Chapter 7 - Vigilante
Edric stood in the cramped locker room, the air thick with humidity and the scent of bodily fluids from the gathered diverse fighters. His reflection stared back at him from a small, grimy mirror, the simple tunic he wore barely covering the sweat glistening on his skin. Around him, humans and aliens alike prepared for their fights. A Gigoran rubbed a healing salve on his bruised knuckles, while a Kel Dor tightened the straps on her combat boots. Nearby, a Wookiee grumbled in pain as a medical droid tended to his wounds.
Edric's veins burned with excitement and anticipation quickened his heartbeat. Still, a voice in his head—possibly a remnant of his Jedi training—warned him that embracing violence could lead him down a dangerous path. For once in his life however, he felt truly confident. Ever since his growth spurt, physical training had come easier, and he finally had something he excelled at.
He left the Jedi Order, but his mind kept replaying his former master's words, cautioning him of what he was about to do. He knew Master Asher wouldn't approve. You are no longer a Jedi, you can do things that are not according to their rules, Edric reminded himself. Except, being a Padawan was all he had ever known, and leaving that life behind had left its scars, no matter how much he wanted to ignore them. He could run from his past, but it would eventually catch up to him. He had to face it—just not today.
Another voice warned him that whenever he grew too sure of himself, the Force had a way of teaching him a lesson through spectacular failure. He decided even before stepping inside the building that it would be unfair to use the Force during any of his fights, so he promised himself he would refrain from doing so.
He took a few deep breaths, trying to silence the conflicting thoughts and the noise of different languages around him. The distant roars and boos of the crowd outside sounded like a swarm of insects. He visualized his sanctuary—a field of tall grass swaying in the wind—and let the calmness wash over him before opening his eyes again.
A Tognath stepped into the room, his mechanical respirator hissing with each breath. "Kane! Naze!" he called out, his voice distorted and echoing in the small space. Edric turned to see his opponent for the first time. Naze was a towering figure, his muscular frame seemingly carved from stone. Veins bulged unnaturally under his skin, and Edric suspected he might not be a completely natural specimen. Enhancement drugs were abundant down on this level, but complaining about it here, in an underground brawling ring, was pointless. The man flashed a grin, baring his sharpened teeth in an attempt to intimidate, but Edric showed no reaction.
Zeek, the Bith who had become Edric's makeshift coach on short notice, sidled up beside him, his large black eyes filled with concern. "Well, he's a big one," Zeek muttered, his fingers twitching nervously. "But I'm sure you can make short work of him, my friend. Like those Trandoshans, right?"
Edric nodded, though he sensed Zeek's words were more to calm his own nerves than Edric's. "I'll be fine, Zeek," he said.
Zeek gave him a thumbs up, but Edric noticed a flicker of unease. He crossed his arms, fed up with the Bith's avoidance of uncomfortable truths. "What is it, Zeek?" he asked.
"Oh, it's nothing, my friend," Zeek started, but seeing Edric's resolute stance, quickly cleared his throat. "I…uh, may have put some credits on your win," he finally admitted.
Great, Edric thought and let out a sigh. There was no time for a lecture about gambling. Shaking his head, he turned and left for the ring, Zeek's bet adding to the pressure.
The Tognath gestured for them to follow, leading Edric and Naze through a narrow hallway. The corridor was dark, with the only illumination being the ring's glow not far in the distance. The walls seemed to close in around them as they approached, creating an almost claustrophobic atmosphere.
As Edric stepped into the arena, the blinding lights momentarily disoriented him. He raised his right arm to shield his eyes from the intense beams. The roar of the crowd surged around him, a mix of cheers, jeers, and alien languages. He couldn't make out more than dark silhouettes waving in the backdrop of the strong lights. The smell hit him next—a pungent blend of blood, sweat, alcohol, and smoke that clung to the air like an invisible fog. He could almost taste them on his tongue.
The ring was an octagonal pit, surrounded by buzzing ray shields that crackled with lethal energy. Edric guessed that staying in contact with them for too long could mean death. He took his place, feeling the sand shifting under his feet. The announcer explained the simple rules in Huttese to the crowd: fight until one of them was either unconscious, dead, or gave up.
Naze assumed his stance, descending onto his hands with his legs poised for a lunge. He looked like a Reek bull, coiled and ready to charge.
The crowd's roar faded into the background, and Edric's vision narrowed to the man before him. With a final, resounding clang of a gong, the fight began.
Edric grounded himself, preparing to block the impending charge. There was a tension in his muscles, every fiber of his being alert and ready.
Suddenly, Naze lunged forward, sand scattering beneath his hands and feet. Edric braced himself, but in a blink, Naze hurled sand toward Edric's face. Pain seared through the former Padawan's eyes as if thousands of knives were twisted in them.
Taking advantage of Edric's daze, Naze tackled him to the ground, pinning him with legs pressed firmly onto Edric's chest. The brute's weight was immense, suffocating. Naze's fists rained down like relentless hammers, each blow reverberating through Edric's skull. His vision blurred and he could feel his consciousness slipping into darkness.
He wasn't sure how, but Edric managed to free one arm. He caught one of Naze's fists mid-air, twisting the wrist sharply. Naze let out a guttural snarl, momentarily distracted by the pain. Edric seized the opportunity, freeing his other hand and shoving Naze off him.
Scrambling to his feet, Edric tasted the iron tang of blood in his mouth. He spat and wiped the grit from his eyes as he moved closer to the crackling ray shields. His heart thundered, but there was a thrill underneath, a fierce satisfaction that surged with every beat. Gesturing to Naze, he taunted, "Come on, is that all you got?"
Naze growled, the sound deep and resonant like a predator's roar. He approached with cautious aggression, fists raised. The two circled each other, the fight morphing into a brutal dance of punches and kicks.
Edric blocked a series of heavy blows, countering with quick jabs, trying to understand his opponent's strategy. Except, there wasn't one. He could see—sense the rage in Naze, his eyes wild with bloodlust, saliva drooling out of his mouth.
Edric sidestepped a powerful swing and delivered a sharp elbow to Naze's gut, feeling the breath rush out of the larger man. But Naze recovered quickly, his massive hand snaking out to grab Edric by the neck. With a forceful yank, Naze brought Edric crashing to the ground, pinning him face-down in the sand.
Struggling against the crushing hold, Edric planted his palms firmly on the ground. His breath came in ragged gasps, the icy prick of dread spreading through his body like frost on glass. Shadows crept at the edges of his vision, whispering defeat, but beneath the chill, a fierce heat began to pulse—a buried ember stoked into flames. It was as if the ground beneath him quivered, echoing the awakening of something primal and ancient within. Teeth clenched and muscles coiled, he let the fury surge through him, the raw power of a dark, seductive current that promised strength. With a loud, almost primal grunt erupting from deep within, he pushed himself off the sand. The effort dislodged Naze, throwing him off balance. Edric rolled away and sprang to his feet. His gaze found the brute in front of him. His prey.
A surge of intoxicating pleasure flooded Edric's senses, the sudden power coursing through him like liquid fire. Every fiber of his being buzzed with a newfound strength, whispering promises of domination. The Darkness around him thickened, pressing closer, whispering in his ear—You can do anything.
His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as the blackness coiled tighter, a sinister voice urging him on. He felt its insidious pull, seductive and undeniable. Humiliate him, it hissed, the words wrapping around his mind like a serpent. The thought thrilled him, a sick pleasure twisting through his core. This wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about proving his superiority. About making Naze suffer.
Edric's lips curled into a smirk, the taste of blood still fresh on his tongue. He was ready to do more than just defeat his opponent—he was ready to break him.
In one fluid motion, Edric lunged back at Naze, wrapping his arms around the brute's waist. With a Wookiee-like effort, he lifted Naze off the ground, the crowd's roar crescending. Panic flashed in Naze's eyes as Edric heaved him toward the deadly ray shields.
The moment stretched into infinity as Naze's body arced through the air, colliding with the crackling energy barrier. Sparks flew, the ray shields lighting up with a fierce intensity as Naze convulsed, the electricity coursing through his body. With a final, pained gasp, he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Edric stood panting, his mind surfacing into the light of reality, his chest heaving as he surveyed the fallen opponent. He couldn't believe what he had done.
The crowd erupted in wild cheers, the noise washing over him like a wave. Victory was his, but the strange excitement he felt was quickly tempered by the sight of his unconscious opponent. The thrill of the fight drained from him, leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. His hands trembled as he looked down at Naze, his body motionless, his breath shallow.
Edric's pulse quickened again, not from the exhilaration of the battle, but from a growing fear—fear of himself. He had felt it, the Dark Side seeping in. He had let it in, allowed it to guide his hand, and now the realization made his stomach turn.
His eyes darted to the crackling ray shields, where just moments ago, he had flung Naze with a strength that didn't feel entirely his own. The ease with which he had embraced that power terrified him. Was this what Master Asher had warned him about? Was this the path that led to unspeakable pain?
Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as the noise of the crowd faded in Edric's ears. Naze finally moved, slowly regaining consciousness. Edric jogged over and squatted down beside him just as the announcer declared his victory and was already hyping up the next match.
"Are you alright?" Edric asked with genuine concern. Naze grunted, rolling onto his stomach in a futile attempt to push himself up. Seeing his struggle, Edric grabbed him below the shoulders and hoisted him up. Naze let out a series of incomprehensible grunts and murmurs, his body trembling from the effort.
He escorted Naze outside the ring, where Zeek was already waiting with a medical droid by his side. The droid took over from Edric, assisting the fallen fighter, while Zeek could barely contain his excitement.
"That was amazing, my friend!" the Bith exclaimed as Edric approached, attempting an awkward hug that only reached around one side of Edric's broad frame. "You just made us a lot of credits," he added with a wide grin.
Edric smiled and shrugged, a hollow gesture to keep a facade. His eyes followed the droid escorting Naze away, the sight of the brute's weakened state tightening the knot in his stomach. The image of Naze convulsing against the ray shields played over and over in his mind, a cruel reminder of what he was capable of.
He had to learn to control his strength and impulses more than ever to avoid causing serious harm in the future. But as much as he wanted to dismiss it, there was a lingering exhilaration that he couldn't shake—a dark thrill that whispered promises of power and dominance, tempting him to feel it again.
Zeek talked incessantly all the way to the locker room, repeatedly marveling at Edric's throw and praising his performance in the fight. "That was incredible. If you can keep this up, we'll be rich in no time, my friend," he said, rubbing his palms as if already counting the credits. "Alright, get changed and I'll wait for you outside. I'll pick up our winnings on the way out."
As Zeek finally left, Edric let out a sigh of relief. He entered the locker room and quickly changed the dirty tunics to a fresh one and his robes. When he was leaving, he stole a glance at Naze, who was still groggy and out of it.
Hurrying to catch up with Zeek, Edric braced himself for the inevitable monologue from the Bith on their way back to The Rusty Blaster. He exited through the backdoor reserved for fighters and found Zeek waiting in the alley. Fortunately, there were no Trandoshans around this time, but it was raining heavily. Although they were technically underground, there was an artificial climate that formed occasional rainstorms.
"Finally," Zeek said, seeing Edric. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a number of credit chips, handing them over to the former Padawan. Edric pocketed them without counting, aware that Zeek was a shady figure likely skimming from his share. He knew it would take several more fights before he could even think about getting out of The Rusty Blaster's attic, so it didn't bother Edric that much.
"I'll take a walk if you don't mind, you go back to the Blaster," Edric said, pulling up his hood. Zeek's eyes narrowed, his bald head furrowing with concern. Edric noticed the hesitation and suspected the Bith was worried about making the long journey back alone. "Just need to get some air and clear my head," he added, hoping to reassure him.
"Alright," Zeek said reluctantly, giving up and starting down the alley. Edric watched him go, noting the Bith's quick, cautious glances around the street before he disappeared into the shadows.
Edric's robes quickly became soaked in the rain, but he welcomed the cold drops on his skin. It felt as though the rain was extinguishing the adrenaline-fueled fire from the fight and cleaning off the dirt of the Dark Side. His eyes grew heavier, though he wasn't entirely exhausted, and his muscles finally began to relax. Sore spots hinted at the pain that would come the following morning. That lingering guilt was however something he should deal with once back. Maybe even try to meditate on it, if he had a few hours to himself.
Level 1991, like most of the Underworld, never slept. As he walked, he received curious stares from various species, while others didn't even glance his way, indifferent to yet another robed figure in the streets. The muffled bass of a nearby club pulsed through the air, accompanied by a long queue at its entrance. Distant sirens and occasional shouts echoed through the labyrinthine alleys.
His thoughts drifted back to the fight, and he shivered. He brushed his palms, feeling the sting from where his own nails had dug into his skin when he clenched his fists with all his strength. Edric could almost hear his master's voice, chastising him for what he had done. But how could he suppress these voices if they kept rising from the depths of his soul? There is no emotion, there is peace, he repeated the familiar mantra again, but it brought no solace. He felt like a monster was lurking just beneath his skin, ready to take over at any moment, and the thought terrified him. With no one to turn to for guidance outside the Jedi Temple, he felt more alone than ever. You came here to help people, you should focus on that, his mind urged. Maybe if he concentrated on doing what Jedi were truly meant to do, he could keep the beast within him at bay.
Edric pulled himself back to the present and noticed he turned a corner into a bustling marketplace, a stark contrast to the quiet streets he had just passed through before. Vendors shouted to advertise their goods, while customers haggled for better prices. The aroma of exotic foods mingled with the pungent scent of damp stone. A cacophony of alien languages filled the air, voices overlapping in a symphony of chaos, despite the late hour.
As he moved through the crowd, his senses alert despite his fatigue, he noticed a quick, deft movement to his right. A small girl, no older than ten, slipped a hand into the credit pouch of a portly merchant who was busy arguing with a customer. In a flash, the girl had the credit chips in her hand and was darting away, her nimble feet carrying her swiftly through the sea of bodies.
Edric sighed inwardly, but knew he had to do the right thing and get those credits back. Life on this level of Coruscant was harsh, and everyone did what they had to do to survive. Yet, the old Jedi teachings lingered in his mind, nudging him to act. He followed the girl, keeping a safe distance, using the crowd to mask his pursuit and himself.
The merchant turned, his hand patting the now-empty spot where his credits had been. His face flushed red with anger as he shouted, "Thief! Someone stop that girl!" His cries drew the attention of some nearby Rodians, and Edric's stomach tightened. They bore the Pyke's insignia on their shoulders, and they were known for their brutal methods of 'policing' down here, at least according to Zeek. He couldn't let them get to the girl first.
With a subtle wave of his hand, Edric used the Force to gently nudge a market stall in the girl's path, causing a pile of exotic fruit to spill into the street. The girl stumbled, slowing just enough for Edric to catch up. He grabbed her arm lightly, steering her away from the crowded market and into a narrow alley.
The girl struggled, her eyes wide with fear. "I'm not going to hurt you," Edric said calmly, releasing her arm and making sure his hood still covered his face. "But you can't just steal like that. It'll only lead to more trouble."
"I had to," the girl blurted, her eyes filling with tears. "My brother is sick. We don't have enough for the medicine. Please, I just wanted to help him."
Edric looked at her, seeing the desperation that mirrored so many faces he'd encountered since leaving the Jedi Order. A pang of sympathy tugged at him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few credits from his share of the fight earnings and pressed them into her hand. "This should be enough for the medicine," he said gently. "Take it, and promise me you won't steal again."
The girl hesitated, then took the credits with a trembling hand. "Thank you," she whispered and gave back the merchant's pouch to Edric before darting off into the shadows.
Edric watched her go with another sigh, then turned back to the marketplace. The merchant was still fuming, loudly demanding justice from the nearby Rodians. Edric approached him, holding out the nearly full pouch. "You dropped this," he said, his voice calm and steady.
The merchant blinked, surprised. "Oh… thank you," he stammered, his anger subsiding as he took the pouch. "I could've sworn… Well, thank you, stranger."
Edric nodded and turned away before the merchant or Pykes could start asking questions. He slipped back into the bustling flow of the marketplace, the noise of the crowd enveloping him like a protective cloak. As he walked, he noticed a surprising sense of calm settling over him. Instead of the simmering anger and frustration, he felt a warm sense of pride spreading through his chest. Maybe balancing the scales and helping those in need was the answer to his inner turmoil. With his hood pulled up to shield his face, Edric continued his journey back to The Rusty Blaster.