Rage Against The Dark Ch 15

Good day y'all! I was able to finish most of this chapter during the week, just did some finishing touches and a final editing pass, hopefully I caught all the issues! If not...I'll cry.

Anyways, lemme know if you liked the chapter! It's a doozy at almost 6500 words, lol.

Hope you like!

=][=

“Alright, take five.” I said, biting into the space apple I was holding. It tasted like an unholy amalgam of a pear and a pineapple, with a hint of…lime? Not bad, but not something I’d go too far out of my way to taste again.

Hevy, Fives and Echo all dropped to the deck, panting. Their bodies loaded down by an articulated suit weighed down by cheap plates of scrap durasteel. The durasteel had the same thickness as the armaplas that standard clone trooper armor used, meaning it was ruinously heavy.

Still, credit where it was due, I had been expecting them to bitch about that, but in the two weeks of transit from the Outer Rim to Coruscant, where I’d been giving them some intensive retraining, the remnants of Domino Squad had not complained once.

Well…Technically Hevy did complain, but his complaint was that he hadn’t wanted to take the rest periods I’d ordered, which was dumb of him and the three-hour lecture I subjected him to about the importance of rest and recuperation after intense work seemed to have done the trick.

“Okay that was five.” I said, lightly kicking Echo on the side to get him up.

“That…Didn’t feel…Like five minutes…Sir.” Fives said, pushing himself up on trembling arms.

“I never said you’d get five minutes.” I said blithely, taking another bite of the space apple. That I didn’t particularly like it didn’t mean I would let it go to waste. That’d just be plain irresponsible. “I finished counting to five, so up you go.”

Groaning, the three clones dragged themselves up to their feet and continued jogging. The many members of the 501st throwing scowls in the direction of the three shinies. Apparently, there was some jealousy being directed at the three of them due to the attention I was paying them specifically, what with I controlled their entire schedules as well as prepare the food they ate, a privilege that most of the 501st had to compete intensely for, which, fair. But if that made them more determined to become peerless badasses, all the better.

I jogged backward alongside them, wearing the same heavy suit, don’t let it be said I won’t put myself through what I demand of others.

Sure, I was cheating with the Force, but the thought is what counted.

I led them to a nearby storage room I’d appropriated by bribing the hangar master, where the three of them once again collapsed.

“Alright boys. Congratulations, you have made it to stage two of your training!” I said cheerfully.

They groaned.

“No need to thank me.” I said magnanimously. “Now get out of those suits, you don’t need them anymore.”

I pulled a string at the back of the suit, causing the thing to collapse off of me.

The three clones groaned.

Huh…maybe I pushed them too far?

…

Nah.

“Here are your new toys.” I said, and the three boys were seemingly magically back on their feet. Their ‘armored suit’ in pieces on the floor. I ignored them and opened a crate.

Design of a powered version was ongoing, while I could make one or perhaps two thanks to Poots, if I wanted to be able to produce them on the quantities necessary to outfit not only a whole squad, but a significant chunk of the 501st, then I needed to design the whole thing with available technology.

Or set up my own factory, problem with that being, real estate on sufficiently developed worlds deep enough in the core to be mostly secure from cloudy with a chance of orbital bombardment ran at a premium, and I was a Jedi.

Point being, it would be quite a while before I could deploy powered armor in quantities large enough to be significant.

The Clones’ armor was colored a drab green, other than that, it was identical to the armor that I’d made for myself and my girls.

Hevy, Fives and Echo all oohed and aahed at the suits of carapace armor, and while they were unfamiliar with the armor itself, it really isn’t rocket science. They figured it out pretty quickly.

“Good, you’re looking like proper soldiers, now begins the hard part of the training.” I said, making the three freeze.

I opened another crate. “Here is a blaster of the same mark as I use, it’s more powerful than the DC-15A, it has a longer range, it has no travel time to its target. Well, technically it does, but the speed of light is bullshit. As it is, in fact, a laser rifle, it has no recoil, and it fires at a very rapid rate, the backpack power units will allow you to fire it three hundred times before you need to switch out for a new battery but that number is deceptively small. That said, with this weapon you will be able to consistently take down B-2 Battledroids entirely on your lonesome. I call it the Hellgun, it is your new best friend.

“I’ve made a few variants of this weapon, but you won’t get to play around with them until you’ve shown competence with this one. You’ll get a pick of a sidearm at a later date, for now, you will also be carrying a vibro-sword.” I handed them out to each of them, the three clones holding the laser rifles and vibro broadswords with something akin to religious reverence. I shrugged, walked to the next crate, and opened it with a kick. A boxy four-legged droid stalked out. Its base design was that of a PLNK-series power droid, but unlike the ubiquitous plunk droids, I’d worked with Poots to make this one walk with a smooth, nearly feline gait. I’d built the housing so the Hellgun power packs could be slotted smoothly into it, and considering it produced enough power for a starship to use in emergencies, it could recharge a power pack in just under a minute in emergencies.

Its housing was deceptively heavily armored, and I’d built in a modified shield generator I scavenged from Droideka components to keep it safe from enemy fire, with the added benefit of doing away with those pesky radiation issues.

It looked like a big, shiny metal box studded with large slots, a bug-eyed camera array sticking out of its top, moving with catlike grace on four muscular feline legs. In short, it was hideous.

But it worked.

“This will be your squad’s power droid. It can carry ten Hellgun power packs and recharges them at a fairly rapid rate. And while, yes, you will be able to take cover behind it.” I snapped my fingers and the droid made a deep booming beeping noise and was encased in a force field. “That is there to keep it safe more often than not, just like a Droideka, it will eventually fail if enough fire is poured on it. Do not rely on it as a moving piece of cover, that’s not its function.”

“Did you make all of this, Commander?” Fives asked.

“Poots helped out a lot.” I said with a shrug. “But most of the design work came from me, yes.”

“But sir.” Echo said, sounding strangely conflicted. “None of this is covered by GAR regulations!”

“Echo!” Hevy growled.

“Not now, Echo!” Fives hissed.

“No, no, it’s a fair thing to bring up.” I said, raising a hand. “Echo, I need to make something perfectly clear. The moment you agreed to join this taskforce, you were no longer a Clone Trooper. Those regulations do not apply to you. You are Special Forces now, and while I am doing my absolute best to turn you into a group of absolutely peerless badasses with equipment to match, the threats you will eventually face will outstrip anything that would normally be seen by your more standard brothers. You will be learning a whole new set of regs, I just haven’t gotten around to writing them all down yet because I’ve been busy overseeing your training and making your equipment.”

“Uh, yes sir! Thank you, sir!” Echo said, saluting me. Out of that whole spiel, the thing that reassured him was the fact that he was going to get a regulations manual.

I was going to have to write a regulations manual for my peerless badass clone squad (name pending). Goddamnit Echo! As if I didn’t have enough on my plate!

“Alright, enough dawdling. I won’t be able to supervise your training for a while, so I’ve set up something that should suffice in my time away.” I said, stepping out of the storage room and heading to one of the practice ranges that I’d booked for the projected duration of my stay in Coruscant. They followed eagerly, their fatigue forgotten by the prospect of getting to play with their new toys.

My three boys got a lot more stares now than they did before, though that might just have been the power droid (boxy, catlike…I was going to have to weld some tusks to it and call it the ‘Puma’) stalking along.

Once in the practice range, it was set up to do an adequate job of providing a dynamic combat environment. Not just ‘chest high walls galore’ but simulated buildings and metal cubes stacked to represent ‘destroyed walls.’

“Alright, boys, press the button on the side of your helmet to activate your helmet’s systems.” I said, they followed orders and…didn’t react much because the standard bucket already had a HUD, if one that was more basic than the one Poots and I coded for my equipment. “Good, while I am away, you will each spend your active shifts in this room, it’s booked for the duration, so if you want to spend more time here, you are free to. I will review your performance once I return.”

“Ugh, more simulations.” Hevy muttered, and I couldn’t blame him, the simulated combat the clones had been taught with left a lot to be desired.

“You will be utilizing a combat simulation program I coded personally.” I said, drawing a datapad and tapping away at it. “It will literally be like nothing you’ve seen before. Your first three sessions will act as something of a tutorial, then the difficulty will spike. You will have rest periods between simulated combats.”

“Sir, if not Tinnies, what will we train against?” Echo asked.

“A fictional enemy faction composed of various non-human species. You’ll have to figure out the best ways to engage them yourself.” I said.

The Covenant, they were going to fight the Covenant. Specifically, they were going to play Halo, the first three matches would be on Easy, Normal, and Heroic, then they’d be stuck on Legendary, and if they did well enough, Skulls that made the Covenant more powerful would start activating.

The first several matches would just be survival, but once they acclimatized, they’d have to achieve objectives, defend ground, and worry about simulated Clone Troopers.

Once they did well enough, the Flood would drop in, with plenty of Infected Clone Troopers that would attack them.

I pressed a button to activate the program, and the three of them twitched as their visors overlayed their vision of the location with a grassy field at the center of which was ‘an ancient ruin.’

They were going to play Halo with technology Prime Me would have killed for when he was a kid.

I was going to have to find the time to do this myself.

“And beginning scenario…now.” I said. “Good luck, have fun, and remember, you are being graded. Don’t worry about damaging anything with your equipment, the lasers are set to ‘training’ so they won’t even blind someone if you laser them in the eye, and your vibro blades aren’t charged. So feel free to go crazy. There are training detonators scattered around the place for you to find! Do well, boys!”

“Yes sir!” Hevy said. “We won’t disappoint you!”

I turned my back on them and made my way out as Iris’ voice began to play. ‘Strange the readings that led us here stopped, step into the ruins and investigate.’

Iris had been surprisingly enthusiastic about doing some voice acting for the training simulator. She had gone a bit overboard with the script, but it was all in good fun.

I reached the door to exit right as one of them, probably Fives, called out, “Contact!” and got the first Grunt kill of the day.

…Yeah, I was definitely going to have to make the time to use this simulation myself.

Now instead of doing something fun or productive, I would have to get ready to head down to the Jedi temple.

Wonderful.

=][=

I swept the training lightsaber through my opponent’s knees, sweeping them out from under the other Padawan in an attack that with an actual lightsaber or even a steel blade would have left him with stumps below the knee.

Still, with enough mental fortitude, he’d still be able to attack, so I brought the lightsaber around in an arc and slapped it into his neck before he could fall to the floor. A bell was rung, signifying the end of the match.

The Padawan whose name I hadn’t bothered paying attention to was technically my senior. Not only was he older than me by a few years, he’d been a Padawan for almost ten years, unlike my few months. He was getting ready to take the Trials for Knighthood.

But to the sensibilities of my inherited memories from my Template, he was green, not ready, untested. He was far from what would be considered adequate for a Jedi Knight, a Padawan who had yet to come into his own at best.

His mastery of the Forms and over reliance on Soresu while trying to specialize in Ataru a glaring weakness.

I sighed and looked around at the gathered Padawans. A good number of Jedi Knights and Masters had rotated into Coruscant for some R&R, though the numbers made me think that was an excuse to hand out orders in person so as not to risk Separatist intervention.

This Padawan tournament had been set up as a way to showcase skills. It was a ‘King of the Hill’ style thing where a Padawan would claim the floor and hold out against challengers for as long as he could.

We were not being graded on victory or competitiveness, but on mastery of the Forms and overall endurance.

Anakin had signed me up for it without telling me, resulting in me not showing up for it, having to be fetched, getting a talking to about punctuality, my very reasonable retort about not having been informed being ignored, and I was made to go first without the benefit of the stretches and warmup everyone else got.

That was an hour ago, and in that time I had beaten forty-two Padawans. The ceremony before each individual match taking longer than the match itself.

Opponent forty-three was Asami, and I couldn’t contain my smile. “Finally, a worthy adversary!”

She rolled her eyes. Which, considering how resolute she was to show as little emotion as possible, was a great improvement. “Don’t be dramatic.”

This was, of course, why I stepped up the drama. I threw my arms out as if for an embrace. “But my beloved foe! Our battles have been legendary!”

“We’ve only sparred.”

“We have demolished buildings!”

“That was the clones having a food fight.”

“Damaged priceless architecture!”

“You threw me through a door.”

“And your skills have driven my minions to shouts of fear!”

“You always make us spar in the clones’ barracks or the hangar.”

I laughed. “Oh Asami, I can always count on you to play the straight-woman.”

“That’s enough chatter.” Said the Jedi referee.

“Right right, no fun allowed.” I muttered and activated my training saber, a moment later so did Asami. The instant the bell sounded I sprang forward.

=][=

Asami barely managed to deflect Rylanor’s devastating Falling Avalanche, a feat that was only matched by eight of his opponents of the day, already putting her at the top percentile of Padawans who had sparred against him today. Rather than attempt to withstand his relentless Djem So advance, Asami gave ground, dodging where she could, and deflecting his attacks when she couldn’t.

Master Kenobi was not very fond of sparring, he said that for a Jedi, drawing their lightsaber in anger was a failure. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t teach Asami how to wield the blade. Though he made a point of always hammering the fundamentals, always telling her that for each repetition of an advanced technique, she had to practice the basic forms three times.

She’d kept her frustration to herself until she saw Rylanor practice by himself for the first time, where she was surprised to see him practicing the fundamentals of the six forms ad-nauseam, making five repetitions of the basic forms for every one of the more advanced ones.

When she’d gone back to ask Master Kenobi why practicing the basics was so important, he’d explained that a castle built on flawed foundations would crumble the first time it was truly challenged.

No matter how hard Rylanor pressed her, Asami kept to Form III, Soresu being Master Kenobi’s specialty had surprised her, but thanks to the shell level of practice she had in it, she had already become the Padawan who had lasted the longest against Rylanor. That said, Rylanor had so far failed to show any opening that she might use to enact a decisive counterattack, the ‘openings’ in his defense that she could see being feints, something that she knew from painful experience.

His face was set in something that was between Jedi serenity and a scowl of concentration. His advance as relentless as his Master’s as Asami continued to fall back, step by step, attack by attack. The susurrus of conversation by the Knights and Masters that had come to witness the tournament having long faded away from her perception as she devoted the whole of her cognition to thwarting Rylanor’s attacks.

He stepped forward aggressively and stomped down on her foot, trapping it, forcing her into a block that nearly buckled her arms. With a grunt of effort, she let off an omnidirectional Force Push, not powerful enough to truly break through Rylanor’s shield, but enough to alleviate the pressure enough for her to utilize Ataru’s footwork to slip backwards away from him before using a Force Jump to gain some distance, her blade already sweeping into the path of the strike she expected to meet her landing.

Instead she felt the Force coalesce around her and Pull her forward, Rylanor’s sheer strength in the Force almost shattering her Shield, had her feet been on the ground, Asami would have been able to brace against the telekinetic attack and keep her footing, but trapped as she was midair, she was yanked toward Rylanor in a tumble.

His off hand snatched her saber wrist in a tight grip as he caught her in a deceptively gentle hold, pressing her face against the warm, slightly damp robes on his chest.

The deep breath she took full of his scent was just because she was out of breath.

She felt him press the emitter of his training saber against her upper back.

“And it’s my win.” Rylanor murmured into her ear, the feeling of his breath tickling her skin making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “You’ve improved a lot, Asami.”

She huffed as the bell was rung, she was heaving for breath while he was still breathing calmly. She’d failed to make him truly exert himself again. “Liar.”

“I would never lie to you about something important, Asami.” He said, the conviction in his voice giving her pause. But before she could parse her feelings, he released her wrist and back and stepped backwards away from her.

They bowed to each other, this being the first time since the tournament started that he followed the protocol, the act making her cheeks feel warm as she was the first opponent he’d had all day that he honored by showing he respected her skills.

She stepped back and joined the crowd of Padawans, her eyes sweeping the upper floor where the Masters and Knights watched, her eyes meeting Master Kenobi’s, he smiled and nodded encouragingly, running his hand through his beard. His acknowledgement made her feel as if she was about to start floating a meter off the floor.

His was the only smile in a crowd of carefully blank faces, disappointed visages, and angry scowls.

As the next Padawan stepped forward and was defeated in under five seconds, it was not difficult to see why.

Before she’d been forced to spend time in his vicinity (she hadn’t gotten to spend much time with the other Padawan despite being on the same battlegroups as him. Something Asami suspected the hand of Master Kenobi in), Asami would have believed his dismissive attitude to be pure arrogance.

But the compassion with which he regarded the Clones was genuine, no, Asami was certain that Rylanor was genuinely unaware of the fact that he had quickly become something of a celebrity among the Initiates and Padawans of the temple.

He was the Padawan of Anakin Skywalker. Many had dreamed and worried about whether they were even worthy of such an honor.

It was certainly discouraged to raise any one Jedi above another; all were meant to be seen as equal. But in practice, there were several names that were spoken of in reverence.

Master Yoda. Master Windu. Master Kenobi, the first Jedi to slay a Sith in a millennium.

But few brought the same feelings of anticipation and dread as Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One. A Jedi whose birth had been prophesied, if surviving records were to be believed, before the founding of the Jedi Order itself. The sheer pressure of expectation that came with being such a being’s Padawan was…difficult to describe.

The exploits of the Chosen One were already legendary among the creches, Anakin Skywalker had broken the back of an unlawful invasion by the Trade Federation before he was even an Initiate. He’d never been, an Initiate, instead becoming the Padawan of the only Jedi to have bested a Sith in living memory, slaying the Sith who bested and killed an accomplished Jedi Master while he himself was still a Padawan. His service to the Galaxy elevating him to Knighthood through a clause in the Jedi’s most ancient laws and traditions, completely bypassing the trials.

A feat that not even Master Yoda could claim.

Before the war with the Separatists, Anakin had several impressive martial feats, single-handedly defeating entire groups of pirates, saving his Master when he fell into the clutches of slavers while investigating missing persons’ cases. Thwarting an assassination attempt against the Supreme Chancellor. His feats once the war broke out were even more impressive.

Of the Padawan of such a Titan, much would be expected.

In walks Rylanor, an Initiate known only because of his lack of respect and discipline. Before heading to Christophsis, Asami had heard other Initiates make bets on how long it would take for the Chosen One to reject the troublemaker so he could be shipped off to the Agricorps.

Then, on the afternoon he officially became the Chosen One’s Padawan, he devised and executed a plan to break the back of the enemy and liberate the planet. Was instrumental in the assault to rescue Jabba the Hutt’s son, and by all accounts fought off Asajj Ventress, a Sith who had claimed the lives of numerous Knights and Masters as the war ground on.

All of this before being instrumental in the capture of the secret Separatist Super Weapon, the Malevolence, which was still in transit to Kuat Drive Yards for study.

And as the tournament showed, he stood far above his peers in his skills with the lightsaber.

As he defeated yet another Padawan in under five seconds, Asami felt it would be fair to claim that Rylanor stood peer with a Knight, all while still not having been a Padawan for a full year.

She cast her eyes back up to the upper floor in search of Master Skywalker, surely, Rylanor’s Master was proud of his pupil’s skills. These ‘unofficial’ tournaments, Asami had come to learn during her long stint fearing that she’d be vanished to the Agricorps, were the source of much bragging by Knights and Masters.

But search as she might, she could not find Anakin Skywalker among those watching. Rylanor was alone.

Her first instinct was to call it cruel, these tournaments were began, thousands of years in the past, as a way for Knights and Masters to assess their pupil’s training and to discuss among their peers for anything that might help them better their pupils. To sign up his Padawan for such a tournament and not bother showing up?

But then Asami paused and looked at the gathered crowd of young men and young women, with Asami being the only one among them to have lasted longer than thirty seconds in a match against Rylanor. She cast her eyes back up to the crowd of angry or disappointed faces, and thought that, maybe, Master Skywalker wasn’t here because for him, his Padawan’s victory was a foregone conclusion.

As, indeed, less than a half hour later, there wasn’t a single Padawan present who Rylanor hadn’t bested, with only one of them surpassing Asami’s time. Any victory for this robbed from the poor girl as it had been obvious that she hadn’t wanted to compete, and when forced to step onto the arena she had been trembling like a leaf, frozen stiff at the prospect of battling Rylanor, who stood still for two whole minutes to give her time to gather herself, before swiftly and gently disarming her of the training saber in a single move.

“Alright, cool.” Rylanor said, sticking his hands into the pockets of his robes as he headed toward the exit. Only to pause as a Jedi walked through the door.

Asami couldn’t hold her gasp.

Walking toward her fellow Padawan, his stride filled with purpose, was Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. One of Master Yoda’s former Padawans, a member of the Jedi High Council.

“Do not leave yet, Padawan Creed.” He said, his intense yellow eyes boring into Rylanor’s. “You will be having a match with me.”

Rylanor’s face retained its uncharacteristically bored expression. “Sure.”

He went to his side and took up a stance, Master Mundi stopped to whisper something to the Jedi referee, then walked until he stood across from Rylanor, raised a hand, and called a training saber to his palm from a distance that most Knights would struggle to achieve such a precise and gentle use of Telekinesis.

“It has become clear to me, Padawan, that your Master has left you in need of a lesson I intend to impart.” Master Mundi said evenly.

“You know what they say, if you only get your wisdom from one place it goes stale.” Rylanor said with a shrug. “I’m always happy to learn from many different places.”

Master Mundi’s expression did not twitch, the moment the bell was rung signifying the Start of the match. The two blurred, Asami heard the clash of the training sabers before her mind was able to parse the sequence of events that her eyes had seen.

In the brief instant since the match had begun, Rylanor and Master Mundi had both used the Force to augment their bodies and exchanged at least three blows. Rylanor’s ferocity being such that Master Mundi actually gave ground, pushed back three steps before he planted his feet and went for a counterattack, targeting one of the false vulnerabilities that Rylanor left in his stance.

However, rather than press the opening that Master Mundi’s attack presented, Rylanor ducked down and Force Leapt backwards in a straight line, his body barely a few centimeters above the floor. Asami recognized the movement, or, at least, the footwork. It was of Ataru, the most acrobatic form, Rylanor had modified it, minimizing the time he spent away from the ground.

The movement ended up looking almost insectile, but had Asami thought of it, her own match would not have ended after only thirty seconds.

“I see your Master has placed great importance in the handling of the lightsaber.” Master Mundi said, and Asami saw that at some point he had transitioned away from Soresu into a counter and repost that was part of the Form I basics, the placement of his training blade indicating that, had Rylanor attempted to press his own counter, Master Mundi would have been able to strike him before the Padawan’s own attack had landed.

“Most of what I’ve done in my Padawanship is flimsiwork.” Rylanor said, his breathing fast but controlled, a bead of sweat prickling his forehead.

“There is far more to being a Jedi than flimsiwork or the lightsaber.” Master Mundi said, his body transitioning to Makashi as he began to advance.

Rylanor rushed forward with Djem So, then ducked when Master Mundi vaulted over him and swept his training saber through the space that Rylanor’s head had occupied mere moments before. He fell into Soresu as Master Mundi pressed forward, his limbs moving so quickly that they were a blur, each strike of Master Mundi’s training saber causing puffs of dust to rise from the ground as they were deflected, Rylanor’s whole body rocking, nearly buckling under the pressure any time he was forced to block Master Mundi’s blows.

The duel went on, Master Mundi seamlessly sabotaging any of Rylanor’s attempts to gather momentum, raining blow after mighty blow down on Asami’s fellow padawan. It wasn’t long before Rylanor was unable to fully deflect a blow from Master Mundi, his dodge not quite good enough to spare him, the tip of Master Mundi’s training saber gracing his leg, signaling the end of the match.

Rylanor was barely able to interpose his training saber from the follow up blow that would have landed on his stomach, his feet leaving the ground as he was all but thrown backward as if he’d done a Force Leap.

Rylanor spared a quick glance at the referee, a distraction that cost him as Master Mundi was suddenly there, battered through Rylanor’s desperate block, and struck him across the jaw with the blade of the training saber, sending him to the floor in a twitching heap.

“Hubris is not a luxury allowed a Jedi.” Master Mundi said, saluting the fallen Padawan with his training saber before turning his back on him and walking away. “Keep that in the forefront of your mind, Padawan Creed.”

Asami found herself scowling at the Master’s back while the crowd around her snickered. She took a deep breath and was about to give Master Mundi a piece of her mind and damn the consequences, when she was cut off by a shouted. “Hey Conehead!”

There was a collective gasp at the speciest slur, all eyes turning to Rylanor as he pushed himself to his feet, he spat a globule of red-tinted spit onto the sacred floor of the dojo and raised his training saber. “I didn’t hear no bell.”

Beyond stopping, Master Mundi did not react outwardly at the disrespect shown to him. “I see a further lesson is required, Padawan Creed.”

“Whatever.” Rylanor snarled then launched into a flurry of strikes, his sheer aggression making Master Mundi give ground for a whole seven steps before the Master once again regained control of the duel’s momentum, less than a minute later Rylanor was driven to the floor via a Falling Avalanche delivered to his back as Master Mundi vaulted over him.

This time as the Master walked away, Rylanor pushed himself painfully to hands and knees. “How can you have, such an extra-large dome, and still not process…that there wasn’t no bell.”

The next bout lasted two minutes, Rylanor’s face becoming a mask of spite and concentration, pushing the Master back, then keeping him at bay for longer than either of the previous clashes. But once again, he was driven to the floor, and once again he got back up, said. “I didn’t hear no bell.” And kept throwing himself at Master Mundi.

Their fourth bout lasted barely a minute.

The fifth forty seconds.

The nineteenth lasted twenty.

At first the Padawans around Asami and the Masters above looked at the ‘match’ with glee or vindication. But as Rylanor was beaten black and blue, as he bled onto his robes and the floor of the dojo. As one of his eyes swelled shut and drool and blood dripped from his swollen, cut lips. Everyone began to feel the same uneasy queasiness that Asami had felt since the match wasn’t called when the first exchange ended.

By the twenty-second exchange Rylanor was merely swinging his training saber with no finesse or form.

“Stop it!”

Asami did not realize that she had shouted until the referee grabbed her as she struggled to reach Master Mundi.

“The lesson will continue until Master Mundi deems it should end.” The referee said.

“This is foolish!” Asami said, struggling in the Knight’s grip. “You are doing nothing other than hurting him! Stop it!”

Ki-Adi-Mundi delivered a Falling Avalanche that slammed Rylanor to the floor so hard he bounced. “I was attempting to teach him a lesson in humility.” He said as he turned his back on the fallen Padawan and started walking away. “I see that what he needed in truth, was a lesson on knowing when to back down.”

“Hey frak-head.” Rylanor said, his words slurred as he once again pushed himself up to his feet on trembling limbs. His one eye that was not swollen shut glaring sullenly at Ki-Adi-Mundi. “I didn’t hear no bell.”

Asami could only stare, uncertain of where Rylanor’s defiance even came from.

Ki-Adi-Mundi’s left eye twitched.

He whirled around, his speed staggering, and Asami realized that as fast and strong as Ki-Adi-Mundi had shown himself to be, he had been holding back significantly the entire time.

Yet swift as the training saber was, it halted well short of the strike that Ki-Adi-Mundi had intended to deliver. Asami wondered if he’d finally decided to stop beating on her friend but was disabused of that notion when Master Yoda’s quiet voice thundered through the nearly silent dojo. “The meaning of this, you shall explain, Mundi.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi turned to look over his shoulder at Master Yoda, his face a mask of confusion as his arm trembled with the effort of delivering the intended blow. “Master Yoda?”

The little green Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

Asami was used to seeing the Grand Master, he had been a staple during her time as an Initiate, she’d been lucky enough to be one of the Initiates that received personal instruction from the venerable Grand Master. Before the war, she had only ever seen him act happy if sleepy. Absentminded. Always with an easy smile and willing to sneak any Initiate a Sith-Sweet when the Creche Masters weren’t looking. After the war started, he always looked calm, a rock of serenity that any Jedi could lean on and know that things would be alright.

She barely recognized the little green Sophont walking into the arena, while his face did not reveal the slightest emotion, she could feel the Force quivering with the strength of the anger that the Grand Master of the Order was struggling to cast away.

“A question I asked, Ki-Adi. You will answer.” Master Yoda demanded as he stepped between Ki-Adi-Mundi and the swaying Rylanor.

“I am imparting a lesson in humility, Master Yoda.” Ki-Adi-Mundi said haughtily.

The feeling of pressure in the Force got heavier, Asami felt it as an almost physical heat burning in front of her.

“A lesson, you say.” Master Yoda said, his tone of voice betraying nothing.

He raised his right hand and extended one finger and stopped Rylanor’s training saber cold. Asami’s heart climbed into her throat as there was a simultaneous intake of outraged breath from every Jedi in the dojo, the quiet sound in aggregate becoming deafening.

Rylanor staggered back, almost falling, his glaring eye staring around him unseeing as he muttered. “I didn’t hear no bell.” And swung blindly again, his training saber whooshing well above Master Yoda’s head, the lack of resistance also nearly sending Rylanor to the floor.

Master Yoda turned to her fellow Padawan, and Asami was surprised to see the sadness in his expression, when he spoke there was no rebuke in his tone. “The match is over. Victorious you are, Padawan Creed.”

Rylanor snorted as he staggered backward. “Showed that poodoo-head.”

He then fell backwards like a log, and Asami buried her elbow in the referee’s stomach, gaining her freedom so she could rush to his side and catch the much larger boy before he could collapse to the floor. If it weren’t for the Force strengthening her, the best she would have managed to do would have been to ease him to the ground.

She reached down and pressed the activation stud on the training saber to deactivate it, his hand locked into a white-knuckled grip around the handle.

“This farce, over it is.” Master Yoda stated. “Padawan Fukuhara, to the healers you will take Padawan Creed.”

“Yes, Master Yoda.” She said as she began dragging her unconscious fellow Padawan with her.

Master Yoda however, wasn’t finished. “Padawans, to the gardens you shall go until the dinner bell is rung, reflect on your failures you must.”

He continued to stare impassively at Ki-Adi-Mundi, before turning his gaze up to the balcony, where the Knights and Masters all gulped, looking like Initiates that had been caught in the hallway after curfew by an angry Creche Master.

“The Knights and Masters, to the dojo will come.” Master Yoda ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “An important conversation, we will have.”

Asami did her best to suppress her shudder as the feelings that Master Yoda exuded in the Force made a cold chill run up her spine. But still, she stopped and forced herself to ask. “Master Yoda, what about me?”

“Padawan Fukuhara, a question you have?” Master Yoda asked.

Asami swallowed. “Yes, Master. I would like to know what my own punishment is to be.”

Master Yoda’s expression softened. “No punishment have you earned, young one. You were the only one out of all those present, who upheld her duty as a Jedi must.”

“Master Yoda, I must protest!” Ki-Adi-Mundi sputtered.

Asami chose that moment to do as Rylanor was fond of saying, and choosing ‘the better part of valor’ she beat a hasty retreat to the halls of healing.