Jedi Manji Keibatsu Vs. Warlord Macron Sadow


10-06-2009 17:48:12

Minerís Brother Cargo Ship:

In another Mindís Eye, the cargo ship had been abandoned, its location known only to a few intrepid souls in what was known as Clan Naga Sadow. But here, in this bright and Fractured reflection, the lights were steady and strong as it sped towards Sepros with its latest payload of weaponry and supplies for the war effort against the Vong.

Jedi Master Manji Keibatsu and Sith Warlord Macron Sadow moved into a medium-sized hold of the fully functional cargo ship. The air was still and warm as the ships environment controls operated nominally, and gravity was sure as both fighters moved across the deck and looked at each other. The stacks of crates stood as silent sentinels as Manji checked his belt to ensure that his lightsaber was still secure; the movement was mimicked as Macron checked and found that his lightsabers and Armour Fist was still with him. No official was presiding over this fight but something in the air prompted both combatants to leap at each other, whipping out their weapons to attack.

Macron Sadow

12-06-2009 13:42:30

"What in Zandru's Nine Hells..." wondered Macron as he regarded the hold and the figure before him. Just a few seconds before, he had been casually standing in a laboratory of another ship entirely. A strange sensation of dislocation had crossed his path, and then this. The Sith hoped it was a dream, as the scene playing out before him was more than even he could bear in his gibbering insanity. "Frack me!"

Everything was somehow wrong... the hold appeared exactly like the Miner's Brother, but brighter. Cleaner, and appearing less damaged. No bloodstains drying on the walls and floor, no savory smell of chemicals and fear. No hanging wires emitting a hopeful spark every now and then. There were other beings about that were not his unfortunate victims. The shocked-looking crew-members backpedaling from the impending confrontation wore suits of all the wrong colors. Even the lighting was off- a dull blue instead of deep refreshing red. And worst of all, there were no implements of torture to play with. Simply awful.

Now standing before him was a horrible parody of his own Master. The man looked exactly like Manji, but without the battle-scarred countenance. For God's sake, he had BOTH eyes in his head. Typical boring brown Jedi Master style robes swathed him, although their style was vaguely Kyataran to Macron's eyes. All in all, either someone had played a very twisted joke, or he was having another insane dream borne of drugs and limited sleep. Either way, someone was going to pay dearly for the outrage. Macron promised himself to take a very long time to kill the offending party- even for him.

There was only one way to resolve such issues- and that was to kill the dog of an impostor before him. He was sure the real Manji would approve completely. Mac flexed the Armor Fist with a whine of servos on his left hand as his sharp metal teeth gritted together in his mouth leaving the bitter taste of durasteel to dance on his tongue. Power ripped through his body as a current of the Dark Side girded his flesh with intensity and menace.

The strange man regarded him coolly, his green eyes calm. "Now hold on a minute here," he commented as his hand drifted towards his belt and the saber hanging there. He could sense the evil almost reeking from the strange looking madman before him. The Dark Side held him completely in it's sway, and he appeared to relish violence. In fact, the tattooed man might be an actual Sith Warrior, although they were supposedly extinct.

"Disgusting," remarked the Sith Warlord as he drew his lightsaber and powered it on. The whine of the high-pitched custom weapon rose in pitch as the tangerine light illuminated his grimacing visage. "You are a pathetic joke. Manji-sama would kill you brutally," chuckled the Warlord as he adopted a ready Dun Moch stance. "Sickening. Come, show me what you have, weakling," snickered the Dark Jedi. The Sith waited for a few pregnant seconds as the two eyed each other, yellow eyes boring into green ones.

It became rapidly apparent the Jedi would not throw the first blows. He stood in a ready Makashi stance, saber now drawn and lit to bathe the area around him in azure light. Macron roared in irritation, unleashing a blast of furious speed to close on the Jedi in an instant. Wasting no time, he threw a complicated set of Makashi strikes against the brown-clad Jedi, hoping to overpower him quickly.

It was for naught. The strange man parried the blows, his own mastery of Makashi nearly as good as Macron's own. Orange and blue bolts of light smashed into each other, spinning and reversing as the two warriors moved back and forth across the floor. A solid front kick from the Jedi was stopped by a downward palm-smash of Macron's left hand, and the Armor Fist encountered muscle and bone. The hand wrapped around Manji's shin and began to squeeze as Mac shoved the man's saber with his own Force-empowered body. Several nearby crew members gasped as the two titans struggled, the air electric with the Force sloughing off from both men.

Nekura Manji

14-06-2009 09:07:46

For a moment neither warrior could gain the upper hand, their power evenly matched. Macron's face was twisted in an unholy grin as he exerted pressure on the Epis' shin with the Armor Fist, while Manji's expression was calm- almost serene, even in the middle of such a heated battle. Sparks crackled across the room, a rushing wind surrounding the two empowered beings.

Then Macron chanced a glance upwards- to see a bizarre sight. Manji's face was relaxed, his eyes closed as though he was deep in meditation. As the madman gibbered angrily to himself, still incensed with rage at the temerity of this imposter, the Jedi's eyes slowly opened, even more of the Force rushing through his body like a pure, pristine mountain stream.

A blow of energy smacked into Macron's forehead, driving the Sith back enough to give Manji the leeway to bring the hilt of his saber down on the Armor Fist, Macron's fist unclenching convulsively. As soon as the grip of the Sith had been broken, Manji whirled backwards and away from the tattooed Darksider, kimono whirling around him as he brought the azure blade across his body in a gleaming arc of energy to point at Macron's forehead. The Jedi's expression firmed slightly as he stared at the crouching Sith, who was growling under his breath, his hands flexing and loosening convulsively. Then Manji's voice carried across the hold, cutting through the sharp-edged humming of lightsabers.

"I see that there is no goodness in your heart, evil one. For the safety of the Sepros Conclave, and in the name of Urias Orian, I must destroy you."

Macron straightened up momentarily, his eyes widening at this new revelation. Urias Orian? The Dark Lord of the Sith was both alive and aligned with the Light in this bizarre reflection of everything that he knew to be true? The surprise was slowly replaced with even more ferocious anger, the hatred coursing through Macron's veins and loosed in the form of a demented cackle that echoed around the hold. In the next instant, the Sith hurled himself forwards, saber flashing for Manji's throat.

As the Jedi smoothly glided out of the way, Macron followed through with a furious forward punch from the Armor Fist that was barely evaded by the Jedi. The two entered into a deadly dance, Macron slashing and punching with both weapons, each strike barely parried or avoided by the Lightsider, his calm expression seemingly infuriating the Darksider and spurring him to greater heights of brutality. Suddenly, the Sith broke through Manji's guard; a furious upward sweep of the Sith's lightsaber knocked Manji's azure blade out of the way before Macron hurled himself forwards, a knee slamming into the Jedi's gut.

A grunt of pain tore from Manji's throat as he doubled over. For one precious moment the Jedi was defenceless as Macron drew back his Armor Fist, preparing to snatch the Jedi's throat and crush the life out of him. Then the Jedi dropped swiftly to the floor, saber flickering towards Macron's shins. The Sith was forced to jump over the attack, only for a telekinetic fist from the Jedi to crash into his chest and knock him backwards, landing heavily on his backside.

A scattered cheer from the crew members watching the duel was ended as Macron almost absentmindedly gestured with the hand clutched around the lightsaber towards one man, without even looking at him. The crewmember collapsed to the deck, clutching at his throat as the life was crushed from him by dark energies. The other crewmembers scattered as Macron snarled at the Jedi, lifting his tangerine blade to point at the Jedi's throat.

Macron Sadow

18-06-2009 20:08:43

Deathu Posto!


As the Force-Gripped crewman's body hit the ground with a meaty thud, a sense of silence clapped itself over the room for a split second. The man had been crushed dead almost instantly. It was if the room held it's collective breath. And then an ominous sound split the silence. Had this Manji known Macron as his former student, he would understand the significance of the noise. Bad things were about to happen.

"Hee hee." The giggle spilled easily from the Sith's black lips as his last remaining tattered shreds of dog-eared sanity tore loose inside his addled brain. A drop of scarlet blood dripped from the Mark on his forehead. Not only had the cur that claimed to be Manji-sama held him, one of the best saberists in Clan Naga Sadow off- his flunkies literally cheered over it. Not only had they slapped him in the face, but his Master as well by default.

The Warlord literally lost his sh@t over the sight. A black anger like none he had ever felt before boiled in his veins like pure star-fire. Suns exploded in nuclear death-throes in his mind's eye. He would show these echutta fools the True Power of the Dark Side, even if it meant his own doom. Besides, it was only a dream, anyhow. Why hold back?

Macron had plans for the men who had mocked him with their derisive jeering. They would pay for their insolence. No one insults a Sith and lives to tell of it. He would use them, and badly.

The Sith plumbed the disgusting depths of his rotten soul and connected with the Force as he deeply as he had ever done before. A snarl of rage, frustration, and pure hatred ripped from his lips, followed by a horrible scream. The Force Scream ripped through the room like a wave of pure malicious evil as the Sith roared his hatred of them. All the crew members dropped to their knees, hands covering their bleeding ears. Jedi Master Manji weathered it with grimace, but it did occupy his attention for a few seconds.

Macron waved his off-hand, fingers splayed wide as he released his furious anger. Crushing waves of telekinesis mobilized many loose items in the room, slinging them at the Jedi in a whirlwind of Force-borne energy. That included the stunned bodies of most of the crew members, many of their bones cracking like greasy old popsickle sticks as they tumbled limbs-akimbo through the air at Manji.

One man's head slammed into the bulkhead near him, spraying pasty grey-and-red brains across the Jedi's kimono with a gory 'splutching ' sound. Naturally, the Jedi was reluctant to slash his comrades with his azure weapon to protect himself. Across the room, Macron charged like feral predator with an outstretched orange blade.

A wave of Manji's own hand stopped the large part of the heavier debris flying him, except for one hapless woman technician. Her torso impacted his leg, crushing every rib in her body and sending red and white slivers of jagged rib bone through her caved-in chest and his shins. Bright lung blood sprayed from her lips across Master Manji's eyes as she barked at him from the impact. She didn't even know she was dead just yet.

The woman rolled off his deeply-bruised shins to the floor in front of him to gurgle and twitch obscenely in death. Manji looked down at the horrible sight. He knew the enthusiastic young girl well, and she was a fine dock-hand. "Karen!" moaned the Jedi softly as his friend died hideously at his feet.

And then Macron was on the Jedi like stink on offal, rage ripping through his corrupting flesh. Insults and expletives spat in bloody Dun Mochian sprays from the Sith's polluted mouth. The Sith cackled madly at his foe's chagrin. Darksiders held no such attachments. It was a weakness he did not have. Now the game was real. Macron dispensed with the Makashi, only occasionally using the Duelist's form to defend. Instead, his will was now focused on the vile forbidden art of Trakata. Trakata had only one purpose, and that was to kill.

It was rapidly obvious that this Manji had not seen Trakata before, as most Jedi had not. His defense was impeccable even after the atrocity that had just happened. But somewhere in his soul, a moment of doubt flickered. His guard wavered for a mere split second, the Force flickering for an instant before shining bright within him again.

In that sere instant, an orange blade of plasma tore into his stomach, making a diagonal slice from hip to ribcage. Macron's blow split his kidneys. intestines, pancreas and liver into half-broiled giblets. The Kyataran sunk to his knees, holding in his escaping slimy intestines as he keeled over with glassy eyes. The rancid smell of cooked man-flesh wafted into the air as Macron laughed sadistically. The treacherous blow had surely killed his foe.

Unfortunately, the Sith's particular hubris was arrogance. The Force had not yet died within the serene man in the battered kimono. Macron had badly underestimated the power of the Light Side of the Force. Manji could sense the corruption spreading through the Sith's body, removing the ability to sense danger as his flesh and soul decayed. Drawing too deeply on the Dark Side would made one pay a terrible price. And the Sith had gone far too deeply.

As the Warlord raised his hands in laughter and regarded the carnage around him, Manji mustered the last few ergs of Force energy his dying body could still command. His hand raised, cocking backwards. A picture-perfect throw rammed the still-lit azure blade directly through the Sith's back to pierce his heart. It was not exactly the Jedi way, but this monster had to be stopped for the greater good. Manji laid down slowly, knowing he died a good and honorable death. A warrior's death, in defense of his masters, friends, and family. He was at peace.

The Sith dropped to the ground in complete disbelief, his own vision growing dark as his head hit the floor next to Manji's. Macron's life force was already weak, and it faded rapidly. No sense of peace or contentment swelled within his breast, only a blazing lightsaber . Both men looked each other directly in the eyes as their lives expired in short gasps. Each emitted a death-rattle as forces from elsewhere in the old ship arrived to survey the scene.

"Holy pudu, what the hell happened in here?" asked Mandalorian Warrior Robert Sadow. "Somebody call the clean-up droids and get a medic. And get me a drink."

DJB Universe
Orian Space
Miner's Brother

Macron woke up from a particularly nasty dream. He rubbed his chest. That last mug of Ewok-liquor had given him a god-awful case of heartburn. "Never drink with Daragon again," he gently reminded himself. "The man's a monster."

Nekura Manji

20-06-2009 11:01:40


A number of small sounds competed for dominance in the hold. The sterile hum of air conditioning, the hissing intakes of breath wheezing from the Darksider's mouth as he felt liquid hatred surge through his veins, the silken 'thrum' of the orange and azure lightsaber blades. Each sound mixed together into the background, a canvas upon which was painted the intense silence of concentration. Manji's face relaxed, the brief flare of sorrow and anguish he'd felt at watching one of the crewmen crushed to death smoothed away by the reassuring light of the Force, a calm ocean in which he drifted, detached and yet aware.

He could feel the contrast between his own aura and that of the Darksider; while he floated in a relaxed, carefree ocean, the Sith struggled ferociously against the rage and fury of the black sea in which he dwelled. Waves threatened to pull the Sith into an undertow of hate, but each time he burst through them unbowed, seemingly strengthened by their crushing embrace. A smile crept onto the Jedi Master's features as he reached out, senses giving him the key to his opponent's destruction.

Macron growled angrily, his tangerine blade bobbing up and down as he quivered in anticipation of the kill. The pleasure he would derive from this kill was greater than he'd felt for some time; not only would he defeat a facsimile of the man he had yet to defeat in his own universe, but he'd crush the life out of another pathetic servant of the Light. Then the Sith spotted the smile lingering on the fake Manji's features.


A wordless scream tore from Macron's throat as the sight snapped the thin line of his patience. Barreling forwards, the Sith sent a ferocious horizontal swipe at his opponent's throat that was barely parried by the azure blade, Manji's weapon dancing back and forth to knock away each successive strike. Every attack from the Sith was punctuated by a grunting scream as Macron pushed all of his hatred and rage into his muscles, forcing the Jedi inexorably back across the hold. As the Sith continued to batter away at the Jedi, Manji found his arms weakening under the onslaught. Suddenly he rolled to one side under a vertical slash from the Sith, Macron's blade carving through a durasteel crate as though it were made of feathers.

Darting backwards, away from the Sith, Manji felt the smile return to his features. The veins in Macron's face were pulsating as the Dark Side wreaked havoc on his system in payment for the power it gave him; the corruption it had already visited on him was well hidden under the tattoos, but there nevertheless.

"It's time," the Master thought. "Tsukiko, Dyrra... forgive me, but I must stop this monster here. There is no death... there is the Force."

A slew of insults scuttled from between Macron's teeth as the Sith advanced, tangerine blade rising to deliver the final strike that would end this conflict. Taking up a Makashi stance once again, the Jedi prepared himself as his foe moved closer. Then, as Macron slashed downwards, the Master dropped his saber and stepped forwards, into the cut.

The bottom of the tangerine saber cut shockingly into the Jedi's flesh, sizzling, scorching noises rising upwards as Macron struggled, his arms pushed back towards him- he had no momentum with which to complete the blow. Reaching out, Manji leaned forward as he grabbed the Sith by the collar of his robes, his eyes still twinkling merrily as his other hand pressed against the Sith's chest, fingers outspread.

"I will die here. But you... you will never awaken."

Macron screamed in fury as he felt the cold, icy streams of the Force pouring into his body through the Jedi's palm, entwining around his organs and enclosing them in fists of ice. A screaming wind seemed to surround the two warriors as the Force poured from the Jedi and into the Sith, taking with it the last of the Kyataran's strength and endurance. As his body began to shut down, Macron retained enough strength to shrug Manji away, the Jedi seemingly exhausted by such an intensive use of the Force. The tangerine blade went up then slashed across again, hacking Manji's head from his body, but it was too late; even as the head bounced away into the corner of the cargo hold, the Sith felt his heart constricting and slowing. With the Jedi's death there was nobody to control the strands of the Force that raged through Macron's body, and they went about their purpose without hesitation.

Dropping to his knees, Macron let out a choking cough as his lungs collapsed, Manji's use of Morichro ruining the Sith's body from the inside. Staring up at the lights of the Miner's Brother with a last, choking gasp, his eyes wide and bloodshot, the Sith expired.


22-06-2009 08:48:17


A well-written, beautifully orchestrated battle. I thank you both for the honor of allowing me to render judgement.

Both fighters were able to craft a vivid picture of a violent moment in time - alas, Macron more so. His Deathpost, coupled with Manji's 'post-editing' error, forces my hand.

The win goes to Mononoke. Congratulations.

~ AfroJedi