First Reply Chasing Ghosts

[Hakon Fett]

Even a man on his toes may fall to the temptations of a breather, its restful arms wrapping them in a much needed soft embrace. A Mandalorian whose very existence was carved from the thrills of battle did not.

The first thrust found purchase across the armorweave bodysuit, poking through nerves and muscles facilitating movement, and forcing him back closer to the edge of the skywalk he had minutes ago hung from, staring at the abyss.

He had nowhere left to go. And the other Mandalorian closed in. His feet remained planted in the ground. With a deft swing of his thighs, and a grumble against the pain burning from the new wound, the foe's blade only found the polluted air of Mondder. Hakon's wounded hand snapped for blade or wrist, crushgaunts seeking to seize the enemy in a titan's grip and yank him into the abyss below with the momentum of a hard swing of his torso and feet.

Veshok Rook

 

[Veshok Rook]

Chasing Ghosts
Engaging Hakon Fett ​

The first hit had found its mark and the young warrior was pressing his advantage. His perceived advantage. The dull coloured Mandalorian pivoted with the grace of a Nexu and quickly took command of the fight. With a quick move, he grabbed Vesh's wrist in a tight grip. Instinctively, he tried to pull back, using both the strength of his upper body as well as his legs as he made an effort to step back - just like he had prepared to. Whilst his foe's body might have moved, the grip only kept tightening.

His eyes quickly shot towards the hand which held him in place. His foe was using crush gauntlets. A victorious smirk spread across his lips - in a battle fought by the rules of a battle circle, he would have won as soon as his foe resorted to using another weapon. But the smirk quickly faded: They were not in a battle circle. In the smirk's stead came a pained frown followed by a low shudder escaping him. Immense pain started to pulse through his body as the beskar plates by his vambrace started to squeeze together. His knees started to give way as both the whipcord thrower and repulsor buckled under the immense pressure of the crush gaunt. Still his hand stubbornly held on to his beskad.

Finally, the pain had him let go of it too, before his foe finally put some strength into throwing a compliant Vesh off of the building. For a couple of floors, the man would fall aimlessly as wettened eyes spoke of the pain he felt. Then, he used his good hand to activate his jetpack, quickly rocketing himself back up to the floor where they had just fought. Without a word, he then proceeded to activate his flamethrower, aimed directly at the opponent's helmet. A stream of fire would shoot into the other's visor whilst Vesh drifted to the side in order to avoid blindfire. If the stream was allowed to continue, it would likely blacken the visor and start to melt the elements not made to withstand the heat for an extended time.

If successful, Vesh would hop back onto the floor and walk over to try to pick his beskad back up with his good hand before sheathing it. The other arm would simply hang limply by his side. "You cannot see clearly. Maybe you should take a step back and reevaluate."

 

[Hakon Fett]

Hubris—the unseen enemy, lurking in the hearts of even the mightiest warriors. Hakon Fett had tasted the sweet nectar of triumph, his hand gripping the fallen beskad of his foe, his mind clouded by the gleam of victory. But in an instant, the abyss roared back with the growl of jetpacks cutting the air. A wall of flame erupted before him, forcing him into a desperate retreat, the grip on his trophy slipping, the moment lost. The inferno consumed everything in its path, pushing him back.

As the blaze subsided, Hakon stood, breath labored, smoke swirling around him. His hands fumbled for the clasp of his helmet, and with a hiss, he removed the smoldering buy'ce, casting it aside. His face, scarred and blistering from the flames was a price he would carry forever. But in the crucible of pain and the twilight of defeat, a revelation dawned upon him with the rays of a newfound victory.

"You're right," he said, "Now, I see clearly. Clearer than ever before." He spared no second glance for the discarded helmet—it was a symbol of a life he no longer lived. A life of dishonor, of wandering aimlessly as a mercenary for hire. That man was gone, left to burn in the fire. His destiny was greater now—so much greater. It required sacrifice. It required rebirth.

"You may be misguided now," Hakon continued, his eyes piercing through the smoke, "but know well, it was you who guided me. When the stars begin to fall, torn from the sky by Mandalorian hands, know that it all began here."

With those words, he turned his back on the lost battle and fired his whipcord. It latched onto a passing speeder, propelling him away from the field where defeat had been handed to him. But it wasn't the defeat that lingered—it was the revelation, the beginning of something far greater.

In that defeat, he had found his true victory.

Veshok Rook