Episode 5.1 - Dueling Ring
Stardate: 4 1 1 6 5.3
Earth Standard Date: March 01, 2364.
Galactic Date: 20th Day of the Second Month, 3956 BBY
Location: Taris, Lower City
Tyson followed closely behind Mission Vao as she navigated the crowded 'streets' of the Lower City with the ease of long experience. Though young, she moved with casual assurance. She glanced back at Tyson. "Stick close," she advised, "The Lower City can get a bit rough."
Tyson nodded. Though he wasn't worried about the thugs he, kept close as the Twi'lek led them deeper into the throng. Alysia the Jedi and Vicky the humanoid nurse-droid followed in their wake, while Zaalbar the Wookiee brought up the rear, watching over the group. The street-like corridors teemed with beings from every corner of the galaxy, a collection of various species and cultures. Market stalls lined the passageways, vendors hawking wares ranging from exotic spices to questionable tech. Strange scents and sounds assaulted Tyson's senses from all sides as the group pushed on.
"We're heading to the elevator," Mission explained, gesturing toward a towering structure visible in the distance, its lights piercing the perpetual gloom. "It'll take us up to the Upper City."
Tyson could make out the massive elevator now, rising above the jumbled structures of the Lower City. The soaring elevator connected the two worlds, the upper and lower halves of the planet-wide city.
Mission led them confidently into the elevator. As the elevator rose through the perpetual twilight created by the megatowers, the chaotic jumble of the Lower City's structures fell away beneath them. In their place, the elegant towers and orderly blocks of the Upper City emerged.
Tyson drank in the panoramic view. He glanced at Mission, catching the knowing smile that curved her lips. "Bit of a shock, huh?" she remarked. "The Upper City's a whole different world."
"We actually came from the Upper City originally," Tyson replied, eyes scanning the skyline. "But seeing it from this perspective really drives home the contrast."
The ascent ended as the elevator glided to a halt, doors whispering open. Tyson stepped out into the bustling district, the fresh air and broad welcoming streets a far cry from the Lower City's grime and narrow alleys. Yet beneath the pristine veneer, he sensed the same undercurrent of tension. Here, it was born not of the gangs, but the ever-present Sith patrols.
Mission strode confidently into the crowd, Tyson and the others close behind. "This way," she called over her shoulder, guiding them across the busy avenue toward their destination.
"There it is," Mission announced, extending a slender blue finger toward a tower across the street. Its facade was plastered with vibrant, dancing holograms and flashing lights, loudly advertising the thrilling events within. A raucous crowd streamed into its entrance.
Alysia observed the scene with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the barely contained excitement radiating from Mission. "Be mindful of your surroundings," the Jedi advised. Zaalbar rumbled his agreement, the towering Wookiee's eyes scanning the crowd protectively as he shadowed the others.
Mission led the way with confidence as she weaved through the press of bodies. "The dueling ring is more than just fights. It's where reputations are built," she explained, "You win here, and you're respected throughout Taris."
The crowd noise hit them like a wall, deafening cheers, jeers, and the screech of metal striking metal. The air hung heavy with the musky scent of sweat, the frenetic energy was almost palpable.
Mission turned to Tyson. "Ready to show them what you're made of?" she challenged.
"Let's find out," Tyson replied.
Mission led him to a powerfully built older man who stood at the entrance to the dueling ring.
"Hey, Marl!" Mission's cheerful voice cut through the surrounding throng as she greeted the burly fellow.
Marl's craggy face creased into a slow smile at the sight of the petite girl. "Mission, you little scamp," he rumbled fondly. "What're you doing here?"
Mission gestured animatedly toward Tyson. "Got a new contender for ya! This is Tyson," she proclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
Marl looked Tyson up and down with a thoughtful hum. "Is that so? Alright then," he began, leaning casually against the wall. "First off, duels are one-on-one to knockout. No killing. We keep things clean here."
He pointed toward a series of holographic screens displaying an array of fighters, their statistics, and rankings floating ethereally beside them. Tyson's eyes flickered over each one, analyzing the assortment of combatants.
"You'll be starting at the bottom, naturally," Marl continued matter-of-factly. "Your first opponent will be Deadeye Duncan. Don't let the name fool ya. He's a bit of a pushover, but he's what we've got for newcomers to challenge."
Mission's voice piped up, radiating optimism, "Don't worry, Tyson. You'll climb the ranks in no time!" she encouraged brightly.
Tyson felt Alysia's concerned eyes upon him before he saw it. Her voice carried an undercurrent of gravity as she asked, "Are you certain this is the path you wish to take?" Alysia was deeply attuned to the currents of the Force, and she could read its eddies and flows around him. Detecting Tyson's excitement, Alysia was relieved to find no trace of bloodlust within him.
Turning to meet her eyes, Tyson replied with conviction, "Yes, I'm sure." This felt like the right decision. If fighting could spare him having to run a dozen side quests across the planet, he was ready. As a lifelong gamer, Tyson had always been a completionist, but living through what he recalled as a game, was different. Now, he did not feel compelled to act as someone's errand boy.
Vicky stepped closer, focusing an almost affectionate look upon Tyson. "If you're harmed, I'll take care of you, Master," she offered, a hint of suggestiveness in her tone that Tyson was becoming accustomed to.
Tyson couldn't help but smile, both amused and reassured. "Thanks, Vicky. It's good to know I have you to rely on," he acknowledged, despite the oddity of her attitude.
Nearby, Zaalbar rumbled a low, supportive growl. Tyson understood the Wookiee's meaning; he would protect the group in Tyson's absence.
Grinning, Mission playfully slapped Tyson on the back. "Enough with the mushy stuff, let's get on with it!" she said, irrepressible optimism shining through.
Tyson turned back to Marl. "Alright, Marl. Sign me up. I'm ready to fight."
Tyson followed Marl through the arena areas. They passed pockets of raucous crowds that cheered and shouted over the latest duel outcomes. In quieter corners, intense card games unfolded, credits changing hands after each round. Shadowy alcoves hid whispered negotiations between shifty figures exchanging credits for more illicit goods. Each step brought Tyson deeper into a world fueled by the thrill of violence as both entertainment and commodity. He sensed that in this place lives held little value beyond their ability to generate profits.
Finally, they arrived at their destination, the chamber of Ajuur the Hutt, Duel Organizer and notorious crime lord. At the room's center sprawled Ajuur himself atop an oversized pillow. The massive Hutt's blubbery form dominated the space, slack jowls spilling everywhere.
As Tyson entered, Ajuur's intelligent eyes fixed on him, narrowing with interest. His wide mouth split into a grotesque grin, revealing rows of yellowed, pointed teeth. When the Hutt spoke, his deep, guttural voice filled the room.
"Welcome," he rumbled. "Do you wish to join our... entertainment?"
The words dripped with avarice and cunning, putting Tyson on edge. Ajuur's gaze was unsettling in its intensity, missing nothing as he sized up this potential new asset for exploitation.
Tyson pushed down the unease that Ajuur's large worm-like form stirred within him. "I do. But I'm here to discuss terms first."
Ajuur chuckled, a rasping, gravelly sound like boulders grinding together. "Terms?" he rumbled, slitted eyes glinting with amusement. "Most come begging for a chance to enter my arena. But speak, human. You've intrigued me."
Drawing on the Force, Tyson subtly attempted to manipulate the Hutt as they began negotiations. "I bring unique talents to the ring, Ajuur, talents that will draw crowds and bets like insects to a lantern. I believe a 25% share better reflects the value I offer." He said while inconspicuously waving his hand.
Ajuur's booming laughter echoed through the chamber, the Hutt's vast body quaking with mirth. When at last his amusement subsided, Ajuur fixed Tyson with an appraising look. "Bold words from one so small. But you overestimate your worth, newcomer."
Undeterred, Tyson pressed on, imbuing his voice with quiet confidence, and a little bit of the Force. "Consider it an investment, Ajuur. With my abilities, I guarantee the duels will attract even more attention. Your profits will increase significantly with me here. Isn't the potential windfall worth this modest gamble?"
For a long moment, the Hutt's slitted gaze lingered on Tyson, assessing, calculating. Then slowly, gradually, Ajuur's lips split into a grin once more.
"Very well, human," Ajuur conceded at last, "20%, but you'll have to prove yourself quickly. Fail to draw the crowds and it drops to 5%."
Tyson nodded, pleased with himself. The negotiation had been a gamble, but the Force had tipped the scales in his favor. "Agreed. You won't be disappointed, Ajuur."
As Marl led Tyson away, he shook his head in wonder. "Hell of a job negotiating," he murmured under his breath. "I've been at this for years and I still only get 5%"
Tyson followed Marl through a narrow passageway that led underneath the bustling cantina. The rumble of the crowd above faded away, replaced by an expectant hush that permeated the arena's durasteel walls. As they approached the competitor's entrance, Tyson's weapons were thoroughly inspected and adjusted to non-lethal settings by a battle-scarred Iridonian. The vibrosword's edge was dulled and the blaster pistols' power packs were reduced to stun bolts.
Marl clapped Tyson on the back and left him at the entrance with a wish of good luck. Alone now, Tyson stepped forward into the arena's harsh spotlights. The Taris Duel Ring was an expansive circular enclosure, its walls rose high above the battleground. Seating tiers surrounded the perimeter, packed with a raucous crowd that was separated from the arena area by projected forcefields. The audience was a diverse mix of species and social classes, rich and poor alike, drawn together by their shared craving for violence and spectacle. Bookmakers moved among them, stoking excitement and taking bets.
Scanning the crowd, Tyson located his companions seated together. Mission blended seamlessly into the rowdy mob, while Alysia seemed ambivalent to the chaotic surroundings. If Tyson had to guess, he would say Vicky appeared nervous on his behalf; as much as a droid could. With a reassuringly corny thumbs-up to his group, Tyson stepped onto the worn duracrete of the arena floor.
The announcer's charismatic voice reverberated through the arena, quieting the restless crowd. Their attention riveted upon the duracrete arena and the lone figure standing at its center, Tyson steeled himself as all eyes turned towards him.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed beings of all species," the announcer's amplified words echoed off the arena walls, "I welcome you to another day of thrilling high-stakes dueling here at the Taris Arena!"
The crowd roared, momentarily drowning out even the announcer's booming voice. He continued once the tumult died down. "We've witnessed the birth of legends on this very floor, and seen bright-eyed dreams shattered into dust. And tonight, I present to you an intriguing new challenger on the Taris dueling scene!" Excited murmurs rippled through the stands. "Hailing from distant lands unknown, this mysterious warrior claims to possess skills the likes of which we've never seen!"
Tyson felt the intense gazes of the crowd upon him, their curiosity and skepticism palpable. He focused inward, marshaling his concentration.
"I give you... The Mysterious Tyson!" the announcer proclaimed. The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers, all eager for action. Most doubted this newcomer could live up to such bold claims.
Tyson stood calmly, though inside, excitement thrummed through his veins. He was ready. With a grinding screech, the massive gates on the far side of the arena began to rise, heralding the imminent arrival of Tyson's opponent.
The announcer's voice once again reverberated through the arena, capturing the mercurial attention of the crowd. "And now," he bellowed with unrestrained excitement in his tone, "I present Tyson's first opponent. A figure well-known to regular attendees of our dueling circles." He paused for dramatic effect before continuing. "His resilience and determination in the ring are unmatched. Please give a warm welcome to Deadeye Duncan!"
The crowd responded with a mixture of raucous laughter and enthusiastic applause, clearly indicating that Deadeye Duncan held a notorious yet beloved reputation among the arena's habitual spectators.
Out strode Deadeye Duncan, exuding a self-assurance that seemed at odds with the crowd's amused reaction. Duncan was clad in battered gear that had undoubtedly seen far better days. As he stepped fully into the arena, he raised a hand in casual acknowledgment of the crowd. Despite his less-than-stellar record, there was a stubborn persistence in his eyes. The look of a man who had faced defeat many times yet refused to be cowed by it. His nickname was earned not from any great skill but rather stemming from a past incident that had nearly cost him an eye, referencing his notoriously terrible aim.
The crowd's irreverent jeers shifted into a buzz of eager anticipation as Duncan took his position across from Tyson, sizing him up. For all his perceived quirks and shortcomings, Duncan was a veteran of the dueling ring, with countless battles under his belt. Tyson observed him closely, noting the slight hitch in Duncan's gait and the hovering of his hand near his holstered blaster.
"Ready for a beating, newcomer?" Deadeye shouted, though his bravado was undermined by the tremor in his voice.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Tyson merely smiled, calmly taking his position.
The announcer signaled the start of the duel. The crowd erupted into a deafening roar, their bloodlust palpable in the stale air of the arena.
Deadeye charged forward, firing erratic shots from his blaster.
True to his moniker, the bolts flew wildly off-target, fizzling uselessly into the surrounding walls far from their mark. The crowd's laughter mocked Deadeye's terrible aim.
Tyson advanced toward Duncan at a leisurely pace. Along the way, he sidestepped an almost accurately aimed bolt. Recognizing that he was here to put on a show, Tyson drew his own blaster pistol and aimed at Deadeye's weapon hand. His shot struck true, and Duncan's blaster clattered to the ground. Shocked, Deadeye looked between Tyson and his fallen weapon. He dove to reclaim it, but Tyson fired again, knocking it far out of Duncan's reach. The crowd laughed and cheered at the spectacle.
Realizing he had no chance of recovering his blaster, Deadeye resorted to a desperate charge at Tyson. Just as Duncan wound up a punch, Tyson sidestepped. As his opponent's momentum left him charging past, Tyson shot Deadeye in the side. The impact sent the hapless Duncan sprawling onto the floor of the ring. The crowd roared in excitement at the decisive outcome.
Tyson basked in the crowd's approval as Mission leaped up and down in her seat. Even Zaalbar's roar was drowned out by the girl's enthusiasm. He waved in acknowledgment. Alysia offered polite applause while Vicky clapped enthusiastically.
"Well, that was an...interesting duel," boomed the announcer over the loudspeakers. "Congratulations, to Tyson, on your first win! But don't get too comfortable. There are many more challenging opponents ahead!"
The fight had been easy, but the thrill of the duel, the crowd's excitement, and Mission's infectious enthusiasm promised more exhilarating bouts to come.
"Good fight against Deadeye, Tyson," Marl said as he led Tyson back into the room where they had first met. "But your next opponent isn't going to be so... forgiving."
He gestured to the far end of the bar, where a lone figure idly cleaned a blaster with a cloth. "His name's Gerlon Two-Fingers," Marl continued as Tyson's gaze fixed on the man. "Don't let the name fool you. He's a sharpshooter, one of the best in this ring. Lost a few of his fingers in a firefight, but that hasn't slowed him down any. He's quick, deadly accurate, and has a knack for predicting his opponent's movements."
Tyson nodded, taking in the information. Confident as he was in his abilities, he knew better than to underestimate these opponents.
"He's a tough one, alright," Mission chimed in as she approached. "But I think you can take him. You just need to stay on your toes."
"Hey, Mission. How would you like to be rich?" Tyson asked.
She turned towards him fully, grey eyes alight. "What are you talking about?" she asked as she folded her arms across her chest.
Tyson leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I want you to place a bet on me. The odds have to be against a newcomer winning."
"A money line bet?" Mission questioned skeptically. "You're that confident you'll win?"
"As certain as the twin suns of Tatooine," Tyson replied. Tyson's proposition had caught Mission off-guard, her lekku twitching slightly in response to this unexpected development. He passed over all of his credits to Mission along with explicit instructions. "Trust me. Visit Ajuur, the Hutt that runs this place. Use the credits I earned from my first fight and put everything on me for the next one."
Mission accepted the offered credits, barely able to contain her excitement as her hands overflowed with them. "Well, aren't you full of surprises? I don't usually gamble, but if you say so."
She pocketed the credits, turned sharply on her heel, and rushed away to place the bet.
-- Star Jumper --
The crowd surrounding the dueling ring came alive with thunderous anticipation as Tyson strode into the center of the pit. Gerlon Two-Fingers stood across the arena with a mangled left hand. Though the loss of fingers had earned him his ominous moniker, the injury had done little to curb his aim with a blaster. Tyson appraised his opponent as the boisterous crowd fell into an expectant hush.
The announcer's voice thundered through the arena, a master at whipping the crowd into a frenzy. His charismatic tone commanded attention, filling every corner of the durasteel walls. "Ladies, gentlemen, and enthusiasts from across the stars!" His opening words echoed. "Welcome back to the heart of Taris, where courage meets steel. Where legends are born, and where the faint of heart find the exit! Tonight, we have a special bout that promises to be a duel for the ages." A roar of approval erupted from the spectators, their excitement building with each word. "In one corner, a newcomer who has already made waves. A warrior whose skill is quickly become the talk of Taris." He paused for dramatic effect. "Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the formidable… The Mysterious, Tyson!"
Tyson acknowledged the crowd with a nod as a wave of cheers and applause washed over him. The announcer's introduction had set the stage, and the anticipation in the air was almost tangible.
"But," the announcer continued, his voice taking on a theatrical tone, "every rising hero needs a worthy adversary. And who better to test the mettle of our rising star than a veteran of the Taris dueling scene? A man whose fame and fortune have been won and lost on the turn of a blaster. Despite the odds, he's here to prove that experience and cunning can triumph. Give it up for the survivor, the crafty competitor, Gerlon Two-Fingers!"
The crowd's reaction was mixed; cheers for the underdog story that Gerlon represented mingled with jeers from those who doubted his chances against a fresh and formidable opponent like Tyson. The announcer raised his hands, calling for silence.
"As we stand on the brink of what promises to be an unforgettable clash," he boomed, "I ask you, dear audience, are you ready? Will the newcomer continue his ascent, or will the veteran remind us all why he's not to be underestimated, despite the odds?"
The arena erupted in an uproar of affirmation, the spectators on the edge of their seats, their attention fixed on the dueling ring. The announcer grinned, feeding off their energy.
"Then without further ado," he declared, "let the duel... Begin!"
Gerlon surged forward, his fingers curled tightly around the grip of his blaster. Crimson bolts erupted from the muzzle in rapid succession. But Tyson proved too quick, deftly sidestepping the incoming barrage before retaliating with a shot of his own. Gerlon twisted aside at the last moment, the bolt singeing past him as he narrowly avoided it.
Tyson unleashed a flurry of shots. Gerlon returned fire whenever he could, but he simply couldn't keep up with the relentless onslaught. Bolt after bolt found its mark, slamming into Gerlon's body.
The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers as Gerlon stumbled backward, crumpling to the ground in defeat.
Mission couldn't help the grin that spread across her face as she looked down at the arena. Tyson had emerged victorious, and he had done so handily. He was beginning to earn not only the respect of the roaring masses but also a hefty sum of credits to line their pockets.
Mission led the group toward the room where Tyson awaited their arrival after the duel. Her fingers trembled with anticipation as she gingerly opened the small pouch of credits, her eyes widened at their sight. A soft gasp escaped her lips, disbelief etched across her delicate features.
"This is..." Her voice trailed off, the words catching in her throat. She held out the pouch for Tyson to inspect, her eyes darting back and forth between the pouch and his face. "This is more money than I've ever held at once!" The exclamation tumbled from her lips, tinged with a sense of wonder. "With this, we could all live in the upper city for a few days!"
Tyson's lips curved into a lopsided grin, "Well, we're not done yet," he replied, his gaze meeting Mission's surprised expression. "I haven't even taken a hit yet. I'm going for one more round. Bet it all on me again."
Mission pulled back, her jubilant expression quickly replaced by a flicker of worry. Her grip on the pouch tightened possessively, the coins clinking together softly. "But Tyson," she started, her voice laced with concern. "What if you lose? We'd lose everything!"
Alysia's expression was one of understanding tinged with concern. "Mission speaks wisely, Tyson. Focusing on personal gain can cloud your judgment and lead to unnecessary risks."
Tyson regarded the Jedi with a hint of defiance, "I understand the risks, Alysia," he replied, "But sometimes, you've got to take a chance to get ahead. We need to make a name for ourselves. Winning fights in the ring is the fastest way for me to do that." His gaze hardened. "We might as well make some profit while we're at it since I'm fighting anyway. Credits can open lots of doors, maybe one of them will lead to Bastila." Alysia's expression twisted as Tyson continued. "We don't have time to slowly earn credits. You made it seem like Bastila needed our help now, and this could be our fastest way to get what we need. I understand the risks," he said, "but we've already come this far."
Mission's gaze flickered between Tyson and Alysia. Meanwhile, the Jedi was torn between her desire to help Bastila and her concerns about the dangers of gambling. Finally, with a resigned sigh, Alysia nodded in reluctant agreement. "Alright," she conceded, "but be careful. We can't afford to lose everything."
With their plan set, the group made their way back to the duel ring, and Mission went to collect Tyson's winnings and reinvest them in a bet on his victory.
Tyson made his way through the bustling crowd, seeking out Marl to gather intelligence on his next opponent. He found the veteran duelist sitting alone at a table, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the patrons of the small bar area where most of the arena participants lingered. The sounds of the arena could be heard from the bar, cheers mingling with the clink of credits exchanging hands, underlaid by the ever-present hum of the arena's shield generators that kept the spectators from being hit with stray blaster bolts.
Marl's craggy features creased into a knowing smile as Tyson approached. "So, you beat Gerlon, not bad." he rumbled.
Tyson nodded. "You gave good advice. I'm hoping you'd be willing to give me some tips about my next opponent."
"Ice," Marl said after a pause. "She's a cold one alright. Fights with the precision of a droid and the viciousness of a rabid Kath hound. Don't let that pretty face fool you, boy. Get on her bad side in the ring, and she'll carve you up quicker than a Gamorrean at an all-you-can-eat buffet." Marl's eyes glinted with recollection. "Favors a vibroblade and a blaster pistol. Switches between them, striking before you can react. I've seen her drop opponents in two moves with that technique."
He shook his head. "And her strikes are clean. No wasted movement, no hesitation. She won't just beat you, she'll dissect you." The duelist uncrossed his arms, "But if you can get inside her reach? Her defense is sloppy."
Marl's voice dropped forcing Tyson to lean in to catch the words. "If you can land a few solid hits, you might just thaw the Ice Queen out." Leaning back, Marl eyed Tyson critically. "You've got talent, kid, I'll give you that. But Ice is on another level entirely. The real question is… Are you ready?"
Tyson considered Marl's words. This Ice sounded like a formidable opponent, with skills beyond those he had faced prior. But he had not come this far by backing down from a challenge. Meeting Marl's scrutiny, Tyson simply said, "I'm ready."
-- Star Jumper --
The spectators awaited the next bout with hungry anticipation. The announcer's exuberant voice echoed through the arena, igniting an electric thrill among the audience.
His commanding voice boomed across the arena, "Prepare yourselves for a spectacle unlike any you have witnessed before in this or any other dueling ring!" The crowd erupted into ecstatic cheers, their excitement palpable, hanging on the announcer's every word. "Tonight," he continued, matching the crowd's enthusiasm with his own dramatic flair, "we bring you a clash of titans, a duel that will be remembered as a battle between ice and fire, a contest of wills that will be talked about for years to come!"
The audience leaned forward in their seats in anticipation of the promised spectacle.
"In one corner," the announcer proclaimed, "a duelist whose name has become synonymous with victory, whose cool demeanor and icy stare have frozen many a competitor in their tracks. A warrior so formidable, so relentless, that she has earned the name that sends shivers down the spine of all who hear it. Over in this corner, a woman with steel in her bones and ice water in her veins. She's cold and quick as death itself. You know her, you love her... Ice!"
As Ice strode into the ring, her confidence was evident in every step, her piercing gaze sweeping across the roaring crowd before fixing upon her opponent with an icy intensity that promised an uncompromising battle.
"But," the announcer added, his voice now tinged with intrigue, "tonight, Ice meets a rising star who has quickly captured the hearts and imaginations of Taris. A newcomer who has already proven himself to be a force to be reckoned with. Will he melt the ice, or will he be frozen in his tracks? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the sensation that has taken Taris by storm. Tyson!"
The crowd's response was deafening, a tumultuous mix of cheers for the underdog's courage and the intoxicating thrill of witnessing the unfolding drama. The arena seemed to vibrate with the force of the crowd's roaring approval, every spectator poised to witness the coming clash.
"Then without further delay," the announcer bellowed, his voice ringing with dramatic flair, "let the duel... Begin!"
The moment the announcer's voice faded, Ice moved with the swiftness and precision that had earned her reputation as one of the arena's most feared competitors. Her blaster was already drawn and leveled at Tyson, spitting deadly beams of crackling energy toward her opponent. Tyson's heightened senses detected the subtle hum of the charging blaster and saw the coiled tension in her muscles before she fired. Ice had tried to take Tyson by surprise with instant aggression, but he was ready. Tyson threw himself into a diving roll, feeling the searing heat of the blaster bolts as one passed close enough to singe his ribs with a glancing shot.
Tyson's roll carried him closer to Ice. As soon as his feet found purchase, he darted in zig-zagging lines, evading the next volley of blaster bolts fired at him.
Ice scowled, her icy blue eyes narrowing in irritation as she realized ranged attacks would be ineffective against such an agile opponent who was quickly closing the distance between them. She holstered her blaster and drew forth her vibroblade, the weapon humming menacingly as she gripped its hilt and stalked toward Tyson.
But Tyson had anticipated this. His hands tightened around the grips of his twin blaster pistols, one in each fist. At the last moment before their clash, he broke from his approach, dashing sideways in a blur of motion. Ice slashed with her vibroblade, cutting only air as her opponent evaded her strike.
Before Ice could react, brilliant lances of blaster fire streaked toward her, forcing the veteran fighter to throw herself awkwardly to the side. Only her finely honed reflexes saved her from a quick defeat, but the crowd still gasped in surprise. Pressing his advantage, Tyson advanced while unleashing a barrage from his pistol. Ice was forced completely on the defensive, her expertise with the vibroblade useless against the sustained fire. She struggled to evade the attacks, her motions growing more desperate, each glancing hit weakening her.
Finally, one last bolt found its mark, and Ice staggered back with a cry, falling to the ground and failing to rise. The crowd erupted into wild cheers at Tyson's underdog victory, but he tuned out the cacophonous shouts of thousands of spectators. His entire focus remained on Ice. Though she had been his enemy moments before, he recognized her skill and offered a nod of respect. Ice returned the nod grudgingly, her expression showing newfound regard for the upstart's abilities.
Tyson stood victorious in the arena, the deafening roar of the crowd washing over him in waves. They were on their feet, voices raised in a frenzied chorus of cheers and applause, feeding off the electric atmosphere.
Seizing the moment, the announcer commanded the attention of every soul in the stands. When he spoke, his voice boomed with enthusiasm and awe, "Ladies and gentlemen, against all odds, we have witnessed Tyson emerge triumphant. His name will now become a symbol of hope for underdogs everywhere." He paused, letting the anticipation build before continuing his dramatic address. "Citizens of Taris, please join me in celebrating the vanquisher of Ice...Tyson!"
The crowd erupted. They cheered, chanting Tyson's name in a deafening chorus.
The announcer went on. "Tonight, Tyson has not just won a duel. He has won the respect and admiration of all Taris. A star has been born among us. We eagerly await to see what heights this remarkable warrior will reach next."
As Tyson raised a hand to acknowledge the crowd's adoration, pride and accomplishment washed over him. He had faced formidable foes in the ring and proven himself worthy.
With that, the duel drew to its official close, but the crowd continued to buzz with excitement about Tyson's future in the ring.
As Tyson exited the fighting pit, Mission pushed through the cheering crowd to meet him, leading his companions. Zaalbar clapped Tyson on the back in congratulations. He winced slightly at the glancing hit he had taken during the fight. His skin still stung slightly where he'd been grazed. As an Augment, he was resistant to most energy weapons, but he was not invincible. Additionally, his Grey Goo Suit hadn't absorbed any actual armor and offered no additional protection as of yet. Still, he knew his opponents likely fared far worse after the brutal barrage he had unleashed upon them. Tyson almost felt a pang of sympathy for the defeated gladiators. They lacked his constitution and would surely be nursing more than just stinging scrapes now that the duels had ended. Despite being his competitors in the ring, Tyson bore no ill will towards those he had bested in combat. It was simply the nature of arena combat. It was more a sport than a battle to the death.
"You were amazing out there!" Mission exclaimed, barely able to contain her excitement.
"Thanks, Mission," Tyson replied as he gingerly touched his bruised side. "Looks like our plan worked out after all."
"I knew it would!" Mission's voice rang out. "We have so much money now! Let's get a room in the Upper City, someplace really swanky. And buy expensive clothes and eat at fancy restaurants!"
Alysia's eyes narrowed as she turned to face Mission fully, interjecting, "Our primary objective is to rescue Bastila. We cannot allow ourselves to become distracted."
Mission dismissed the other woman's concerns with an exaggerated wave of her hand. She insisted, "One night of indulging won't hurt." Her lekku twitched eagerly as she continued, "After all, we need a place to sleep and for Tyson to recover from that last fight."
Tyson chuckled, the sound morphing into a soft hiss as it aggravated his bruised ribs. He regarded the unbridled enthusiasm shining in the young Twi'lek's eyes. After the harrowing escape from the Endar Spire, and the spartan arrangements of his Housing Complex, he had to admit he was looking forward to experiencing the opulence of the Upper City, if only briefly. Decision made, he gestured for everyone to follow him out of the dueling building. There would be time to continue the search for Bastila after allowing himself and his group a night's rest.