- 10 Years before the destruction of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant....and years before the Flight from Korriban....

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Today, the one known as ‘Karolin’ put a dead Niko Lizard in my sock drawer. Children play tricks. Jokes are not uncommon in these early years. Until our ways are instilled within them and the discipline that is the Jedi Order infiltrates their being. I DO understand that. And ordinarily, I would have simply taken the thing out, buried it and dealt with the perpetrator. But the other one…’Mrysti’. She used her ability to make the thing explode the minute I picked it up. Don’t ask me how, don’t ask me why. Children at this age should not possess this kind of power, much less act…I will not even get into the argument about maturity. Yes, I know they are still technically ‘children’. Yes, I know they are new and still learning our ways. But these two….Master, you must do something. NO ONE, I repeat no one will take either of these girls as their Padawan learner once they are done with integration. Not unless they have a death wish or really, really like walking close to the dark line.

Thank you and GOOD DAY!!>>

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Hutta...A Few Months after the Escape from Korriban. An Excerpt from the ‘Mirialan Gladiator Chronicles’....

Those first few days were a mix of satiating various hungers. The shuttle deposited me on Hutta. I knew of Hutts. How I knew is still a mystery. As time passes, I regain so many bits of meaningless information. But nothing concrete or of substance.

Scrounging with the other vagabonds who lurked dark corners and hid in shadows became tiresome quickly. One such encounter resulted in my killing several of the derelicts outright; stealing their food and what little possessions they had. I stayed out of sight for fear of being recaptured. Surely, someone must have missed my former Master by now. No doubt those he once answered to would come looking for him and by virtue of that fact come looking for me.

But no one came. No one was looking. I used my power to reach out, search. There was nothing. A great void of emptiness concerning me. On some level, that angered me slightly. That I was that insignificant. After feeling and experiencing the immense power at my disposal and unleashing that power on my unsuspecting Master; how could that be so?

In my continued killing and domination of the dregs that lurked the shadows of Hutta, I did gain notice. Someone, a buyer of some sort, noticed me killing a few of them out behind some sort of gathering establishment. I knew from my fractured memory it was called a ‘Cantina’. Though I cannot exactly remember if I had ever been in one. The man came. He took me inside. I allowed him to accompany me.

Though that was not how he saw it. Before long I had drink and food. An array of things spread out before me. Someone commented on the smell. Bumped me and insulted the man who befriended me. The man who not only befriended, but who saw fit to feed me. Suspicion is part of my character now. No one does anything for anyone unless they want something. And though the man did not ask, I could sense it. Opportunity. That’s what he saw.

Food would not be denied. And I would tolerate no interruption. 

The one who insulted quickly found himself in my grasp. But I was hungry. Always hungry. After he insulted us, I grabbed him up. My fingers wrapped around his throat; I quickly dispatched him with a slight twist. Neck bones, easy to pop and disintegrate. Dropping the body to return to my meal.

There was silence around me. All eyes turned toward me. I could feel them. Curious glances. Feeling of surprise, dread. Who the man brought in. Who was I, no one needed to know. Then the Fear. It was almost as satisfying as the food. I actually paused to savor it. Striking me to my core. So many weeks since I tasted the sweet essence of it. Reminding myself of the last time. Killing my worthless Master. Killing those that stood in my way as I stole away aboard the ship and made my way to this place. Their deaths were not as satisfying. Far too many of them to take a chance of being recaptured. This 'Empire'...I have no need or desire for it. Far too many of them to take the time to savor and kill.

All were watching as I ate; wondering how I had managed to kill a much larger being so quickly and without missing a step to return to my meal. I was hungry. All that matters is satisfying that hunger. As well as all of the others which rage constantly. Though I do know at some point I must once again get control over it as I once did. My Master was that control and now that I lack direction, it seems a wild prospect that I will gain a sense of self without being beholden to another. At least in this place. But I will never wear chains again. Death will come first, if those who whish to bind me; can stop me. 

We found ourselves at the arena. Something came over me. Even after another approached and killed the one who befriended me as we sat together in the stands. The ones who came left me alone. Only interested in some slight the one who befriended me had done to them. I will not mourn him. I did not know him. And my sense of it all was eventually he would ask. Either to kill or give of myself in some way. Those hungers abound. Satisfying them...that, I do not consider a trade. And one I would gladly do in order to quell the fires within.

They asked. I answered. Entering the arena, I found peace. Solace at last in the blood-stained grounds of the sand. My wraps grow darker now. Stained with the blood of an ever-increasing number of victims. Others have come. More than before. They want something. They want me, to possess and bind me once again. But I am no contractor. This I do for myself. To quench the hungers that grow inside. Through the arena I have no wants. Not for food, blood or sex. Through the arena, I receive all that I need and all that I will ever need.

Perhaps this was the call all along. How I know this, I have no clue. Memory does not serve an adequate servant reveling why destiny allowed that shuttle to land here. Or how I found this place. But the Arena. This…this feels like home. My ‘Temple’ to worship the powers which control me.

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- Hutta....

Noise from the arena above drown out the Agent who was talking to his Gladiator in the pit below. Light peeked through the bars covering the Arena floor from above casting strange shadows in the pit, most of the ghastly shadows adding to the already evil visage that sat only a few meters away from the Gladiator. Only half listening, he was busy trying to peer through the veil of darkness at his opponent. The first round was over in less than a minute, the earlier opponent never saw…HER or IT…whatever it was coming.

Still looking intently, the Gladiator could almost make out an outline, the IT was a SHE and SHE was larger than a normal woman. Not that it mattered. No Woman could best him, not many Men either for that matter. A slap to the face brought him back to the voice who was still prattling on.

“Rutgher? Are you listenin ta me!!!??? Think about what ya doin lad…ya can’t lose this fight, if ya do you go down in rank and we got no leg ta stand on!!!” Rutgher, an overly large Human male waved off the series of Pit droids that busied themselves stitching up the nasty gash to his face and wiping the blood from his harness. Finally, he looked at the Chagarin who was his Agent, inclining his head in the direction of his mysterious opponent.

“Who is she? Waddaya know?” The Chagarin frowned at the question. Taking a moment to hazard a glance into the darkness.

“Not much. She’s new. Unsponsored…independent. Ya kno these types, they don’t last long without a sponsor….or an Agent. If the Arena doesn’t get her, the Cartel will….” The Chagarin grabbed Rutgher by the jaw pulling his face toward himself; looking into his eyes. “Hugh jus focus!!! Don let her get tha betta of ya…we got too much at stake here. Don't think about wha' she jus' did up there!!! Focus!!!” As Rutgher struggled to look at his Agent; the visage across from him, who until that moment merely sat back in their chair; hands on the armrests staring in Rutgher’s direction, sat up slowly. White teeth were the first thing he noticed, a predators smile and dark crimson lips that surrounded the white jaws. Crimson that ran from her mouth up the side of her face and getting darker as it dried on her skin. If the smile weren’t so evil, Rutgher may have winked in her direction. He turned his eyes in her direction, his jaw still being held tightly. The accent was Imperial, slightly mottled, but clearly Imperial in origin. The light from above flashed quickly across her green scarred face as Rutgher realized she was a Mirialan. A flash of the brightest ruby red hair framed her features. Wild, untamed. 

“You want to know about me?” The rough sand of her Imperial voice started speaking. “You’re about to learn the lesson I consider important enough to teach anyone who steps on those sands….” Mrysti got up to go stand on the lift next to her. The lift that would raise her back to the Arena floor. Rutgher watched as she glanced back down at the Gladiator and Agent impassively, “…you're about to learn what it feels like to lose….at life.”

The lift began to ascend, Mrysti never let her eyes leave Rutgher until her head was above the floor and she was forced to break her deathly stare. Rutgher visibly shivered. Like someone at some point had walked over his grave. All his life Rutgher’s size had intimidated, he used that. When he could no longer rely on just his size, he trained what became natural. Using his attributes to enhance his ability to break bone and inflict pain. Those became his weapons. Never before had he looked back, never before had he doubted. As he slowly got on the ramp to ascend to the floor for the first time…Rutgher was scared. And not just of losing, everyone lost at one time or another. And perhaps his time had come. As the lift crested enough to look at the green monster standing impassively across from him, Rutgher realized where the fear came from. Rutgher was scared of more than losing. Rutgher was scared for his life.

It wasn’t boredom that struck Mrysti and made her stand so non-chalantly in front of her opponent. It was how easily she was able to break his will with just a look and few words. The Arena was a very good teacher. They wanted it as much as she did. Fear and for that fear to be drawn out. Words, taunting; Mrysti found it meaningless. But it had a place. And it was more than just the fact of her being a woman and him being a man. That never factored into it. It was something that should have played in her male opponent’s favor. Men are genetically larger than women and instinctively have an ingrained program that instills them with a sense of protection toward members of the opposite sex. Most Men are hesitant to hit a Woman. Any Woman. The fact that Mrysti was overly tall and muscular, much larger than the average petite female and most normal males was irrelevant. She raised an eyebrow curiously as she eyed her opponent. No, it wasn’t genetics that was making him hesitant.

The familiar sense of it hit her and Mrysti smiled. All at once the sweet taste of fear tapped at her in the Force. It flowed over her like a warm blanket. The man’s fear smothering her, fueling her. Again, she smiled wickedly as she reveled in it. The fear heightening her awareness. She wanted more, the emotion drawing her in. Closer and closer.

Glancing around at the thousands gathered in the seats all cheering, jeering, cursing at the both of them Mrysti could sense curious desire in some of the crowd as they looked at her. Other emotions fueling the sudden desire that rose up and took hold of her. Nothing was as powerful as the fear. But the others, they served more as motivation. Mrysti felt distain and hatred from the other parts of the crowd. She smirked to herself. Those last thoughts and emotions obviously coming from the women in the crowd. Licking her lips at the deliciousness in front of her, she drew the Durasteel blade off of her back crouching into a ready position to await the horn. The sun light reflected off the scars and cuts of her well-worn armor, the darkly stained wrap on her waist getting caught in the breeze; flowing sideways with the almost crimson, ruby red glow of her hair. Wild and unkempt as she was.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As it sounded Rutgher charged toward Mrysti only to be slowed by the fact that she did not attack with blinding speed in return. Mrysti did not charge or rush toward him as he did her. Instead choosing to walk to the center. It confused the Barbarian just enough that as he got within striking distance, he over-estimated the distance to land the first and hopefully only blow slashing wildly at her mid-section. The axe he held in two hands swinging wildly and with all of his might. Fear led him. Fear that he needed to quash by ending her quickly. In order to convince himself that all of it, all of her was completely misplaced. She moved like slow swamp water. Stepping backward slightly. Mrysti poked her lip out at the huge man looking down at him as the wicked smile grew.

“Awwww….did the big bad man get frustrated by the ‘wittle-bitty’ girl?”

Fear can make a creature do strange things, in Rutgher’s case it made him go into ‘fight or flight’ mode. Locked into a circular Arena with no clear escape, for Rutgher it was ‘fight’. Mrysti made the fight look silly. After the deliberate swing, Rutgher stepped back. Screaming in rage at having what was a sure and fatal blow miss entirely. It no longer mattered that the match was ‘first blood’. Rutgher would have his agent answer to the Hutts later. Mrysti was unsponsored, the punishment would be slight.

Swinging again, Rutgher switched hands. His strength enough that he could swing the axe almost as fast in one as he did with two. Mrysti dodged again. This time she moved a bit faster. Ducking under and moving to the side as she came up. A combination. Slash, dodge; Slash again; weave. Rutgher’s fist came around in the spin, following his axe. Having thrown no blows at the flailing Gladiator, Mrysti was merely parring his weapon or slowly; deliberately moving past each one of his swings. And all of it at the last second before the blade would land home.

Until the fist. Tactile contact. Mrysti wanted to get close, she wanted him to feel it. The fist landed. A brief flash of satisfaction passed through Rutgher. The slapping wet sound of flesh on flesh. The pop of meat slapping its target. That satisfaction was short lived. Rutgher’s eyes met hers. Mrysti held his fist in her own. Fingers outstretched over the massive fist of the other Gladiator. He pushed instantly meeting an iron wall of resistance and Mrysti squeezed. Rutgher falling to his knees under the vice like grip that heard bones pop and made the big man crumble.

On one prior occasion, Mrysti let her opponent think he struck her. The need to get close ever present. It made the fear thick. Increased it. Something she savored and sucked up in every match. Seeing him crumble, feeling the level increase in her opponent was worth the risk. 

Mrysti let him go, taking a step back. Rutgher stood and shook his head, flexing the fingers of the hand she once held to shake off what ‘had’ to be a mistake. Was he getting slow? Had he somehow transmitted what the combination would be so she would be ready to grab him at the end? Raising the axe overhead, he slashed down vertically in an attempt to split her in half the same way. Mrysti was sensing each one of his attacks in the Force and moved just enough to the side to allow the sharpened axe to pass her. Buried in the ground where she once stood, Rutgher looked up breathing heavily. A broad smile on his face as the axe buried itself in the dirt. An attack that was sure to have cleaved her. Mrysti stood off to the side. Several strands of the cloth from her blood-stained rags floated harmlessly in front of her. Snapping her head in the direction of the man still looking down at the axe; Mrysti moved in. The wicked smile giving way to a disdainful look.

Spinning, she backhanded him in the mouth. Placing her other hand on his shoulder as he let go of the axe, falling backward. The crowd roared and came to their feet. Mrysti flipped end over end in the air, using Rutgher as a vault. Using his shoulder to stabilized her acrobatic like grace to land behind him. Once feet hit the ground, Mrysti sank her blade deeply into the Gladiator’s back. His chest burst. The point of her sword gleaming in the sun. Rutgher looked down in shock and surprise. His hands moving toward the sword which sliced through him. Blood sprayed in a fountain as the organ that fueled his body burst.

There were only moments left. And he knew it. Rutgher started to fall to his knees. The look of utter disbelief on his face. Mrysti had seen it before. They always had that look. At end, all beings got it. Shock at not only their loss, but disbelief that all was coming to an end. Beings fought, even at the end; fighter or not, all fought for that last bit of life. And Mrysti reveled most in the last seconds of it. Standing behind him she kept her gaze on the dying man, studying in a way. Every life was different, every ending just as varied. The cat and mouse game was over. The predator; tired of playing with her food and simply wanting to eat. Rutgher’s dying was too slow as she leaned forward into his ear, sharply removing her own blade from the man’s body.

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“Don’t think for one second this was business…..this was personal. And I take great pleasure in watching you die….”

The words weren’t necessary. But it added to the flavor of the moment. Those last moments when they always clung to the last threads. Words always severed them. Made it real. Yes, it was over. And yes, you lost. As Mrysti said when she met Rutgher in the catacombs, the lesson. Life. Its purpose was to end. 

Mrysti’s hand was on the man’s shoulder as she removed the blade with the other. The grand finale. The hand glowed slightly. No one in the crowd close enough to see. Mrysti sent a burst of painful energy through her victim. The remainder of his organs exploding on the inside as he quickly let out a last gasp of air falling in a heap face down.

Turning around she did not acknowledge the jubilant cheers of the crowd stalking back to the holding area, but not before spitting on the ground. A final, ‘Kriff You’ to not only her opponent, but to the crowd, the promoters…even the Hutts.

--

In his private booth, Gardurrga the Hutt smiled cheerfully. Why wouldn’t he? The crowd represented profits and they always packed it in to see HER. Gardurrga didn’t like her, even if the crowd seemed to. It was control, he lacked it concerning her. Smacking his translator droid sharply, Gardurrga turned his head slightly to his guest pointing to Mrysti’s death blow which struck through the other warrior’s chest.

“ROW GAH!!! DO GAH-DAH RENGGEN DEH SOLLDA!!” The ‘guest’ a Dark Lord from the Sith Empire, watched the match disdainfully. Giving a distasteful gaze to the Hutt who was pointing at the Arena.

Darth Malvox, a former leading Scholar at the Sith Academy had since been put on ‘administrative’ leave following a dispute with another Instructor. The other Instructor had better political connections and within days Malvox found herself assigned to the Diplomatic Corps. It was only a matter of time before the Sith made an attempt to eliminate her. The teachings she was advocating; going against the current administration’s agenda. The trip to Hutta was her final act for a Government that didn’t want her. It was fortuitous that the trip called for her going to Hutta. As much as she despised dealing with the Hutts and any other filthy nefarious underworld types it had become necessary to do so if for no other reason than to seek out allies. Gardurrga, as well as some of her other less than reputable contacts, were going to help her drop out of sight for a while. Keeping the disdainful look on her face she glanced at the dying man in the arena, as he fell to his knees.

“Gardurrga…use common speech, please. We are alone up here and I know you can speak the common tongue.” Gardurrga frowned as much as a Hutt could, looking back to the Arena.

“As well as I know you can speak Huttese, Darth Malvox.” Gardurrga turned his attention back to the arena. “As I was saying, can you believe the audacity of this Woman!?!?! Killing her opponent in a first blood match! I don’t know who she is…but I want her!!!”

Malvox moved to the edge of the pavilion to look down, the roar of the crowd coursing through her. Even as much as she disliked the needless death of an Arena, the angry, lustful cries of the crowd fueled her Dark Spirit. She closed her eyes slightly allowing the anger and lust to pour through her. Malvox almost let out a pleasurable sigh, but held her composure turning back to Gardurrga.

“Technically, the Mirialan did not violate the rules…it was First Blood. Her death blow being the first and only strike landed. And it did indeed draw blood….ALL of her opponents, but first blood nonetheless.”

Malvox had to smile at her logic. Gardurrga watched as Mrysti leaned in to jab her sword inward. Placing her hand on the man’s shoulder; leaning in to whisper in her opponents’ ear as she did so. The sword went in with a sickening ‘pop’. Blood launching out with the gleam of her blade in the sunlight. But not as much blood as was expected. Heat and lightning exited Mrysti’s palm. Inserting itself into her opponents’ body at the same time she inserted the sword through his back. The lightning cooking her opponent’s insides. Caressing the blade, both from inside and out. Tendrils of the lightning exiting the wound in the chest along with the blade. As Mrysti started to walk off, the Hutt pointed frustratingly at the Arena.

“She always does this!!! What is she saying to them?!?! After she strikes the final blow she always speaks in their ear!!! I want to know…I want to know what she says!!!” Malvox smiled and was just about to say that the Mirialan most likely said some kind of prayer in the ‘Dying Warrior’ mantra, or something else equally honorable, but also equally meaningless.

Malvox looked up suddenly as Mrysti got closer on her way to the arena exit. The call form Dark Side hit the Dark Lord like a truck; she physically stumbled. Grabbing a table as she turned around slowly to look back at the Arena. A wicked smile crossing her face unconsciously. The Mirialan was a Force user. And not just any user. A Dark Sider. Malvox moved quickly back to the edge of the pavilion to lean over it. After Rutgher’s organs burst, his carcass falling in a heap on his face; Malvox watched Mrysti stalk off. The Dark Side of the Force rolling off of her like a tidal wave. Whispering as if to Mrysti, Malvox continued her bright wicked smile.

“So raw….so unfocused. My, my, my….where have you been all my life?” Gardurrga growled at his servants as Mrysti disappeared under them. The Mirialan’s gaze never leaving her destination or looking up toward the box holding the Hutt and the Dark Lord.

“She acknowledges no one!!! Disrespectful!!!” Grabbing his translator, Gardurrga pulled the droid close to his slimy face, “I want her!!! Tonight!!!....The Palace should have some entertainment, it will be amusing for others to watch as I explain our rules to her!!! Go!!! Get her!!” Malvox moved slowly next to Gardurrga, her next suggestion not so much a show of support for her current benefactor as it was to herself.

“Perhaps you would allow me to accompany them. She is dangerous, yes? She has won how many matches so far?” Gardurrga waved a slimy arm as he slithered toward the exit of his private booth.

“Only six…she is new!! But she kills like a Nexu playing with a Ratling. Whatever strikes her fancy!! No matter the match, she makes up her own rules!!! And the Fans are starting to like it. They like anyone who would spit in the face of authority these days!!! She must learn or it is a slap to the face of the Hutts!!!” Malvox allowed Gardurrga to slither a little further away. Before he realized the Dark Lord was no longer beside him, he turned looking down at her. “If it pleases you Darth Malvox, I would be honored if you would secure this…upstart!!!” Malvox bowed slightly turning to walk the opposite way. She had no intention of confronting the larger woman personally. At least not yet. But, it would be interesting to observe her.

--

Sitting again in her dark corner, Mrysti’s wooden chair creaked under her weight. She made no move to clean her weapon or her person of the blood that covered her. The splattering adding to the dark stained color of the slave’s wrapping she still wore. Once a light brown, the slave wrappings were now a darker brown, dyed in the blood of her Master and since that day getting darker. The sword leaned on the arm of the chair, her eyes closed she focused on the kill. Reliving every moment of it. Only to hold on to the feeling a moment longer. But, as always, the pleasure was fleeting.

Mrysti moved her hands to run them over her dirty, powerful legs. Rutgher’s blood smearing into her skin as she slowly massaged the muscles. It had been several months since escaping Korriban. In that time, she only found pleasure in killing. And had yet to find available prey to satisfy any of her ‘other’ desires. A dull pain began to emanate in her abdomen. It coursed its way down to her loins, throbbing and demanding attention. She quickly closed her legs. Hands slapping on her knees as they started to vibrate and move involuntarily. Mrysti cursed to herself, speaking to the dark voices that plagued her always.

“Alright!!! I will find someone!!! I will DO something!!!”

Her head jerked upwards sensing the individuals approaching with intent directed toward her. Mrysti slowly allowed one of her hands to drift back to the hilt of the sword. Fingers slowly curling around the hilt.

The group spread out in a semi-circle in front of her and at first were unsure how to approach the strange woman. From a distance, Darth Malvox peered around a corner. Allowing just her face to crest the next room. Watching from the darkness and peering at the ‘other’ darkness that surrounded the Mirialan, both literally and figuratively. The lead Hutt Thug stepped out from the group centering himself on the woman.

“You there! Gardurrga wants to see you…let’s go. NOW!!!” Mrysti was no longer used to being ordered around, she killed the last person who dared. With the dull pain from her loins still buzzing in her mind, Mrysti’s tolerance level was lower than normal. The fear she sensed from the men provided a distraction. Narrowing her eyes, she decided to draw out the confrontation just a bit longer. It would give the buzzing and voices a respite. The pain became a dull sensation. Mrysti unclenched her legs and sat up slowly.

Jerking the sword from the side of the chair she very noisily jabbed it on the stone floor in front of her, holding it in both hands. It made a metallic ‘ching’ as it embedded itself in the stone. The thugs all visibly jumped back from the quick movement. The reaction made Mrysti smile wryly. That such fear could exist in those who even thought to approach her. The thugs were being made to do it, none of them wanted to. Putting on her best seductive voice, she spoke to them in sultry tones allowing each word to roll off her tongue.

“What’s the matter, boys…don’t know how to ask a woman nicely?” Mrysti bared her teeth at the last words, putting a bit of venom behind them. “I don’t like to be ordered about.” The lead thug drew his blaster almost as fast as Mrysti had moved her sword, pointing it at her. But it shook. Nervousness. The thug cleared his throat, trying to narrow his eyes to be more intimidating. She smiled wickedly sitting back in her darkness. Their nervousness and fear growing and she could feel the heat of it radiate through her body. All of the pain and the dull roar from her groin suddenly disappeared as a new emotion radiated through her.

“I-I’m not going to ask again…your comin with us. Either under your own power or with us….draggin you outta here.”

Only one thing stopped her from leaping out of the seat and slaying them all. The lead thug being her primary target, Mrysti kept an eye on him and the blaster he held. Ready to snatch it from his grasp once she felt the slight of a trigger squeeze. Narrowing her eyes in the darkness, Mrysti looked past him. The mysterious figure that radiated the strange power; so similar to her former Master’s, was hidden behind one of the wooden columns. The power wasn’t just any type of energy, it was darkness. A sense of her own reaching out, crawling across the floor toward it imaged in her mind. Cold, lonely; it searched for something else always. But the power that radiated on the far side of the room was much more focused. It rolled toward Mrysti in waves and satisfied any longing she had at the moment. Waves and more waves of the dark energy. Mrysti knew the figure was watching her, studying her. And she was studying it.

Standing up suddenly, Mrysti stepped down off the raised platform and out of her wooden seat. All of the thugs jumping at her movement. Compared to what was watching her from afar, that little bit of fear from the Hutt Cartel’s finest did little to amuse her.

“Fine. Take me to your Master…I will speak with him.”