ToC: Darth Ayra VS. Mikhail Shorn

[Louise]

It was time for the Tournament of the Cauldron to export itself.

Try as hard as they did, there was just no way of perfectly replicating the different environments they required for round two of their grand event. They had made their unrealistic requests, demanding that they somehow replicate the climate and habitat of some of the most extreme planets in the galaxy. Mere simulations would not be good enough, it had to be real, it had to feel real and when enough slaves and scientists had perished at their hands for such impractical ineptitude it was only then that the Queens of Rattatak had decided that they were going to have to use the real thing.

The remaining contestants were to be shipped out, given the luxuries of celebrated gladiators and plenty of opportunity to rest and prepare for the next fights ahead.

Back at the Cauldron a multitude of screens were set up, surrounding the arena so that no detail could be missed of the now televised spectacle, the pit below for once completely devoid of action. Nothing would take the limelight from their glorious occasion.

The screens flickered to life...

ABANDONED REFINERY, MUSTAFAR

Typical that the battle between the Sith would take place in such a blazing atmosphere.

Starting in the dilapidated refinery the fight had potential to go anywhere. Would the pairing of @[member="Darth Ayra"] and @[member="Mikhail Shorn"] keep their duel inside the cramped construction? Or would they take this bout out onto the gun-metal grey walkways where the lava below threatened to consume all life? Perhaps they would forgo all man-made structures and end up upon the burning rock, where the ground craved to eat the soles of those ill-prepared for such an unforgiving world.

Back at the Cauldron the crowd had worked themselves up into a frenzy, fully expecting the pair of dark-siders to tear each other apart with little concerns for honour or mercy. However, even Sith could be full of surprises. The Sisters of the Cauldron reclined upon their thrones, eyes filled with glee as they turned to watch their own personal screens, the masses below almost drowning out all other noise.

Hopefully there would be blood, or at the very least some third-degree burns.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQOwFS7pLhk

Heat rose in shimmering waves from the dull red glow of the lava beneath the refinery. An armor-clad figure slowly made his way from the landing platform into the refinery. The bland grey armor bore the marks of many battles, from long, black furrows to charred pockmarks that littered its surface. Parts of the armor gleamed a different shade from the others parts, newly repaired. The figure clutched a long, downward curving dagger in his right hand. Sparks of blue lightning danced between the fingers of the other. He came to a stop in a corridor inside the refinery. The door hissed closed behind him ominously.

"Waarrrioooorr," the figure called wryly as he stalked down the corridor. He reached out with his dagger and began to drag it along the durasteel wall with a horrendous squeal of metal on metal. "Come out to pla-i-aaay."

"Yoohoo! Anybody home? Big bad Sith Lord out here." Mikhail Shorn came to a stop again and smirked. Sadly for the crowds eagerly watching, expression was lost behind his helmet.

Cooled by the AC system inside his armor, Mikhail could care less for the planet's sweltering heat. He thought the Cauldron Bitc- excuse me- Ladies, were a little melodramatic in their choice of setting. Yay, Sith, Mustafar. Shorn rolled his eyes. Whatever. Any excuse to stomp out another idiot Sith was a good excuse. Stars, he hated them. Sycophantic, power-craving, sniveling bunch of weasels. There were three types of Sith: the minions climbing the power ladder, the morons who believed in their cause, and the sadistic bastards who just enjoyed being evil. Shorn gritted his teeth. If you were going to be bad, be bad for a reason. Like him. Duh.

Cybernetic fingers curled around the hilt of his beskar knife. The blade was infused with devaronian blood-poison. One cut would cause excruciating pain. The kind that made you fall to your knees and start screaming. He was pretty ready to hear this Darth Ayra's screams. Didn't know too much about her. Other than that she was Sith and therefore sucked.

Equipped with his old Hydra armor, repaired after his fight with Isley Verd, his dagger, and a few pouches at his belt that held several hundred phrik ball bearings, Shorn was ready for whatever this @[member="Darth Ayra"] had to throw at him. He just needed to figure out where she was first. The Sith reached out in the Force to find her dark presence.

 

[Darth Ayra]

@[member="Mikhail Shorn"]
[flash]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HiiUso6G6Ys[/flash]

Ayra was stood upon a balcony over looking the atrium to the factory that she and Shorn found themselves in. Donned in a traditional Sith black robe, underneath the darkened garments was a suit of Durasteel Armor, which was custom made to fit her. Around her waist was her utility belt, which held her Lightsaber, Saberstaff, two disruptor pistols, two combat knives, ammunition for the disruptor pistols and other equipment, such as a breathing apparatus that could be attached to her mouth. Also underneath her clothes were two straps that crossed over her chest and the back of her in a x shape. One held more ammunition, which was for the WESTAR M5 blaster rifle that was currently leaning up against her body and a host of grenades, ranging from frag, explosive, smoke, flash, cryo and stun.

The Sith Marauder finished her fifth check of the day on her equipment with a final tap on the ear. Her index finger found an ear plug in each ear, which was currently unsealed, allowing her to hear. In the event that the decibels of her immediate area reached a level that would cause her injury, they would seal and shut out the noise, thus saving her from the attack. Her gloved hand tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear before it lowered to the WESTAR M5 blaster rifle and lifted it up into the air, one handed.

The Sith Marauder was little with words. Her actions spoke louder. Turning her eye to the scope of the rifle, she aimed for Shorn and removed a frag grenade from the strap under her robes to the grenade launcher found on the rifle. A red light appeared on the Sith Lords chest, indicating that someone was about to shoot him. It was at that moment that Shorn would realize his oppondent was about to open fire, did Ayra pressed the button to release the frag grenade found in the rifle's grenade launcher.

PING!!!!!

The sound emitted as the small, little ball of explosive power filled with another frag in it to rip a man in half soared through the air towards Shorn. Ayra lowered the scope of her rifle and turned. A moving target was harder to hit and she wanted to wear him down, at the very least, before going close quarters. Ayra was capable of matching five different Force-sensitives in a Lightsaber duel by herself, such was her prowess with the Djem So and Juyo Lightsaber techniques, along with their Jar'kai variants. But she epitomized what it meant to be a Sith. Why cut down a man when you can shoot him from afar? Why defeat a man in a duel, when you can stab him in the back? These tenants and more would be discovered by Mikhail Shorn in this round.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

There you are. Mikhail Shorn's senses picked up on a Dark Side presence nearby. The scarred and battered helm snapped up to look toward the balcony upon which @[member="Darth Ayra"] stood. Ice blue eyes found her and narrowed. Her black robes bulged outward with the bulk of her equipment. Shorn caught a glimpse underneath her robes. Armor, a rifle, pistols, and what looked like enough grenades to blow up a small planet. He was surprised she could walk around from the weight of all that equipment. If she didn't trip on the robes, the bulky, cumbersome equipment would make her clumsy. Clumsy and dead.

Unfortunately, Shorn did not have the luxury to contemplate the finer points of combat gear as the woman promptly opened fire on him. Danger sense tingled down his spine, but he could already see the problem. The frag grenade zipped toward Mikhail at a goodly pace. He experienced a drop in the gut. A second of panic. Then it was gone as the Dark Side rolled through him, implacable. When would they learn? You don't throw things at telekinetics. They just throw them back at you. He raised a hand and unleashed a telekinetic force push that slammed the grenade away from him and back up into the air. The fireball that followed flashed brilliantly, but was dulled by his insulated helm. Nor could that momentary blaze compare to the red magma that rolled in rivers all around the refinery and set the very air awash with burning cinders.

In the wake of the detonation, Shorn peered through the debris up toward the balcony. He couldn't tell if she had meant that as a serious attack or just as a ceremonial opening salvo. Whatever. He didn't plan on asking before he killed her. Shorn gathered the Dark Side into him before leaping ridiculously high. Phrik boots hit the balcony floor with a thud. For all the durability of his armor, the phrik-duraplast composition made it light in comparison to Ayra's durasteel armor. Which would make running her down all the more easy. He landed just behind Ayra, whose back was to the balcony and appeared to be retreating deeper into the refinery.

Well, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

The anger inside Shorn burned hot as the lava rivers. He was going to rip her in half. It was more than just her being a Sith. It was that she was nobody. He had never even heard of a Darth Ayra. But Mikhail Shorn? Half the galaxy knew his name. He'd flayed Jacen Cavill, beaten the tricksteress Anaya at her own game, crushed Zaiden three times over, spared Diana's life, destroyed the symbol of the Republic, dethroned an Emperor and replaced him with another. Rivers at his feet ran red and he stood upon the bodies of his enemies. The very mention of his name at weddings was taboo. As much as he hated titles, he had earned the name Thronebreaker.

What had this Darth Ayra earned?

Hatred spun through his stomach, twisting it into knots. He would not be beaten by a nameless moron. Reaching out in the Force, Mikhail Shorn wrapped his telekinetic will around her like a giant's hand, attempting to crush her arms to her side so she could not fire her weapon. Then he gestured up with his left hand, trying to hurl her toward the ceiling with enough force to smash her skull like an overripe melon.

Should've worn a helmet.

 

[Darth Ayra]

| @[member="Mikhail Shorn"] |

Ayra both felt and heard the explosion of the frag grenade, the bits and pieces of metal found inside the enclosed space erupting below the balcony. As she questioned whether or not the frag had met her target, she felt an invisible force take hold of her just as she was about to turn a corner into a flight of stairs that would take her to the next balcony up. Immediately, she could tell that Shorn had survived and had begun his counter attack. The Sith Marauder must have fit into the other half of the galaxy, for she wasn't aware that Mikhail specialized in telekinetic attacks. She was soon learning that fact, however, as she struggled against the invisible grip.

Suddenly, her perspective was changed and the world span as her struggle was lifted into the air. Instincts and training kicked in. Against Shorn's Force Grip of her arms, she tucked in her legs, rolled her head backwards and did a flip in mid air, using the grip of her arms as leverage to kick out her legs against the ceiling. It didn't work exactly. She felt her knees clash against the ceiling and a wet feeling come down along her legs and knees as they impacted on the ceiling. Pain seared throughout her- it hurt the Sith Marauder a lot- as she fell back down towards Earth, or rather, the durasteel floor of the balcony.

Her hands lashed out to the sides as she used her incredible physical strength to literally break past Shorn's telekinetic hold. As she did so, her combat boots met the floor and she used the momentum of the floor to land in a barrel roll. She continued to roll until her hand latched onto the grooves in the balcony floor. As soon as she came to a stop, her hand found a smoke grenade, used her thumb to remove the pin and dropped it behind her. Straight after that, the blonde fury was on the move, feinting to go left towards a set doors that led up into the next balcony before going right and launching herself over the ledge of the balcony to a metal box. Her feet met the ground again, but the fall forced her to buckle.

Tripping over her own feet, she fell over the side of the 'box' and landed on a conveyor belt. She adjusted her eyes a moment before performing a quick analysis of her body. Her legs were gashed open and her ankles hurt from the two falls. Grudgingly, she brought herself to her feet, latching her hands on grip of her WESTAR M5 rifle. Holding it high in the air, she placed a flash grenade into it's grenade launcher and kept her eyes, as well as her Force Senses peeled for Shorn and his next move.

He had won the opening exchange, but what about the rest of the duel?

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Breaking through his telekinetic hold? Impressive. Shorn watched with a twisted snarl on his features as the woman managed to escape his grasp, albeit trailing blood. Pain washed from her in the Force. He breathed deeply, drawing pleasure from her pain. More evidence of the monster they turned him into. Sith. Like a snake eating its own tail, he would wipe them from the galaxy. One by one.

The smoke grenade clanked to the metal of the floor, rolling around as it spewed forth its contents. The armored figure strode through the smoke, implacable. Once upon a time, Mikhail stylized himself as a Makashi duelist. Most thought of Makashi as an art of finesse. Shorn saw it differently. Makashi emphasized making the small cuts, taking concessions, and conserving energy. Bit by bit, he eroded opponents away with brute force used in a very specific way. As a knight, he could eviscerate opponents in a saber fight one on one. Granted, if he got into a lightsaber exchange with this Darth Ayra now he would suck. He hadn't practiced saber skills in a long time. But that was because he had transitioned away from the lightsaber. He didn't need it anymore. Why use a lightsaber when he could just throw his opponents around with the Force? Arrogance? Oh yeah, he had that in staves.

He would tear Ayra apart, piece by piece, until he moved in for the final kill. It wasn't about finesse or grace. It was about wearing the other person into the ground. Six feet under. And Shorn was really, really good at it.

His voice, muffled by the helmet, called out through the smoke. "Ugh, limping away to hide? You're really going to drag this out."

The Sith Lord quested out with his senses. She did not appear to be using anything to conceal her presence, so he found her easily. He rolled his eyes and strode through the smoke. Once more, he gathered the Dark Side into him and leapt. Booted feet landed heavily on the conveyor belt. He bent his knees to absorb the fall before standing up to his full height. The Thronebreaker raised a hand toward the Knight and the box she hid behind.

Pure telekinetic power rippled from his palm in a wave of energy. Enough to collapse a building? No. But more than enough to send the giant durasteel box Ayra hid behind slamming into her and hurling both farther down the conveyor belt; not to mention any more grenades she fired at him. He did not know that she had loaded a flashbang into the chamber, but if she launched it she would have less than the intended effects. As evidenced in his last fight, flashbangs proved to have no effect on those who wore combat helmets.

@[member="Darth Ayra"]

 

[Darth Ayra]

| @[member="Mikhail Shorn"] |

Ayra's eyes were peeled for any incoming objects; and when she both felt and saw the metal box she had just fell off begin to fly forward towards her, she had an extra few seconds to come up with a way to dodge it. After all, if she hadn't been keeping her eyes peeled, then it was very likely that the box would serve as the end of the duel if it hit her. Not even she could get up from a hit like that.

Lowering her knees slightly, Ayra gathered the force in the soles of her feet and jumped with it. She felt the box slide by her combat boots, inches from her, as she went up before landing again. She hadn't registered Shorn was wearing a helmet yet, and still acting upon instinct currently, as the Sith Lord had her pinned down and unprepared for a lethal attack, she launched the flash bang again, not at Shorn, but in the air above the Sith. The power of the flash would still be enough to disorientate Shorn at that distance with it's light and explosion, if not for the helmet.

Before it exploded, Ayra turned her rifle behind her, resting it on her back. It hung from the strap around her shoulders, whilst her hands lowered to the Lightsaber and Saberstaff on her utility belt. She brought both her arms up to her face to shield her from the light. She would lower them after she finished counting the time it would take for the flash bang to go off.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Heat wafted all around the dilapidated facility, rising from the rivers of lava that ran all across the volcanic planet. Insulated from the heat and with an AC cooling his body, Shorn did not feel the true oppression of this heat. Even so, sweat matted his hair to his forehead and trickled into his eyes and along his back. Mikhail blinked rapidly to clear his vision and grit his teeth in frustration as he watched the scene before him unfold in heartbeats.

The woman he fought leapt high into the air, barely clearing the durasteel box as it tumbled beneath her. The box continued down the conveyor belt, smashing aside other objects with a cacophony of metal clangs and wretched squealing. Immediately after landing, the Sith fired a grenade into the air above him. Mikhail's eyes zipped upward, tracking the grenade. Even in his phrik armor he didn't want a frag grenade raining shrapnel down on him. The grenade's internal fuse was probably a precious few seconds, if that. Yet, for someone who could stop a hail of bullets mid-air, this held little challenge. He held out his hand and his fingers curled in. He gestured sharply, as if throwing a ball downward. Telekinesis wrapped around the grenade and whipped it back down toward the conveyor belt, straight toward @[member="Darth Ayra"].

He hoped the ensuing explosion would consume her in a fireball. Of course, he didn't know that the grenade was a flashbang, rather than a concussion or frag. His own helmet contained the same automatic polarizing technology pre-existing in the stormtrooper helms. A flashbang didn't fare too well against that.

Unsatisfied with merely hurling the grenade back at her, the Thronebreaker immediately launched another attack as soon as he released his telekinetic grip on the grenade. A large wave of force energy surged from his hand like a swift moving brick wall and hurtled toward @[member="Darth Ayra"] with enough power to knock the wind out of her and leave some nasty bruising.

He felt a twisting anger in his stomach. He wanted to squeeze the life out of her. The image stood in his mind, clear and crisp, and gave him a sick sort of satisfaction. He could almost feel her throat collapsing beneath his grip. Rage roared through him, reinforced by the imagined images and feelings. It felt so good. Intoxicating darkness. Dark Side danced with glee around Mikhail's aura.

As long as she attempted to take the Thronebreaker down at range she stood at a disadvantage. He wielded the counter to every distanced weapon she brought to bear. Fight a little closer and she would find a different story. Mikhail Shorn had his weaknesses. She just needed to exploit them.