the Force, or did he come for some other reason? Whatever drew the Sith Lord to them, it was a stroke of luck for Karn, loathe as he was to admit it.

When Janse beat him, he’d carried the fight only long enough to ensure Karn was bested. The little lordling was frustratingly merciful for a Sith. Thraken, on the other hand, had beaten Karn to the edge of death before and took clear pleasure in pounding him, even when the Arkanian could no longer fight back.

Karn couldn’t help but wonder, as he tossed his coat aside, which of the two Moor would fall closer to, had the fight progressed uninterrupted. If he didn’t kill me outright. Would he have? Or would Moor deem letting him live with the memory of a beating be the crueler option, in Moor’s judgment?

The thought sent a shiver down Karn’s spine, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “I will give you this, Klairn,” he said, reigniting his lightsaber and reducing its intensity to a training level, “I was mistaken to think I could hold back and beat you.” The words burned his tongue, but his tone was friendly — teasing, even. The Force surged into him and his many aches faded as he pumped it again into his body. This time, he did not augment his strength — there was no point when he already held an edge over Moor. No, if the assassin thought his agility an advantage, it was something Karn planned to break, in more ways than one.

He strode forward, flourishing his lightsaber deftly between his fingers as he entered a ready stance. This was Juyo, aggressive even as he stood, but with a low stance, rather than the high one he’d opened with against Syko. Karn possessed enough proficiency with Djem So to hold his own in some fights, but it was clear that he lacked the skill with it to best Moor. But Juyo — Colubus had known from the beginning the form suited him, and she’d been right. “And you,” his voice turned deadly serious as his gaze locked onto Moor, “are mistaken if you think I’m anywhere near beaten.”

Bits of debris knocked free in the course of their duel rose from the ground at Karn’s beckoning and hurtled at Moor. He cared little rather they reached the Sith or not. They were merely a distraction, as he sprang forward to launch a relentless assault.

[Blue]

As Albrecht stumbled his way back up to the sparring area, Moor remained silent as the pale man prattled on. What need had he to speak? His taunting and provoking had done what he had wished, throwing his opponent off-balance and invoking his anger. The assassin could still feel the stolen, dark essence boiling inside him, bolstered further by Albrecht's despair and fear and ready to be used. Much to his surprise, he had yet to encounter the need to utilize it; if Pervigil had not showed up, the match would be over already. A testimony, no doubt, to Albrecht's refusal to deploy his strengths and to preserve his energy. A foolish ploy that almost allowed me to destroy him- CURSE PERVIGIL, I WOULD HAVE WON IF HE HADN'T SHOWN- A new opening is revealed. Can I win now he has had to chance to breathe?- Moor's head twitched, and Albrecht's new assault began. The rocky pieces of debris thrown at him were not excessive, the biggest no larger than the average human head. They scattered randomly in his direction; a screen to distract. Moor's body slithered fluidly through the spaces in the thrown stone, then dodged a vicious strike to his head as Albrecht closed the gap between them. As the lithe Sith blocked and evaded the powerful attacks, Moor felt a thrill of both elation and fear. This was what he was aiming for; Juyo! It's power, especially to those dedicated to the Dark Side, was substantial, but it had its drawbacks, as with many of the forms. Like Ataru, it swiftly drained the user's stamina if the body was not suitably trained, and he recalled how out of breath Albrecht had been after its application during the fight with Syko. Coupled with the wounds the pale man had already accumulated, he was a candle burning brightly just before it was snuffed out. There was an issue, however: Albrecht's speed had increased to match Moor's own and, now that the acolyte was utilizing a form he was more familiar with, the advantage that the assassin had was nullified. He was able to match the man in technique and speed, but Albrecht's strength was a shade greater than his own, and it was getting harder to counter. Already, almost a half dozen grazing blows had caught Moor as he dodged and flipped, spun and evaded. The pain flared and fear flickered, fuelling him to go faster and avoid the attacks over making any of his own. The assassin's focus narrowed, living heartbeat to heartbeat, as he became a blur of motion... and waited for the right moment to strike back.

[Rugs]

Their lightsabers clashed together with a loud hiss! and shower of sparks. Again and again. This time Karn took the offensive and kept it, with violent rebukes to any attempt from Moor to regain the initiative he’d held only a few minutes ago. If Karn had only just been on the back foot, a hair’s width away from a humiliating defeat, it was impossible to tell now. He fought as a man possessed, and one exorcising the demons of the frustrations suffered at Moor’s hand.

His saber came crashing down from above to batter at Moor’s defense, followed by a graceful, arcing swing that broke at the last instant to a venomous stab that grazed Moor’s side as the assassin twisted out of the way.

Juyo was kinetic, unpredictable, aggressive. Relentless. And Karn, driven by his fury, bolstered by his skill with the form, was hellbent on pushing Moor past the breaking point. Moor took to the air again, avoiding a whipcrack slice aimed at his neck. His lightsaber came down like a bolt of lightning, but Karn was ready this time.

Moor’s blade crashed harmlessly off the long songsteel hilt of Karn’s lightsaber as the Arkanian whirled his own weapon around, his riposte already begun. His saber lashed out with a precise, sharp cut that bit at Moor’s shoulder as the assassin landed. It was almost more reminiscent of Makashi than Juyo proper — Karn had learned a thing or two after being on the receiving end of Janse’s lightsaber.

As the fight dragged on, as he landed more and more touches on the assassin, Karn found himself silently cursing Pervigil’s presence. If only he could turn his blade to full power. If only he could revisit upon Moor the same burning pain that tore at his side.

It was for the best. Karn saw himself as having an edge, but he wasn’t escaping unscathed. Moor’s blade knicked the outside of his off-arm’s bicep and sliced painfully along one of his thighs after Karn bit, zealously, at another fake-out.

“What’s wrong, Klairn? Having trouble keeping up?” Karn crowed as he battered furiously at the smaller Sith’s lightsaber. “What was it you called me?” A heavy blow knocked Moor’s lightsaber wide, and Karn’s fingers curled to a fist. The blow came fast and hard, landing square in the center of Moor’s mask. Karn heard a crunch on contact as Moor staggered back. His fingers ached dully from the blow but he did not care. “Weak?”

Karn advanced mercilessly. Another lightsaber strike to keep Moor’s blade out of the way, followed by a hard kick to the side of the assassin’s leg. “Mediocre?” The fury, the absolute hatred for the word heated Karn’s voice as the Moor dropped to a knee.

At the same time, the Force surged within him, and his presence spread out into the room. It grew sickly, casting a pall into the air as Karn extended a hand. “Now let me show you your own weakness.” His clawed fingers curled as he extended his hand.

The Force cast out on his command, deep into Moor’s body. This was Affliction, stronger than the Slow he’d employed in their brief confrontation on Agamar, but not nearly as dangerous as the horrific Plague he’d turned loose against Syko in her manor. It had the potential to turn fatal if he willed it — and he certainly would have, were Pervigil not watching their every move. Instead, Karn decided to unleash a special kind of hell for Moor.

The assassin would find his movements slowed, his senses muddled and dulled as nausea took root. Not long after that the worst would set in, the muscle weakness and driving exhaustion that Karn was certain would seal his triumph.

A cruel smile spread from one side of his pale face to the other.

“Think of it as a lesson from a friend.”

[Blue]

Moor maintained his silence as Albrecht battered at him. Their confrontation at the Vikar estate had been brief, and he did not get much of a feel for the acolyte's style. The assault on Syko gave a glimpse, but it was always better to experience it for oneself. And as more hits built up on his small frame, the assassin was getting his fair share of the pale man's ability. With the Force enhancing his strength, it was clear that Albrecht was equal with him in lightsaber combat... No. He's better by a degree. Ataru required both strength, agility and stamina. While Moor lacked in the first, he made up for it with the other two and in striking in unpredictable ways. But Juyo in the hands of someone just as fast and stronger in arms unbalanced the match up. His body ached from keeping up these speeds, and only getting a few grazing blows was not an equal pay off. I need to hold on, just a little longer- GONNA DIE GONNA DIE GONNA DIE- He tires, he cannot maintain this for long- Soon he will die. Soon- Moor then got punched in the head. The visor took the majority of the energy, the plexiglass cracking under the power of the blow, but the attack stunned the assassin for a heartbeat. He spun his lightsaber to ward off a follow-up strike, but it was knocked away and a kick almost sent the assassin sprawling. He rolled with the force of the blow, resulting in merely being pushed onto his knee as Albrecht continued to jabber his threats. Come on. I know what you want. Do it! As if responding to the very thought, the pale man reached out a hand and everything start to hurt. His muscles tensed and shuddered, he felt sick to his stomach and he broke out into a cold sweat. Moor looked up into Albrecht's triumphant face, the image fractured by the spiderweb cracks in the helm's visor. “Think of it as a lesson from a friend.” He should have just struck him down. It was what Moor would have done. But Albrecht just had to gloat; it was simply in his nature. And the lithe Sith knew that. There was a massive, sudden swell in the Dark Side as Moor finally unleashed the stored essence in his body. The Affliction that Albrecht had been so proud of a moment ago burned away, the assassin's body freed to move, and he felt unadulterated power flow into every fibre of his being. Like a spring coiled to the limit, Moor shot forwards. The visor of his helm smashed into the pale man's face, the damaged glass shattering completely from the impact and exposing his face: the pallid skin and lank greasy hair, the black veins leading away from his dull yellow eyes, the exposed teeth and unmoving flesh of the right side of his features. As the acolyte reeled from the surprise attack, the knight swiftly brought his knee up into Albrecht's side, directly where the full-powered lightsaber wound was. Then, bringing up his other leg, he kicked off from the acolyte's chest and flipped a few meters away just in time to avoid the vicious retaliatory swing. Any opportunity this might have given the pale man to recover from the sharp shock was rendered moot, as Moor swiftly closed the gap once again, his attacks swinging harder and faster than before. He boiled with Dark Side power, unleashing every last drop against Albrecht in a flurry of strikes. One side of Moor's face was scowling as the dark energies tore through him, directing all of his fear and fury onto the arrogant fool before him. The other half moved not at all.