Erinos Three-way Battle: Juda Vs Zandro Vs Sashar

NSD Invicta; Hangar:

Home to the legendary Black Wind Squadron, the hangar bay of the NSD Invicta was lined entirely by rows of TIE Avengers and Scimitar Assault Bombers--like a massive library constructed of steel. Ships came and went as the sounds of pyrotechnics, welding, computers clicking, and repulsers flaring filled the air. The normally active and lively bay echoed an eerie silence today, though.

Positioned in the center stood three of Clan Arcona's most deadly and prolific warriors; Sashar Erinos Arconae, Juda Kodiak Erinos, and Zandro Savric Erinos Arconae. All three where (or at one point where) members of the fabled Special Forces battleteam better known as Soulfire Strike Team. All three where clad in their respective armor, Sashar and Juda both clad in Mandalorian armor while Zandro wore his customary Soulfire suit.

Standing amongst the three fighters, Marick Del`Abbot did well to hide the uneasy feeling churning in his stomach. The Knight could feel the strength of the Erinos overwhelm the atmosphere of the hangar bay. While he had been honored to be selected as the Judge of the match, he almost felt bad for the hangar bay itself, as well as the cleaning crew that most likely would be responsible for the aftermath.

Clearing his throat, Marick spoke evenly, his face remaining calm and stoic.

"My Lord Consul, brothers. You have each agreed to the terms of this duel." He felt the stare of each Erinos bearing down on him. He swallowed once, but continued with the same steel resolve one would expect of the leader of Arcona's Black Ops.

"Sashar has selected to wield his shoto lightsaber, LJ-50 Concussion Rifle, and SSK-7 heavy blaster pistol. Juda, you have brought your lightsaber, EPP-2, and Silenced SSK-7. Zandro...you have selected to cary your lightsaber and a Westar-34."

With that said, the Hapan made eye contact with each combatant. Sashar and Juda met the glance with slight bows of their heads while Zandro offered a subtle nod from behind his helmet.

"Begin," Marick exclaimed, taking a step back and motioning with his hand. The three Erinos glanced at each other, slight grins forming. When they glanced back, Marick was no where to be seen. They had the whole hangar bay to themselves.


[Posts count will be 2+1. Post Order: Sashar, Juda, Zandro]

Sashar had to shake his head in bemusement as he glanced at his two brothers, weighing up his options. Each had their own strengths and weaknesses. Zandro was no slouch with a blade – he had beaten his Consul in a duel twice before, and many Vong had fallen from the sting of his particular unique brand of Vaapad. Juda, on the other hand, was a mixed back. Primarily a healer, he was still pretty good with Soresu – Sashar’s own form. Both had been taught by him – rigorously. Both knew almost every single trick in the Consul’s playbook. If they were smart, they’d gang up on him.

I can’t hit Juda directly with the Force, his defence is too good. In that way, he’s probably a better defensive fighter than me. They’re both faster and more nimble, so my first task should be to slow-

Sashar didn’t remember it happening, he just remembered being on the floor, throwing up into his helmet. His head was ringing like a Gamorrean was giving birth in it and He couldn’t hear anything. The Consul tore off his helmet and tossed it across the deck, swiping at his face with a gauntleted arm to remove some of the vomit from around his mouth. Glancing about him, he saw that Juda was in a similar predicament, only the Sith had kicked his red-haired brother in the side, knocking him over[SFS].

He Force Screamed. Girly little di’kut

“Osik, Zand’ika! Was there any need?!” Sashar exclaimed, standing once more.

His cycloptic brother didn’t grace the Consul with a response. Instead, he stabbed the activator on his lightsaber and charged the soresu master.

Sashar’s concussion rifle was dragged from the small of his back and came to rest in his waiting hands [TES]. He winked jovially to his brothers and depressed the trigger.
They each dove laterally, choosing a different direction apiece as the blue coruscating sphere of pure concussive force sailed between them and impacted on the far wall of the hangar, blasting the artificial atmosphere about the place with deafening effect.

“And you called me excessive?” Zandro commented, grimacing as the Concussion Rifle’s barrel swung his way.

“I reckon he’s compensating for something.” Juda quipped, grinning as he readied his EPP-2.

The rifle sounded out again, but Zandro didn’t move. Instead, he stabbed out his hand and redirected the concussive bolt mid-air[TES]. It shot at Juda, who just barely managed to jump away in time [JMP].

“Okay, okay. Udesii, boys. If we keep fighting each other at range we’ll take the entire ship apart-“ Sashar began, but was cut off as Juda unloaded a round from his shotgun.

“Sounds good to me.” He grinned ferally, watching his brother dive laterally, letting the Concussion Rifle clatter across the floor in front of him.
“Osik, Jud’ika! I’m gonna tear your shabla face off if you don’t pack that the shab in!”

“If you ladies have quite finished talking, I have a proposition.” Zandro interjected, his eye alight with the prospect of making the combat ‘interesting.’

“And what would that be, ner’vod?” Sashar asked, pulling himself back to his feet, his hand instinctively going for his shoto.

“Whoever wins this fight gets Soulfire Sergeant.” The pilot replied, watching Sashar’s reaction carefully – both he and Juda knew how much the Consul had always wanted to lead the squad, but never actually been able to.

“I’m in.” He answered immediately, stabbing the activator stud on his shoto.

Juda mirrored him, and activated the orange blade on his master’s old lightsaber, Fraternity. “Me too.”

Sashar grinned to himself and let the Force pour into him [EQS]. He charged Juda and at the same time jutted a hand out at Zandro, not even looking[OBL]. The Sith’s nose exploded under the impact and he was thrown backwards, skidding over the polished decking. As expected of Soulfire’s Sergeant, he didn’t even grunt in pain.

Surprised at the speed of the Consul’s attack, Juda was barely able to parry the first few blows, especially given that Sashar had reversed his grip midway-through the second, switching proficiently from Djem so to Shien. A punch came out of nowhere, staggering him, then he felt Sashar land a punch solidly on Juda’s saber-wielding hand. He yelped out in surprised and dropped his weapon, which was neatly fielded by its former owner. The medic glanced down at his hand and grimaced.

Feels like the nerve has ruptured, the bone has fractured and there’s also some fairly extensive soft tissue damage. Plus, the cheeky di’kut took my saber!

Sashar grinned at his red-haired brother, holding Fraternity in one hand, and Kad’ika in the other.

“Oh you’re kidding me…” Juda muttered, suppressing the urge to swear again.

“I got this one, ner’vod.” Zandro called out, and launched himself at his Consul.

The blades spun about, but Sashar’s practice with dual-wielding was incomplete. His blocks were shoddy, his feints over-telegraphed and his attacks lacking in strength. No more than half a dozen exchanges in and the shoto’s emitter had been sliced off, thanks to Zandro’s mastery of Vaapad.

Sashar didn’t slow – he was too used to fighting with Fraternity, and simply switched hands to his left with the orange blade, grinning mirthlessly.

“Sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that. Also, will you stop cutting up my di’kutla sabers?” Sashar grinned, removing the malice from the statement.

“Not a chance, Sash’ika.” Zandro retorted, swinging again, pointedly ignoring Juda sneaking up behind the Consul.

As the red-haired healer-come-assassin paced forward on nimble toes he knew he had to pick his opponent carefully, he wouldn’t be able to take out the Consul single-handedly, but by that same token it was inevitable that the Sith Erinos would break their formed tactical alliance; a case of when rather than if. With this in mind, Juda threw himself onto Sashar’s back and hooked his brother’s arms back with his forearms.

“Zand’ika! Now!”

Zandro instantly sprang forward, driving his knee sharply into Sashar’s gut causing the Consul to crumple slightly in Juda’s bind, the Primarch’s nose creasing into a sneer as he distinguished the fraternity, the rage building inside him as Zandro mirrored his action before tightening the torn rag covering his hollow eye socket, his shoulder-length hair sticking to the blood that streamed from his nose.

“Jud’ika you sneaky sha-“ Sashar was cut off by a heavy blow to his jaw from the Sith’s whitened knuckles, the connection sending a sickly crack throughout the otherwise-silent hangar.

Now he was pissed...

No words were said, only grunts as Sashar threw his head back, his cranium smashed into Juda’s nose, not once, not twice, three times before the Prelate healer loosened his grip and buckled to the floor. The pain was dizzying as his nose turned an instant shade of blue before erupting into a fountain of liquid crimson, thankful Sashar wasn’t wearing his helmet anymore.

Stepping forward, the Consul clasped both hands onto Zandro’s head violently and roared as he let pure energy flow through his body and out of his fingertips [SHK]. The attack wasn’t enough to cause severe injury but just enough to make the legendary Ace look rather special as he gargled to the ground.

Sashar loomed over his convulsing brother, his visage slowly turning from a fearsome sneer to a creasing laugh until the familiar sound of an energy charge bursting from a concussion rifle echoed throughout the periphery. His concussion rifle.

A luminous blue orb shot past his right side and slammed into a TIE Avenger across the far side of the hangar, the explosion rocked a whole row of the fighters, kicking out throngs of electricity arcs and scattering debris across the floor.
Sashar spun on his heels to find his younger brother wielding his LJ-50, looking in complete awe as blood streamed from his blackened nose.

“Jud’ika... put that down .”

“Why haven’t I got one of these?” Juda excitedly asked, weighing up the rifle in his hands, “You would have thought the kickback would leave a bigger bruise y’know?” Looking up, Juda saw the Consul had already set off into a march toward him, his black and charcoal grey armour reflecting in the glossed tiling, a snap of his wrist igniting the fraternity once more.

Zandro had finally stopped shaking with the after-effects of Sashar's impromptu shock therapy and found himself to be temporarily forgotten as his two brethren closed in on each other.

Ignoring a Sith and leaving him to his own devices? Not the smartest move.

Rising slowly and cautiously to his feet, the Battlelord let scenario after scenario flit through his mind, attempting to ascertain what he would do with the opening he had been offered by the two other combatants. Most of the ideas he dismissed out of hand but there was one which stuck in his head as he remembered it's effectiveness in his previous battle with a Naga Sadowan; the one which had cost him his eye.

It should work, and it'll give me one hell of a chance to get a drop on at least one of them, but who to choose...

Zandro looked over at his two brothers exchanging blows; Juda with Sashar's concussion rifle and Sashar with Juda's lightsaber. Despite what many might say, there was nothing particularly glamorous or special about the conflict as the two men attempted to gain leverage. There was no pirouetting and no flashy dance-like moves as the two Obelisk fought, Juda retreating and trying to keep as much space between the two as possible while Sashar chased him down and attempted to close the gap and get in close enough to fight with his saber. Not glamorous, but decidedly amusing to watch from the sidelines where Zandro found himself for the moment.

Juda or Sashar. Juda or Sashar? Hmmm...Sashar.

Zandro moved forwards, concentrating on gathering the Force within him so that he could set his plan into motion. Looping around to approach the Primarch from his left side, Zandro pushed an image into the Consul's mind of an imaginary Zandro charging him from the right, lightsaber raised and angry cry splitting the air [ILL]. Time seemed to slow down as Zandro began to run himself, watching Sashar turn around to face the phantom Battlelord that was 'charging' him, presenting his back to the real Sith and leaving himself open to what would come next.

Tut tut Sash'ika, not a smart move.

Sashar lunged forwards, concentrating on what he presumed to be the most pressing threat in the illusionary Zandro allowing both Juda and the real Zandro to act freely for a few precious seconds. Darting forwards with his customary swiftness, the Sith closed in on Sashar's back even as Juda opened fire with the concussion rifle that he had appropriated from their Consul. A spherical burst of azure flashed from the Prelate's position to slam into the ground a few feet short of Sashar who finally seemed to have realised some of the danger that he was presently in. The impact of the concussion blast onto the ground seemed to shake the more experienced Kodiak slightly, putting him a smidgeon off-balance just in time for Zandro to reach striking distance, his lightsaber held up by his ear as he swung at his Consul.

Gotcha.

Sashar’s grin turned feral as Fraternity whipped about and came in a high block, covering his back. Zandro’s face flickered with confusion as he backpedalled up a step, knowing that there was no way Sashar could’ve seen him coming. His senses flared as he tried to pinpoint the Wraith that must’ve been watching him, but only drew a blank [SNS].

“Wrong clan power, vod’ika.” Sashar chided, turning to face Zandro, his hand absently stabbing at Juda, bending the Concussion Rifle’s barrel out of alignment, rendering the weapon useless [OBL].

“I always knew where you were. I knew your illusion was just that, and I feinted to draw you in.” He gestured at the pilot’s foot, which had a little of the vomit in from when he’d first screamed at Sashar, causing him to throw up[ABT]. Zandro had clearly stepped in it when he approached the Consul previously.

“Oh you sneaky little-“

“Also, you should always, always know that if I’m talking, it means I’m stalling. Dive right.”[AFW]

A blur shot through the space Zandro had occupied a half-second before and swooped upwards, howling eerily. It found purchase on the wing of a TIE Avenger and glowered balefully down at the other two Mandalorians. Maybe 7 and a half feet tall, all gangly limbs with an elongated protruding pointed muzzle lined with teeth, its skin was indistinct; a darkened miasma of fractured anti-light. It was the bat.

Zandro shot a quick glimpse at Juda, and saw him occupied with another of the blasted things bearing down on him, growling menacingly. It had triple-jointed limbs, a canine-muzzle and fiendish-looking claws, yet seemed to be able to stand up bipedally if the need arose. The Hunter.

“Seriously, the Wraiths? Already?” Zandro mocked, glancing back at Sashar, who seemed content to let the puppets do his work for him.

“I need practice, vod’ika. Beating the stuffing out of you two with them seems as good a method as any-“

“Shab this. Shut up you smug di’kut.” Zandro snarled, drawing his WESTAR-34 pistol, not looking where he aimed. He squeezed the trigger a half-dozen times, and the fuel tank at the other end of the hangar went up like a miniature sun. TIE Avengers and Scimitar Bombers were knocked from the gantry racks like toys, and the three armoured individuals fared no better. The initial whump of explosive force picked all three of them up off their feet and flung them halfway across the floor. Both the Battlelord and the Prelate erected barriers to protect themselves [BAR][BAR], but Sashar, his concentration already split with the creation of the two wraiths, wasn’t so quick on his feet. He bounced off the far wall with bone crushing speed and landed in a heap on the floor just as the flames whipped over all of them. The Wraiths disappeared instantly as their creator lost consciousness and the Hangar’s automated protocols kicked in to prevent the fire from spreading to the rest of the ship – the magcon fields dropped. Fighters, tools, metallic shrapnel from the burst fuel container – everything was torn from the Hangar along with the atmosphere, but the two younger Erinos were able to find purchase on separate support pylons that held up the fighter racks, but Sashar, who had still yet to regain consciousness, and was now smouldering nicely, was picked up by the rush of air and hurled towards the dark oblivion of space. Juda and Zandro both reacted instinctively; they jutted out their hands and seized the comatose Consul in the Force, holding him in place [BCK][BCK] until the hangar doors finally closed. His body dropped to the floor, mercifully no longer aflame.

“Osik, Zandro! Overkill much?” Juda quipped, heading over to Sashar’s downed form, intent on checking his vitals.

“Sometimes he just needs a good slap to stop him running his di’kutla mouth off.” The Arconae shrugged.

The hangar was the epiphany of a clusterf**k, a whole squadron of Scimitar Assault Bombers had been torn from their neat formations and now drift idly through the void of space. One whole side of the large room was scorched and charred and a sudden clatter broke the silence as a light-fitting crashed to the metallic floor below.

“He’s still got a fight in him.” Juda’s slender hand pressed against his downed Master’s chest, the cool armoured-plates pushed back rhythmically as the Prelate’s shimmering eyes darted to his right, his head never moving, the youth slowly reached for his pistol as the hairs on his neck prickled.

‘Zandro’s gonna make his move’

Juda swiftly shot his arm out (complete with pistol-in-hand) and scanned his immediate area, the smile that crept it’s way across his pallid features soon dissipated as his brother had seemed to vanish from sight. That old familiar feeling of dread returned to weigh down his stomach as Sashar’s SSK-7 pressed against the back of his calf.

“Osik...” The red-haired Mandalorian winced as his brother squeezed warily on his trigger, blowing a fist-sized hole through his lower leg. Juda instantly buckled to the ground, clutching onto the singed wound and howling out utter pain. Sashar staggered to his feet as his younger brother used the Force to ease his suffering [CP].

Zandro appeared across the far-side of the Hangar, his Westar catching a glint from the artificial light as Sashar burst into a run[EHA] [EQS]. The Sith almost growled as he fired off a volley of shots to which the Primarch twisted his torso and dove into a roll, leaping back into a run as his feet rolled onto the floor.

With a roar Zandro charged, swinging with a heavy handed punch that Sashar reeled to avoid, before driving his head into the bridge of Ace’s already broken nose and pushing the Sith Battlelord back forcefully.

As Zandro focused on the rage that was building inside him a simple thought was projected to his mind [COM]. Juda’s intention was brilliant, a plan that would only work if the two brother’s focused and pooled their resources together.

Juda watched his brothers scuffle from afar as he hobbled to a stand, not daring to push down on his injured leg he instead relied on his Force techniques and Zandro to pull off the attack. The Sergeant randomly fired a flurry of shots toward the Consul before taking a firm footing and nodding to Juda who aided from afar.

The two Soulfire troops worked together in calling upon the Force and focused intensely on Sashar’s Ayumarka eyes [GRP] [TES]. Sashar bellowed as the deep-blue cloned orbs were wrenched viciously from their sockets. Sashar fell to his knees, his fury was inaudible as his white-knuckles smashed against the floor.

Juda crumpled from exhaustion and his chest burned as Zandro remained the only man standing, his Westar spun in hand while Sashar’s engineered eyes rest in the other. He knew this wouldn’t stop Sashar, but the concentration of having to see through the Force alone would make sure his signature Wraiths weren’t operating at full potential. The hangar held an air of seriousness as the current Soulfire Sergeant awaited a brother to stir.

“This escalated really fast. I mean, this really got out of hand quickly, know what I mean?”

Zandro knew that for all intents and purposes he was talking to himself, the two other men in the hangar concentrating on recovering from their own wounds as the Battlelord mused. He slowly paced around the burning room that had once been a fully functioning hangar, his gait steady as he spoke aloud to noone in particular.

“Still, these eyes are pretty amazing to be honest, I might need to get myself one as a replacement for the one Malisane took. Hmmmm, don't like the pattern to be honest, but we can change that I suppose.”

Even as Zandro muttered to himself he could see one of his brethren rising from the corner of his field of vision. The Sith turned and his voice cut out as he went through a paradigm shift, going from buffoon to hunter in an instant. He watched as Juda pulled himself warily to his feet, clearly in pain from what had transpired during the fight so far.

Didn't expect him to be the first to rise, interesting.

Zandro watched the medic turn towards him and felt a little thrill of delight as he saw Juda's face fall with the realisation that Zandro was, for the moment at least, not distracted by Sashar and could concentrate solely on the Prelate. Calmly, the Sith holstered the pistol that he had been holding and brought his other hand forward, holding forth the twin orbs that signified their momentary victory over their former master.

“Right, for the moment it's just us two, mano a mano, so let's make this interesting. Fists and willpower, no weapons, and the winner gets to keep these eyes as a trophy.”

“That's...pretty sick Zandro.”

A low chuckle split the Battlelord's lips as he shook his head, glancing over at Sashar as he did so.

“Jud'ika, have you lost your nerve? You just helped me rip the eyes from our old Master's head, don't get cold feet now. We're both gonna get beaten to a bloody pulp when he regains control, so we might as well do as we please now, get it?”

“You're acting really weird Zandro, are you feeling alright?”

Zandro was about to dismiss his comrade's comment out of hand but a sudden thought stopped him in his tracks.

I do feel weird...something isn't right here. I feel...off. I need a break I think, something is getting to me at the moment, and I need to find myself. That can come later though, I have business to deal with now.

His mind back in the here and now, Zandro let the comment slide and instead of replying with words, the Sith leapt forwards and threw out his right arm towards his opponent. The blow was swift but unsuccessful, Juda's own inherent speed allowing him to get in a block with his own arm, catching Zandro's blow and pushing it harmlessly to the side. The next strike was nimbly side-stepped by the Obelisk and the third of the flurry of strikes was a leg-sweep that Juda jumped over with his trademark agility. However, one is most vulnerable when they can't readily dodge and such was the case with Juda hanging in mid-air, avoiding the low strike that Zandro had just thrown his way.

Should have taken the hit Juda, when will you ever learn?

Zandro poured Force energy into the muscles of his right arm, flooding the muscles with it's power as the Sith threw out a new strike [EHA]. His force-enhanced arm flew through the air and the Battlelord struck the momentarily open Obelisk with an open-palmed blow to the sternum. The strike hurled the flame-haired man backwards, throwing him through the air and sending him sprawling on the floor with a sickeningly audible crack.

Collarbone probably, unlucky Jud'ika.

Moving his attention away from the downed Prelate for a moment, Zandro turned to try and see how Sashar was doing, but saw nothing but open floor all around him and Juda. A cold chill of fear slipped into the pit of the Battlelord's stomach as he realised that Sashar was once again mobile and this time, would not hold back at all.

“Sneaky di'kut, you were never good at games of hide and seek even when you had eyes. Come out come out wherever you are...”

[Deathpost]

It was the end-game. The finale. Both Juda and Zandro knew they were not going to enjoy the next few minutes. One, barely mobile and without his saber. The other battling his own internal demons – unbalanced. Unstable. They’d taken his eyes. They’d crossed a line. He was pissed.

“Oh shab.” Juda muttered under his breath as he furiously scanned about the area, his EPP sweeping the hangar.

Inwardly, Zandro agreed. Despite his bravado and proclamations that the former Consul was no good at hide and seek, he knew the reverse to be lethally true. Sashar had managed to survive innumerable coup attempts over the years as Consul through deception, subterfuge, and sheer force of will. But the most alarming factor was that he’d survived so long as Consul of a clan of Assassins. He was a Master Assassin himself. He could turn invisible at will. He could mask his Force presence from other force users. He could kill someone systems away with those damned Wraiths. He was incredibly dangerous.

It was those skills he was employing now [ODW][CLK]. He’d rendered himself invisible, and (knowing Juda’s prowess with Force Sight, and his inhumanly high Force Defence) hadn’t directly targeted either of them to try and mask his presence; he’d simply flooded the area with a pervasive, diffuse aura of dread. It was impossible to pinpoint him with such a cloying pressure pressing down on them – it was also self perpetuating. Their fear was contagious, infecting one another. Both were starting to believe that Sashar might actually kill them for taking his eyes.

Okay, okay. He’s injured too, so stalling for time so that he can heal himself. He can’t see conventionally, which means he’ll need to rely on the Force constantly to see. That, combined with cloaking himself and with trying to drain our will has to put considerable strain on his already depleted reserves. Which means we just have to out-last him and not fall apart in the mean time. Simple. Zandro thought to himself, tightening his grip on his saber, letting his mind stretch out, trying to perceive his mentor and half-brother[SIT].

He could feel the Primarch’s eyes upon him.

Impossible.

In unison, the two Erinos looked directly above.

…Shab.

Hanging above them, adhered to the high roof of the Hangar, glaring balefully down was the Runt [AFW]. It’s suction-tipped fingers and toes kept it defying gravity (although neither of them were sure if gravity even had a pull on such an ephemeral creation), and exact imitations of Sashar’s Ayumarka locked onto them like lasers.

Something swept past both of them and a dark, forboding blur knocked both the commandoes off their feet, sending them sprawling across the deck.

“Shab! I think I just got raped by a gust of wind!” Juda exclaimed, scrabbling on all fours towards his EPP-2.

“It was the Bat. He’s not using Force Sight, he’s just using the shabla Wraiths to see. Clever di’kut.” Zandro replied, his eyes tracking the Bat as it circled about, screaming eerily.

Pure theatrics.

“Uhhh, tactic-“ Juda began to inquire, but a black tongue wrapped around his neck and dragged him to his feet, choking him. Above, the Runt strained against Juda’s weight, but didn’t relinquish. Again, the Bat came in for another pass. Zandro dropped to the floor, but Juda, unable to move, caught the full brunt of the attack. The Bat’s lariat hit him with full effect and a sickening snap signified the Medic’s spine breaking. The Runt then released him, allowing the red-haired youth to the drop to the floor, moaning softly in pain.

Before Zandro could get up, the third Wraith was upon him, tearing at his face and chest, its massive jaw chomping down on his saber-wielding wrist, slicing through the tendons with disconcerting ease. He pealed out a cry of pain and the Hunter leapt off, satisfied that Zandro had been dispatched.

Sashar shimmered back into reality, no longer distorting light around him. He’d torn a strip of his shadesworn cloak and tied it over his empty eye-sockets, but still rivulets of blood ran down his cheeks like tears.

“Three things. First, Zandro, ner’vod, you need to take some time off. You’re not right in the head, and it’s affecting how you fight. You’re too willing to sacrifice the long game just to win the short fight. You could’ve easily killed me just to win in a fight. I’m your brother. Stop acting like the rest of them.” Sashar spat the last word, implying the ‘aruetiise’; the rest of the Brotherhood. The Erinos clan had never really considered themselves part of the Dark Side crowd; just tagging along for the ride to get some useful skill sets.

“Second, Nobody’s keeping my eyes. They’re mine.” He said, picking them up from the floor, still apparently using the Runt to see whilst the Hunter and the Bat kept his two brothers pinned to the floor.

“Third, the reason I fought so hard, and matched your frankly unnecessary levels of brutality to ensure my survival is because of him.” Sashar punctuated the sentence by stabbing a finger out sideways, to the Hangar entrance, where Voden Arjin was standing, his hand resting on the shoulder of a young, armoured human male no more than ten years of age. Both had apparently been watching for a few minutes.

“He’s my son.”