Author's Note: I really don't like this chapter for some reason, but after tinkering, and tinkering, rewriting and rewriting, I still wasn't happy with it. I decided I'd made you guys wait an incredibly long time already, so I posted what I had. Did I do the right thing? I guess we'll know soon enough. On another note, since it takes me so bloodylong to update this thing, I decided to dedicate a page (of my amazing an hilarious site) to this fanfic, updated with my progress at least once a week, so you know it isn't dead. Check out the rest of the site while you're there. It's just totally-freaking-awesome.
Chapter 6: Blood and Honor
The crowed roared louder as Ice slammed into the arena wall, her body falling limply to the cold metal floor.
"Another amazing victory for the Mysterious Stranger!"
Revan turned away from his latest victim as the announcer's hackneyed praise boomed out over the steady rumble of cheering fans. He had had such high hopes for this one, too. She seemed to him the only real killer in this entire menagerie of hack jobs the Tarisian's laughingly called duelists.
Already the rumors about his origins were flying around the cantinas. Theories ranging from the ridiculous (He was an android created by the Exchange as means of rigging dueling bets) to the disturbingly accurate (He was a Dark Jedi from the orbiting Sith fleet). The duel ring was a necessary evil, considering the cash assets he would require, but his fame was becoming dangerous.
As the Stranger stepped into the darkness of the challenger exit, one man sat calmly amidst the still roaring crowd. He fingered the steel saber hilt tucked neatly into his belt loop.
"Now that's interesting."
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The vibroblade made a wrenching squeal as Bastila pried it loose from the Gamorrean's skull. As it jerked up to eye level, Bastila saw the thick, dark liquid running down the blade's reflective steel. There was something alluring about it… something beautiful that Bastila had never quite seen before. The way it slid so smoothly down the metal, spreading until it reached the very end of the blade, then dripping off the edge with an ethereal shimmer and splashing unto the grime of the sewer floor.
"Are you okay?"
Bastila reared back, nearly dropping the vibroblade.
"A-Absolutely. I assume you two survived in one piece?"
"You're kidding, right? Those Gamorreans are all a few stars short of a galaxy if they think they can ambush a Wookie, a Jedi, and the famous Mission Vao and live to tell their sows about it."
"Good." Bastila wiped the vibroblade off on the Gamorrean's leather shirt.
"We should hurry. The sooner we reach the surface, the better."
Mission and Zaalbar hurried off down the southern passage towards the Rancor lair. Bastila lingered, eyeing the devastation they had wrought on the Gamorrean ambush.
"I only hope we're not too late."
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Horte slumped over the counter, drowning out the rapid techno music and pulsing strobe lights the permeated the small bar as he ordered another round. The Vulkars had really been going downhill since Brejik had taken over. He could never admit his feelings, of course, but they were there, nonetheless, and no matter how much he drank, they didn't go away. He sloshed the newly opened bottle, watching some of his Tarisian Ale spill over unto the counter. It hadn't always been like this. They had been a real gang, once. One with honor and morals, tradition and discipline. Horte took another gulp, hoping to find the courage to leave this nightmare lurking somewhere at the bottom of the bottle.
A small tremor rumbled through the bar, something Horte felt rather than heard. Hearing anything would have been impossible over the raging pandemonium some fool had decided to call music. He looked around the bar. No one else seemed to have noticed. Either that or they were all too drunk to care. Setting the bottle back down, Horte began to rise from his seat. Something wasn't right. The bar's northern door slid open just as Horte lifted himself from the barstool. A combination of shock and paralyzing fear overcame him as he watched the Sith troopers opened fire. A bouncer droid behind him exploded as he dove to the ground. There was chaos as Vulkars scrambled for cover, many falling dead to the floor around him, too slow to dodge the blaster fire.
The Sith troopers charged through the room to the southern exit, joining with the fire team that had circled around from the other side. The automatic door closed behind them, strobe lights still pulsing over the bodies of the dead.
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Marl swung the double-bladed sword forward for the umpteenth time, the Stranger dodging just out of its reach for umpteenth time. That's enough. Thought Marl. I've got him where I want him. He won't be expecting something different. The veteran duelist began the same slicing motion that had used since the start of the fight and, on cue, the Stranger began his backward dodge. Halfway through the motion, Marl lunged, bringing the other end of his swallow to bear against the stranger's exposed flank. The blade's motion slowed as it cut into flesh, creating a shocked gasp from the Stranger. Overconfidence. Marl had seen it a hundred times before. He's won all his previous fights so easily, he really wasn't expecting anything more than a tired old man.
The Stranger staggered backwards, his eyes screaming outrage. Marl pressed the attack. Before the Stranger had time to collect his senses, Marl thrust the blade up and forward, aiming for his opponents chest. The Stranger dove sideways, barely dodging the driving blade. It was a pure reflex save. Marl knew. He had seen them a hundred times before. Above the arena floor, in sold out stands, the fans stood in hushed silence as the blood from their champion dripped down Marl's blade. The Stranger was mortal, after all. As Marl pulled back from the follow through, the Stranger's boot slammed into his right temple, nearly knocking him over. A gloved hand wrapped itself over his face, pulling Marl's head back as the knee connected with his back, dislocating his spine. He fell helpless to the ground. A sharp pain erupted through his side as the Stranger kicked him, cracking three of his ribs.
Revan stood over his latest conquest, stolen swallow poised to slice the old man's jugular vein if he so much as coughed.
"It's just one more incredible victory after another for the Mysterious Stranger, folks! Marl is down, and questions abound! Can no one stop the raging storm of the Stranger? Twitch is waiting in the wings, Stranger, are you ready for the challenge?"
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"Brejik! Brejik!"
The Twi'lek burst into the garage where the Vulkar leader had been admiring his new accelerator. The fact that he had stolen it from that pompous old windbag Gadon Thek made his upcoming victory in the Taris Opener all the sweeter. If only he had an appropriately lavish prize to offer up…
"What is it, you worthless marsh toad? You know I hate to be disturbed."
"Sorry Brejik, but we've got some serious problems. There's been an attack…"
Brejik frowned.
"So deal with them. We all knew the Beks would try to get their gadget back one way or another. Besides, we outnumber them ten to one. Gadon was foolish to try a frontal assault."
"It's not… It's not the Beks, it's…"
Another explosion ripped through the levels above them, followed by the steady drone of blaster fire, and the screams of the dying.
"It's the Sith."
Brejik's eyes grew wide with terror. The Sith? Here? Now?
There was an ominous drone as the service elevator rumbled down to the garage.
