Canderous' chest heaved with rage as he angrily tore loose the straps under his chin and over his shoulders that held on the chest plate and helmet. He cursed when his bloody fingers slipped on the tight knots, accidentally pulling them tighter. Fuming, he forced himself to patiently pry the infuriating cords loose to drop the heavy armor from himself.
In his mind, the words of the two renegade mercenaries he'd just killed repeated over and over.
"You are not Mandalore, you are just a pretender with fancy armor and a gun out looking to grab power for yourself. Sorry 'Mandalore', but unlike you we actually have work to get back to."
With a roar, he ripped the helmet off and hurled it into a corner of the ship's garage. It tumbled and spun a few times before coming to rest facing him, its T-shaped visor staring mutely at him--mocking.
You are not Mandalore.
Under his breath, Canderous recanted every vile curse word in Mando'a, Basic, Huttese, and a few languages whose names he'd forgotten, while he took off the rest of the dull silver armor and dropped it in a pile on the garage floor. Even it seemed to jeer at him. The blood of the Mandalorians he'd killed still dripped and oozed on its surface in defiance of everything he was trying to accomplish.
Ten years. Ten years and still his brothers insisted on choosing the life of dishonor and betrayal of the teachings of the Mandalores past. At best, they worked as mercenaries for corporate slime, criminal pigs, or power-hungry maniacs, and at worst they reduced themselves to mindless butchers terrorizing and murdering at random for the mere sport of it. Those few who remained of the Mandalorian clans seemed fully intent on continuing on the downward spiral into oblivion, despite all his efforts to reunite them.
His few successes on Dxun were meaningless victories. A few dozen warriors, mostly grizzled veterans such as himself or young greenhorns like Davrel who'd never tasted battle and likely never would were all he could claim to his cause. The heart and soul of the Mandalorian clans - strong young men in the prime of their lives - had shown to him that they were utterly uninterested in rebuilding what their people had lost. His unleashed fury broke a wall panel under a fist, the loud snap not nearly satisfying enough to placate his anger.
Mandalore's helmet sat perfectly still, watching him like a sentinel, silently reproving him.
Canderous heard a sound, a soft rustle, and looked up. Visas Marr, the Miraluka seer, stood in the doorway. Her choice of attire seemed to show more than it covered; a brief halter top of dark red leather and matching battle skirt that displayed her bare legs, fine leather boots, battle gauntlets that stretched to her elbows, and a simple headband tied over her eyes and holding a rich braid of dark brunette hair behind her head.
"What do you want?" he asked irritably, hoping she would leave him alone.
"You are angry."
"What tipped you off?" he snorted.
She ignored his gibe. "Your mission did not go well, then?"
"That's my business, not yours."
"It becomes 'my business' when you make yourself a potential threat to Faris." He had no trouble reading the warning in her tone and inflection.
"You couldn't possibly understand what makes me angry, seer. You are not of the clans. You don't know what it means to see them broken and scattered, the remnants devouring themselves, the future of the Mandalorian people disappearing into nothingness." He didn't bother try to hide the bitterness in his voice. There were no words bleak enough to convey his hopelessness.
"On the contrary, Mandalorian, despite what you think, your people have more of a future than mine. I have walked the lifeless surface of Katarr and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my people are gone forever. There is more of an understanding between you and I than you wish to admit."
Canderous turned his face away from where he imagined the ghostly visage of the former Mandalore staring at him through the battered old helmet, turned to look at the Miraluka. "You don't have to look at your own people while they doom themselves with dishonor. I do. There is no fate worse for a Mandalorian than to die without honor. I am angry because those who matter have already chosen that path." Again, he slammed his fist into the broken wall panel. "Honor is obsolete. I am obsolete."
"Then fight me."
He wasn't sure if he'd heard her correctly. "What?"
"Fight me. The Echani would say battle is a pure form of expression."
He scoffed. "The Echani know nothing of battle. They view it as some sort of gentleman's game, placing little arbitrary rules around every single aspect of it. They turn battle into little more than glorified meditation."
Visas nodded knowingly. "It is neither. Battle is about honor and glory, am I not correct?"
He grunted.
"Then fight me."
Canderous had to admit, the excuse to stop moping was certainly tempting. Without further ado, he lunged for the Miraluka, putting all his weight behind a single thrust of his arm, looking to catch her across the midriff. Instead, he found nothing but air and fell flat on his face. She'd slipped away like smoke on a breeze and stood behind him, holding a Mandalorian battle stance perfectly.
Catching his breath, Canderous scrambled to his feet, cursing himself for letting her evade him so easily. He was a warrior of Mandalore, and could stand up in a fight with a mere woman.
Extending an arm, she gestured with her hand, beckoning him forward. He grinned and leaped forward, not recklessly this time but with purpose. He drove his arm forward like a spear and was pleased when she quickly brought up crossed wrists to ward off his blow. His arm up high in the air, Canderous twisted his body and threw his free elbow at her face. She ducked expertly, suddenly grabbing his flailing wrist and jerking his torso downward unexpectedly. Instead of resisting, he threw himself forward into her move, crashing her up against a bulkhead before she could sweep his legs out from under him.
To Visas' credit, once cornered, she didn't panic. She did the most unexpected thing he could imagine and head-butted him squarely in the face. The shock - more of the fact that she had tried it at all rather than actual injury - caused him to lose his grip on her and she slipped away, hooking an arm around his neck and hauling him to the ground in his moment of indecision. He was back on his feet in a flash, just in time to turn aside her flying kick at his face.
When she tumbled to the ground, she was too quick in getting up for him to seize, and he threw a kick of his own. She blocked with an elbow and retaliated with her fist. They were soon hard at each other, punching, kicking, and parrying with effortless grace.
Canderous' size and brute strength was well balanced by Visas' agility and deceptive toughness. There was not a move he made that she couldn't counter or dodge, and none she could make that he didn't easily absorb or parry. He was impressed by her dexterity, and she seemed content to fight him as long as he wished.
So they went back and forth at each other, taking turns on the offensive and defensive, circling the garage as they traded blow for blow. For Canderous, the distraction was welcome; anything was better than dwelling on the grim truth. He even found himself admiring the resilient seer. For not being a Mandalore, she was a remarkably strong and fearless woman. Through the energy of her fight, Canderous knew beyond any doubt that she understood crystal clear how important battle was to a Mandalorian. Her blows carried the same intensity he would have expected from any of his comrades in the war.
Canderous detected a subtle change in Visas' movements. She slowed deliberately, letting him gain the advantage. He pressed his upper hand and backed her up against the wall once again. As before, she did something unexpected. She seized his wrists in her hands and kissed him suddenly, with surprising passion.
The sudden proximity of her body to his and the taste of sweat on her lips was intoxicating. Canderous found himself kissing her back with reckless abandon. He put his hands on the tense, damp flesh of her neck as he lost himself in her kiss, savoring the contact. He felt her hook a leg around his knee.
Abruptly, Canderous fell flat on his back; Visas had pulled his legs out from under him while he was preoccupied by her kiss.
She ran a hand over her lips and smiled sadly down at him. "Live strong, fight stronger, Mandalore. You are letting yourself be too easily distracted. Your people are still waiting for you, put the despair from you. It blinds you to those who are willing to follow you."
And then she left, leaving Canderous alone on the floor, deep in thought.
She was right and he knew it. Lying around feeling sorry for himself was not going to reunite the clans. Just because he'd had to kill two clan brothers didn't mean he had an excuse to give up on the Mandalorian people. There had to still be strong ones who believed in a future for the clans, ones he could reach, and he had only to find them.
Canderous sat up, got to his feet. Mandalore's helmet still lay on the floor, watching him expectantly.
You are not Mandalore.
He silenced the rebellious voice inside his head, picked up the helmet and firmly placed it on his head, then bent to retrieve the rest of his armor.
I am Mandalore.