There was a faint hiss, as of wind rustling trees' leaves, and the squishy slapping sound of bundles of flesh and muscle striking the skin that made up the floor. Obi-Wan whirled, his lightsabre in a defensive posture. The blade continued to sizzle in the damp air. He could not see the creature that was with him, but he could feel its presence in the Force. A shadow crossed Obi-Wan's face.
He stretched out, probing using his danger since with all his concentration. There was a faint tingling at the back of his mind, suggesting that though a threat was not far, it was not upon him - was not even eminent.
The feel of danger remained a minuscule buzz at the back of his brain as a rubbery tentacle knocked the Jedi to the floor; even as its acid-laced slime raised welts across his face. As hundreds of tentacles surged toward his fallen form, Obi-Wan hardly had time to consider the ramifications of the Force's lack of warning... But the implications he did see gave him shivers.
An instant after he fell, he was springing back to his feet, crouched, blue blade held at arm's length. Waiting for precisely the right moment, he surged forward and swung the column of energy high above his head in a stroke intended to hack one of the flailing tentacles in two.
The jolt as the tentacle deflected the lightsabre's blade came as such a surprise that it nearly knocked him off his feet. Only by sheer strength of will was he able to keep the beam of light pressing down into the appendage, and slowly, with much effort, to sever it - but by that time, dozens of other tentacles were whipping at him, tearing at his robes.
He tried to scramble backward, but the strange creature was pulling him inexorably toward what he sensed rather than saw was a great, gaping, viciously jagged-toothed maw.
Obi-Wan's master, Qui-Gon Jinn, had, against the advise of the Jedi Council, instructed his Padawan in what the older man referred to as the Grey Arts. Though not by their nature of the Dark Side, the use of such powers with anything less than the purest intentions was evil. In general, however, Qui-Gon had taught his apprentice that survival was typically a worthy goal.
The Jedi Knight became an amplifier for emotion, sending the beast's malice back at it a thousand-fold. As it reared back, afraid, Obi-Wan shaped the thoughts he was deflecting more precisely, slowly weaving impression into impulse until it was thoroughly convinced that the great mouth was what it intended to rip to shreds.
Obi-Wan fell back into the shadows and crouched, watching motionlessly as the monster began to tell itself apart with its slimy tentacles. Its hideous screams drowned out all thought as they reverberated, shrill and piercing, through the chamber.
When the hideous sight was quite over, the wall membrane parted and Shakha, shivering, stepped through the ribbons of flesh that were all that was left of the hideous monster. He winced a little bit as his feet made a squelching noise, but even as Obi-Wan watched, the slaughtered form of the beast seemed to dissolve and to be absorbed by the floor.
With a sigh, Shakha said, "You've bested Effhert, then. Congratulations."
Unsure of himself, Obi-Wan bowed and said, "Thank you."
"Come," said the Hephthara.
Half expecting it to be confiscated, Obi-Wan fastened his lightsabre to leathery belt that hung at the waist of this strange outfit that his captors had given him. Shakha did not object.
As Shakha left the chamber, Obi-Wan held back for a moment. The wall sealed itself, the skin rolling back together until it appeared seamless. The Jedi poked experimentally at the wall with his finger. It was moist and springy, but did not budge as he touched it. He waved his hand through the air, trying to generate the suggestion that it should open for him, but it paid him no heed.
Shakha stuck his head back through, the wall rolling quickly open. "Come on! No time to waste!" He grabbed Obi-Wan's arm and pulled him through the gap in the wall, which closed easily behind them in a manner that almost seemed self-satisfied to the annoyed Jedi.
