7TH POST
WESTERN COURTYARD, INTERNMENT ZONE,
THE SITH CITADEL, EXEGOL (SUMMER 878 ABY)
'HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUURGH!!!!'
They were laughing and baulking in their hubris before, but in seeing and hearing what they would be up against, it was enough to silence the mutated Mawite warriors in their respect for power, choosing no longer to take their quarry for granted as they worked to step over the circular pile of smoking, cadaverous husks to get within reach. But unlike the wild, unhinged assaults of the ones who perished before, this mob would be far more patiently confident in their approach, looking for angles and considering what their hands would do to the Woad's skull in the event their hands grasped around it.
'So you would give us a proper fight then.... GOOD!!!! I'D EXPECT AS MUCH FROM AN IMPERIAL!!!!'
In silent answer, and in the only answer of it's sort that would ever perturb brutes of the sort, Barran smirked at the outspoken one, seemingly on the verge of baulking like his opponents but making a poor show of keeping it to himself for the sake of good manners. However, the ringleader of the brutes didn't like that, baring a rather crude-looking flail with rusty screws hammered in as soon as the Imperial Warden sheathed his sword, silently making a gesture of his intent to drive it into the Woad's skull, but this only drew a wicked smile from Lord Michael in response.
'Confident for a corpse in the making, I'll grant you that at least.', the outspoken one continued, trailing off to signal with handwaves that he wanted the others to hold off on their pseudo-coordinated attack, but as soon as his gaze fell on the Druid once more, a wicked smile of his own began to form.
'Though I do wonder, is there power enough within you to back that up - against us? As opposed to - ya know - the ones you had your fun with?'
Are ye watchin', Auld-yin?
Aye.... But I want to see that lightsabre in action noo.
An' enough o' yer tricks.... I want t'see the Goidel within this time.
Calling the curved Makashi sabre to his right hand and switching it on as soon as it made contact, Barran let the glow envelop the ground around him as he calmly replied
,'Naturally.... Though it must be said, it is quite bold of you to assume I won't have my fun with your heavies as well.... Oh, an' by the way, its not bravery - nought that you could consider anywhere close to that effect anyways. But with that being said.... Perhaps you can liken it to malice, sadism, or even bloodlust if you wish to be the poetic sort.', looking the leader up and down as if he were little more than a bottom-feeding wretch, adding even more to the fire that was the contrastingly-silent rage of the outspoken one. It was clear the brutes' leader was in utter disbelief, shaking his head at the brazen, galling insults offered so subtly by the Wanderer, but just like Lord Michael's own, the confidence of the outspoken one was also every part as palpably apparent in turn.
'Yeah, I know you don't like that.... But in my viewpoint, thats exactly what you are in the grand scheme of things. But I'm not here for your rage - I'M HERE FOR VIOLENCE!!!!'
With a shockingly-quick sprint off the stationary mark, the Druid bore down on the outspoken brute with everything he had, but instead of running he Mawite through, Lord Michael instead decided to close the distance even farther; and before the hulking warrior had any time to react or brace for impact, the slightly-shorter Goidel was already sinking his forehead into the brute's jaw, jumping into the blow and committing to the impact with a deep-rumbling grunt of exertion. A blow so heavy it sent the leader careening into the ranks of the ones standing ready behind him, dispersing a decent amount of them from the pains of being bludgeoned by their own comrade all at once, and though it had sown doubts in the mob that surged forth in the spirit of reactive fury, it would take a little while to reap the anguish, the horror, and their souls last of all.
But the Wanderer was nothing, if not patient whenever his focus was set.
However, Lord Michael wouldn't be sitting back idly this time either, gleefully springing forth again to weaken the leader's segment of the envelopment to even greater extremes, meeting the disorganised segment with kyber cuts, ankle-stomps, spinning-backfists with vaulting and lateral escapes until he was clear of the encirclement by a few paces or so. It may have proven the perfect strategic play to make if it wasn't for a sly strike at his back at the last moment, forcing the Wanderer to sprint a little farther before daring to double back for more, and when Lord Michael eventually turned, the shocking speed he utilised before would find all the more purchase in underfoot traction in his second attack, urging himself onwards with jaw clenched in anticipation - urging his momentum to inflict even more damage on the remaining majority.
Get stuck in, laddie.... Throw everything into it, as every Goidel would in your place.
Get stuck in as you know how, laddie.
Growling in his approach towards the first and front victims of the chasing rabbling, the first two would lose their heads in the poor luck of being easy to slip past, not knowing that skilled swordsmen of Barran's sort could use their own lateral attacking-angles against them; not knowing that the shorter reach of their weapons was easily negated by the long, slender reach of any sword, let alone one of the most iconic lightsabres in the entire Galaxy. Clean deaths for the bravest of chasers, though this would only be afforded the first two, as the real insult awaited the third of the nearest attackers; and much to the great detriment of the third attacker's morale, (and his ability to fight along with it) the screaming brute had chosen to attack head on, playing right into the hands of the Woad's sprinting momentum.
Then with another sickening grunt, the Wanderer vaulted forth with the soles of both boots pointing directly at the brute's chest, throwing every ounce of weight and Force-power into a dropkick that landed so forcefully it sent the third chaser careening into the others as his leader had just moments before, a jumping, tilted, two-footed teep kick of which had landed so impactfully it created space enough for another cutting sprint towards the approaching mass. Quite the picture to paint for those still running toward the action at the time, as all those who were unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of their own comrade for a second time, brave though they were to approach with fewer brutes on their end of the previous envelopment, all were either shaking off the pain to shoddy effect, writhing around or (in some cases) completely unconscious at the closest proximity.
Good.... Now give me more.
MORE, DAMN YOU!!!!
'HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-'
Hopping over bodies of the living and the dead alike, seemingly skipping in an esoteric answer to the traditional Sword-Dance of his people, but as previously suggested by the bloodied silence and the groaning beneath him, there would be nothing seen of those
,"Four Swords on the Floor", on a planet like Exegol. Not that it stopped the Woad's feet from dancing in that bright flurry, that violent blur of sapphire-blue Kyber. However, unlike the double-booted teep, anything that came into contact with the unpredictable movements of the Makashi sabre would be dead by the time they hit the ground, coincidentally spared the embarrassment of the slighting mercies afforded to their eager comrades, spared the horror of waking to see what Barran did to the others.
THATS MORE LIKE IT, LADDIE!!!!
NOW TAP INTO THAT WOAD YOU SO FERVENTLY DENY!!!!!
REACH IN AN' FIND 'IM, OR SO HELP ME - I WILL!!!!
To onlookers, it may have seemed like an endless succession of split-second strikes with the lightsabres, (and in a way most would have been correct in their assumption) but despite the clear advantage in skill and power, Barran was still quite far from the realm of dominant infallibility. There was always someone in the Galaxy who could outpace the quickest, outthink the smartest, along with everything else, but in that pogrom within the Internment Complex - no such entity was present to match or eclipse the Wanderer that day.
From the flurries came death in abundance, but then the endless blur of swiping sapphire changed, and in such a dramatic fashion that it could barely be said to be the same warrior at all, effortlessly displaying an entirely new level of frightening Makashi-sabre proficiency. The blue, difficult though it was to track, then began to flash in what seemed like a strobe effect, clearly moving on to techniques forbidden by some in the Galaxy in making better use of the close-quarters advantage the lightsabre offered. It was a marvel to behold, and a nightmare to face off against, and before long, all that remained were the struggling, pained survivors of the early stages - with one brute in particular still awaiting the final killing strike.
'Now where is that talkative one? Hmmmm.... Ah, there you are.'
Barran was just moments away from beheading the fearful leader of the brutes when a bright white flash of light caught his eye, briefly distracting the Wanderer as he studied the Wall of Light and muttered
,'Jedi magic.... The faux light.... Pretty, so she is. But still, nought but a deftly-crafted façade in my estimation. Nought but shadow in disguise.', as his attentions turned back to the once-outspoken brute. Smiling as soon as eye-contact was regained, the Woad looked on the broken face of the man who wished to be his nemesis, widening eyes in the spirit of wrath as he concluded
,'Not that it would mean all that much to you either.... Its time, brother. You ready?', widening his grin as the sapphire Makashi slid through the dirt towards the brute's neck.