*author note: This is the last Pov change from now on it will be mainly Ember Pov*
*warning of gore. I'm never sure exactly at what point the warning is needed*
(Cherry POV)
The stadium seat beneath me felt solid and reassuring as I settled back into its cushioned surface, my small form easily fitting into the space designed for adults. The fabric-wrapped eyepatch that covered my empty eye sockets was positioned comfortably, and I let my Force sight expand outward like ripples in a calm pond, searching for something interesting to focus on during the wait.
My force sight flowed through the crowd of spectators still finding their seats, their signatures creating a tapestry of anticipation and excitement that buzzed through the air like electricity. But it was the elderly Duros gentleman sitting three rows ahead of me who caught my attention not because of his distinctive blue-green skin or his large, dark eyes, but because of the book he held carefully in his hands.
The tome was thick and bound in what appeared to be genuine leather, its pages yellowed with age and filled with dense text that spoke of study rather than casual reading. Through my Force sight, I could perceive the characters on the page as clearly as if I were reading over his shoulder the shapes and patterns of the letters forming words and sentences that drew me in completely.
"The Evolution of Hyperspace Navigation: A Comprehensive Study of Route Development Across the Galaxy" read the chapter heading, and I found myself immediately fascinated by the discussions that followed, trying my best to follow along although most of it was beyond me. The author wrote about the early pioneers who had risked everything to map safe passages through the chaotic dimension of hyperspace, their ships equipped with primitive navicomputers that could barely calculate the most basic jumps.
Through my Force sight, I followed along as he read about the Corellian Run, one of the galaxy's most important trade routes, and how its discovery had transformed entire star systems from isolated backwaters into thriving centers of commerce.
I was so engrossed in the fascinating history of galactic exploration that I didn't notice the familiar presences approaching until Vex settled into the stadium seat to my left, her impressive frame making the seating look almost comically small. The slight shift in the Force that always accompanied her arrival pulled my attention away from the book, and I turned toward her with a welcoming smile.
"Good timing" I said quietly, watching as she carefully balanced a tray of food and drinks that she'd clearly acquired from one of the stadium's many concession stands. The aroma that rose from the containers was immediately appealing something that smelled like roasted meat and exotic spices that made my stomach remind me I hadn't eaten since early morning.
Sera appeared moments later, approaching from the opposite direction with her own collection of stadium refreshments. She maneuvered past other spectators to reach the seat on my right, looking around scanning the crowd with the automatic awareness of someone trained in tactical assessment. She carried what appeared to be drinks in containers and a large bag that rustled promisingly as she moved.
"Sorry we took so long" Sera said as she settled beside me, her voice carrying that familiar accent that always made me feel safe. "The concession lines were absolutely terrible. Apparently everyone in the stadium decided they needed food at exactly the same time we did."
I felt a warm surge of contentment as both of my guardians arranged their purchases, creating a small feast around our seats. Vex had chosen what appeared to be some kind of sandwich made with local ingredients, along with a hot beverage that steamed invitingly in the stadium's climate-controlled air. Sera's selection included what looked like savory pastries and cold drinks that would help combat the warmth generated by thousands of gathered spectators.
But it was when Sera opened the large rustling bag that my attention was immediately captured. The distinctive aroma of freshly popped kernels filled the air around us, and she extracted a container of popcorn that looked like it could feed a small army. The golden kernels were perfectly cooked and dusted with what appeared to be some kind of flavored seasoning that made my mouth water.
"Here you go, little reader" Sera said with a grin, passing me a smaller container that had been filled from the larger supply. "Can't watch stadium events without proper snacks."
I accepted the popcorn gratefully, immediately sampling a few kernels and discovering they were flavored with something that tasted like a combination of salt and sweet spices I couldn't identify. The texture was perfect—crispy without being too hard, with just the right amount of seasoning to make each bite interesting.
"Have you seen anything particularly interesting while we were gone?" Vex asked, settling back in her seat and taking a sip of her hot beverage. Her pale gray eyes scanned the crowd with the automatic assessment of someone accustomed to evaluating potential threats, though her posture remained relaxed and comfortable.
I shook my head, pausing in my consumption of popcorn to answer properly. "Not really" I admitted, gesturing vaguely toward the spectators who were still streaming into the stadium in steady waves. "People are still finding their seats and getting settled. The energy is building, but nothing's actually happening yet."
It was true that while the anticipation in the air was almost tangible, the actual proceedings hadn't begun. The stadium was perhaps three-quarters full, with late arrivals still making their way through the entrance tunnels and climbing the stairs to reach their designated seating areas. The conversations around us created a constant murmur of excitement, punctuated by occasional laughter and the sounds of vendors calling out their wares.
I took another handful of popcorn and let my Force sight expand again, this time focusing on the stadium itself rather than individual spectators. The structure was unlike anything I had ever experienced a massive construction that defied easy description. The seating areas surrounded what could only be called an arena floor, but this wasn't a simple circular or oval space like I might have expected.
Instead, the central area of the stadium was dominated by three enormous structures that rose from the floor like artificial mountains. Each building was the size of a skyscraper,its surfaces gleaming with metallic panels and transparent sections that revealed multiple levels of interior spaces. The structures were positioned in a triangular formation, with substantial gaps between them that created distinct zones within the arena.
Connecting two of the three towers was an elevated walkway that spanned the space between them like a bridge. The walkway appeared to be constructed from the same materials as the towers themselves, with transparent guardrails that would allow spectators to see any action taking place on its surface. It was positioned perhaps fifty meters above the arena floor, creating a dramatic elevated platform that would be visible from every seat in the stadium.
In the center of the triangular formation, equidistant from all three towers, was a circular area of what appeared to be polished concrete or durasteel. The surface was completely flat and unmarked, creating a stark contrast to the towering structures that surrounded it. This central zone was large enough to accommodate significant activity, though I couldn't immediately determine what purpose it was intended to serve.
As I studied the impressive architecture, my Force sight began to pick up movement in areas that weren't immediately visible to conventional observation. Hidden beneath the arena floor, in what were clearly maintenance and preparation areas, I could sense groups of people moving with intent.
Two clusters of life signatures caught my attention, both positioned in concealed sections of the stadium that appeared to be accessible through tunnels or underground passages. The groups were organized and their movements coordinated in a way that suggested extensive practice and preparation. As I watched on, I realized they were carrying what appeared to be musical instruments including drums of various sizes.
But it was as my perception continued to expand through the strange skyscrapers that I encountered something that made my heart skip with excitement and concern. In one of the private preparation rooms built into the structure's foundations, I found a familiar presence that blazed in my Force sight like a beacon.
Ember.
My sister was alone in what appeared to be an office room, her distinctive energy signature unmistakable even through the layers of durasteel and construction materials that separated us. But something about her presence felt different than usual—more focused, more intense, carrying an undercurrent of anticipation that made me shift uncomfortably in my stadium seat.
I could see her moving around the small chamber with purpose, though the reason for her activities remained unclear. I could determine that she was wearing something entirely different from her usual clothes, the garments appeared far different than anything I had seen her in before.
The outfit seemed to consist of multiple layers, with what appeared to be a form-fitting bodysuit as the foundation. Over this was what looked like segmented armor or protective plating that covered her torso and arms, while the color scheme appeared to be primarily blacks and light grays that would blend effectively with shadows. Most striking was what appeared to be a hooded cloak or robe that completed the ensemble. The garment looked substantial and well-made, with a hood that could completely conceal her distinctive crimson skin and the eyepatch that covered her missing eye. The overall effect was both elegant and slightly intimidating, transforming my sister from the teenager I knew into someone who looked capable of handling 'problems'.
(Image)
I watched as Ember moved with deliberate precision around the small preparation chamber. Her energy signature pulsed with that same intense focus I'd noticed before, but now I could see exactly what she was doing. She approached the desk that dominated one corner of the room, where a computer terminal waited with its array of glowing displays. Without hesitation, Ember reached up to the side of her neck, her fingers finding the small metallic port that had been surgically implanted there during our time at the laboratory. The personal link was one of the few modifications they'd made to both of us that we'd actually found useful.
I'd seen Ember jack in countless times during our months of freedom, usually when she needed to research something or when Vex was helping her with the work she assigned her. The thin cable extended from her neck and Ember guided it to the port at the desk. As the connection engaged, I saw her body go momentarily rigid, her consciousness interfacing directly with whatever system she was accessing.
But what happened next surprised me completely.
Instead of remaining standing at the terminal as she usually did or sitting down, Ember carefully lowered herself to the floor and crawled into the knee space beneath the desk.
My contemplation of my sister's preparations was suddenly shattered by a voice that seemed to emerge from everywhere at once, filling the entire stadium with sound so perfectly modulated that every word was crystal clear regardless of where you sat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, beings of all species and worlds, welcome to the most momentous occasion in Imperial educational history!"
I jumped in my seat, nearly dropping my container of popcorn as the announcer's voice boomed through speakers positioned throughout the massive structure. The sound system was so sophisticated that it felt like the voice was speaking directly into my ear rather than being projected across thousands of spectators.
"I am Maximus Opus, your host for this unprecedented event, and I am honored to witness the dawn of a new era in Imperial Academy selection!"
Around us, the crowd's murmur of excitement grew more focused as thousands of beings turned their attention toward the arena floor.
"As always, the younger generation follows where the Empire leads," Maximus Opus continued, his voice carrying the weight of ceremony and tradition. "Today, we witness not just competition, but the forging of the Empire's future through trial by fire and determination!"
I leaned forward in my seat, doing my best to encompass more of the stadium watching the other contestants inside the buildings start to move as my attention focused on the announcer's words.
"One thousand potential students have assembled here today, each representing the finest young minds and strongest bodies the Empire has to offer!" The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and I could feel the crowd responding to his enthusiasm. "The Imperial Academy, in its wisdom and generosity, has decided once again to make this tournament public, allowing citizens throughout the Empire to witness the selection of their future leaders and protectors!"
The implications began to sink in as he spoke. One thousand applicants. A tournament. Public viewing. And my sister was apparently one of the participants, hidden in her preparation chamber with her rifle and neural interface, ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
"However" Maximus Opus continued, and I caught the shift in his tone that suggested important information was coming, "only the last two hundred remaining will be accepted into the Academy's hallowed halls. Those who fall short of this mark will have the opportunity to try again in four years, when the next Trial convenes."
"Each applicant was given the option of utilizing an automatic shield system" the announcer explained, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "This technology will activate to save their life in the event of what would otherwise be a fatal blow. However, not all contestants have chosen this protection some prefer to face these challenges with nothing but their own skills and determination."
"Those shields will now activate momentarily" Maximus Opus announced, "allowing spectators to see which contestants have chosen the path of additional protection, and which have chosen to rely solely on their own capabilities."
Throughout the towers, I watched as dozens of personal shields flickered to life brief, shimmering domes of energy that surrounded their users for just a few seconds before deactivating again. The effect was like watching stars blink in and out of existence as the protective systems identified themselves across the arena.
Ember's chamber remained dark. No shield flickered around her hidden position. No protective barrier announced her presence to the watching crowd.
I shook my head in frustration and concern, unable to suppress the feeling that my sister had made a dangerously foolish decision. The enhancment we'd gained from our modifications were significant, but they weren't magic. We could still be hurt, still be killed if the damage was severe enough. The idea that she would voluntarily give up a layer of protection that could save her life seemed like unnecessary bravado.
"And with that" Maximus Opus declared, his voice rising to match the building excitement of the crowd, "let the Five Hundred and Thirty-Seventh Imperial Academy Selection Tournament... BEGIN!"
The moment he spoke that final word, the stadium transformed around us. The hidden percussion sections I'd detected earlier burst into action simultaneously, their drums creating a thunderous rhythm that seemed to shake the very foundations of the massive structure. The sound was primal and inspiring, designed to stir the blood and quicken the heartbeat of everyone who heard it.
But it wasn't just the drums. As the rhythm established itself, I felt as much as heard the response of the crowd around us. Thousands of feet began stamping in unison with the beat. The vibration traveled through my body, making my bones resonate with the collective rhythm of the assembled spectators.
The energy was intoxicating. Even though I was just a spectator, I found myself caught up in the primal excitement of the moment, my own feet beginning to stamp along with the crowd putting the concern for my sisters safety to the side.
As the percussion reached its crescendo, massive screens began to activate along the arena walls. Each display was easily fifty meters wide and thirty meters tall, positioned so that every spectator in the stadium would have a clear view of whatever was about to be shown. The screens flickered to life with crisp, high-definition images that would allow us to follow the action no matter where it occurred within the enormous towers and connecting walkways.
"Citizens of the Empire" Maximus Opus called out over the thunderous rhythm, his voice somehow cutting through the noise with perfect clarity, "witness the birth of your future leaders! See the forge in which tomorrow's protectors will be tempered! Let the tournament begin!"
______________________________
(Ember POV)
The darkness behind my closed eyelids felt absolute but it was far from empty. As the cable fed directly into the port at my neck, my consciousness existed in two distinct realms simultaneously, a sensation that never failed to both exhilarate and unnerve me no matter how many times I'd experienced it.
In cyberspace, the world took on an entirely different character. The physical tower around me was represented as a construct of flowing data streams and interconnected nodes, each room and corridor translated into digital architecture that pulsed with information. Through my neural link, I could perceive the building's electronic systems as living entities security cameras that appeared as watchful eyes, door locks that manifested as glowing barriers, and communication networks that stretched between rooms like luminous spider webs.
The room I occupied in physical space appeared in cyberspace as a small, secure node connected to the building's main data flow. Its walls were represented by shifting barriers of code, and I could see the pathways that led to other systems throughout the tower environmental controls, security networks, and most importantly, the central tournament management system that would coordinate the entire competition.
My approach had to be soft and slow. The tower's ICE—Intrusion Countermeasures Electronics—were sophisticated, no doubt designed just for this event by people who understood talented slicers would attempt to gain unfair advantages.
Instead, I moved through the digital architecture like a ghost, using techniques I'd learned during months of working alongside Vex on training scenarios. I flowed along data streams that were meant for routine system maintenance disguising my presence as normal background processes. Each probe was carefully measured bursts, each access attempt designed to appear as queries rather than unauthorized intrusion.
While I was navigating the tower's electronic systems, I split my focus and started looking around slowly providing me with a three-dimensional map of the actual building around my hidden position. The sensation was disorienting like trying to read two different books simultaneously, but months of practice had taught me to compartmentalize the competing streams of information.
I could sense the life signatures of contestants scattered throughout the tower's five floors that my awareness could penetrate while slicing. Two floors above me, two floors below, and my current level each contained dozens of preparation chambers, and in each room I could detect the distinctive patterns of beings who had been modified, trained, or enhanced in various ways and no doubt just as deadly.
I slowly lost track of time as I prepped, my consciousness divided between infiltration and surveillance, when a voice echoed through both realms simultaneously audible in the physical world and translated into data pulses that rippled through the tower's communication systems in cyberspace.
"...let the Five Hundred and Thirty-Seventh Imperial Academy Selection Tournament... BEGIN!"
The word "BEGIN" hit both my realities like a shock wave.
I couldn't help but watch the explosion of movement as contestants throughout the tower abandoned their preparation chambers and launched into action. The careful, controlled energy signatures I'd been monitoring suddenly transformed into chaotic patterns of aggression, desperation, and tactical maneuvering as hundreds of individuals began to move with deadly purpose.
Some contestants burst from their rooms immediately, clearly having planned direct assault strategies that relied on overwhelming their opposition through superior firepower or enhanced physical capabilities. I sensed the distinctive energy flares of blaster weapons being discharged, the sharp electromagnetic spikes that indicated vibroblade activation.
Others I could feel moving carefully through corridors, checking corners, and establishing defensive positions that would allow them to respond to threats while maintaining strategic flexibility.
But it was in cyberspace that the true chaos erupted.
I watched in horror as ICE programs throughout the tower activated in response to multiple intrusion attempts. Security protocols that had been dormant during the preparation phase suddenly blazed to life, creating barriers of aggressive code designed to identify, isolate, and purge unauthorized users from the system. The gentle data streams I'd been using for concealment became torrents of defensive programming that threatened to sweep away anyone caught in their flow.
Other slicers weren't attempting the subtle approach I'd chosen. Through the neural interface, I could perceive their digital avatars as they launched brute-force attacks against security nodes, attempting to overwhelm the tower's defenses through sheer computational power. Some were attacking other competitor instead. Others were attempting to manipulate environmental controls lights, doors, ventilation systems anything to create advantages for themselves or disadvantages for their rivals.
What made the situation truly dangerous was that many of these netrunners were clearly using military-grade software, programs designed for actual warfare rather than civilian hacking. The ICE systems were being hit with viruses that could potentially cause physical damage to the building's infrastructure, while counter-intrusion programs responded with digital attacks that could burn out neural interfaces if they connected with unprotected slicers.
The safety protocols I'd been relying on for concealment were rapidly becoming liabilities as the system's defensive algorithms grew increasingly aggressive in response to the mounting attacks. What had been a careful infiltration was about to become a deadly exposure as automated security programs began identifying and targeting any unauthorized presence in the network.
Through my Force sight, I could sense that the chaos around me was escalating as well. Contestants on my floor were beginning to move toward the central areas of the tower, some seeking elevated positions others attempting to access the connecting walkway that linked this tower to its neighbors. The sound of weapons fire was beginning to filter through the walls, and I could feel the vibrations of running footsteps and impacts as combat began in earnest throughout the structure.
"Better to move now before someone storms in"
I triggered my emergency disconnection protocols, feeling the familiar sensation of my consciousness being yanked back from cyberspace as the neural interface severed its connection to the tower's systems. The process was like being pulled through a tunnel at high speed, digital senses fading rapidly as my awareness collapsed back into purely physical.
I opened my eyes as the neural cable retracted into my neck with a soft mechanical whir, the port sealing itself automatically as the disconnect completed. The familiar sensation of the thin metallic line winding back into its housing was oddly comforting after the chaos I'd just escaped. My hand instinctively moved to rub my temple, trying to ease the sharp headache that always accompanied rapid disconnection from cyberspace.
I pushed myself out from under the desk's protective alcove, my muscles protesting slightly from the cramped position I'd maintained during the neural interface session.
My rifle was exactly where I'd left it, the weapon's familiar weight settling across my back as I slung it into position with practiced efficiency. The firearm was an Imperial-issue sniper rifle, modified for enhanced accuracy and equipped with a scope that could interface with various targeting systems. Its dark metallic surface absorbed the room's artificial lighting, making it appear almost black in the dim illumination.
As I completed my equipment check, my Force sight detected something that made me pause. Throughout the tower, I could sense the distinctive energy signatures of personal shield generators activating brief flares of power as protective barriers surrounded contestants. But what caught my attention wasn't the shields themselves, but the reaction of other combatants to their activation.
In several instances, I watched as contestants who had been actively engaged in combat suddenly stopped their attacks when their opponents' shields deployed. The energy signatures of their weapons powered down, and their aggressive movements shifted. It was as if the shield activation had triggered some kind of universal ceasefire protocol.
I filed the observation away for future consideration, but my attention was immediately drawn to a more pressing concern. I could detect a single life signature approaching my preparation chamber with purposeful speed. The energy pattern suggested a humanoid male, likely human, moving with the controlled aggression of someone trained in combat.
The footsteps in the corridor outside grew louder, and I could sense his presence growing stronger as he neared my door. Whatever his intentions, he was moving with lethal purpose, and I had perhaps seconds before he reached my position.
I reached down to my right vambrace, my fingers finding the handle of a combat knife secured in its sheath along the armored bracer. Drawing the knife in a single smooth motion, I positioned myself to the side of the door, where I'd have a clear throwing angle while remaining concealed from anyone entering the room. Through my Force sight, I could track his exact position as he approached—three meters away, two meters, directly outside the door.
The access panel chimed softly as he activated the door controls, and I felt the distinctive shift in air pressure that indicated the portal beginning to open. Before the door had finished its upward slide, before he could fully assess the room's interior or identify potential threats, I released the knife with a flick of my wrist that sent the blade spinning toward the entrance with deadly precision.
The man entered the room with his weapon already raised some kind of vibroblade that hummed with contained energy but his attack angle was directed toward where he expected to find an opponent, not where I actually stood. The knife caught him in the throat with a wet impact that immediately disrupted his planned assault.
His eyes went wide with shock and pain as both hands flew to his neck, trying to stem the flow of blood while simultaneously attempting to extract the blade that had lodged itself just below his larynx. The vibroblade in his hands clattered to the floor as survival instincts overrode training.
Advancing on the man I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him fully into the room. My free hand found the door controls, sealing us inside the chamber where there was no risk of attract unwanted attention.
He turned toward me despite the knife protruding from his throat, his left hand still clutching the wound while his right hand reached for what appeared to be a backup weapon seemingly another combat knife secured at his belt. The determination in his movements was impressive.
But determination without tactical awareness was just stubborn suicide.
I drew my metal baton from its secure position along my thigh, the collapsible weapon extending to its full length with a sharp mechanical snap.
As he brought his backup knife up in a desperate slash toward my torso, I shifted my weight and angled my body to avoid the blade's path while bringing the baton down in a devastating strike against his right knee. The impact produced an audible crack as bone and cartilage gave way under the force of the blow, and his leg immediately buckled beneath him.
He dropped to the floor with a gurgling cry of pain, his knife hand wavering as shock began to overwhelm his system. The combination of blood loss from the throat wound and the traumatic injury to his leg was rapidly draining his ability to continue fighting. I didn't allow him time to suffer or attempt another attack. A precise strike with the baton to his temple ended his struggles permanently the impact causing his entire body to go limp.
Standing over his still form, I found myself surprised by how easily he had fallen. The entire engagement had lasted perhaps thirty seconds from door activation to final blow, and at no point had I sensed the distinctive energy signature of a personal shield generator. Given the protection offered by the shield systems and the apparent reluctance of other contestants to attack shielded opponents, his decision to forgo that safety seemed idiotic.
I quickly searched his equipment, retrieving my throwing knife and wiping the blade clean on his clothing before returning it to its sheath. His weapon was a quality vibroblade, but nothing exceptional enough to justify risking death to acquire it. His armor was light and flexible, designed for mobility rather than protection. The search complete, I moved to the door and paused to look as far as possible before exposing myself to the corridor beyond. The tactical situation throughout the tower was rapidly evolving, with contestants moving between floors and engaging in running battles that created constantly shifting patterns of threat and opportunity.
Two floors above my position, I could sense a fierce battle taking place between multiple opponents, their energy signatures blazing with the intensity of individuals pushing their capabilities to the limit. One floor below, someone had apparently barricaded themselves into a defensive position and was holding off attackers with what appeared to be heavy weapons fire.
More immediately relevant was the presence I detected moving through the corridor on my level of another contestant approaching from the direction of the central stairwell, moving with slow careful steps of someone trained in urban combat tactics.
I checked my rifle's charge level and confirmed that the weapon was ready for immediate use. Taking a deep breath to center myself, I activated the door controls and stepped into the corridor with my rifle raised and ready, The other contestant rounded the corner at the far end of the hallway at almost the exact moment I emerged from my preparation chamber, their own weapon—what appeared to be a blaster rifle similar to my own—already trained in my direction. We spotted each other simultaneously, luckily it seemed I fired a moment before he did.
My shot hit true, the energy bolt should have striked them center mass with the kind of precision that should have ended the engagement immediately. But instead of dropping or staggering backward, they simply stopped moving as a shimmering blue barrier sprang to life around their body.
The personal shield absorbed the energy from my shot completely, dispersing it across its surface in ripples of electromagnetic distortion. For a moment, we stared at each other across the corridor yet before I could do anything a synthetic voice rang out and issued a warning.
"Contestant 847 disqualified due to shield activation. Contestant 312, any additional attacks against a disqualified opponent will result in immediate elimination from the tournament."
I kept my rifle lowered as I moved past the eliminated contestant, their shield-protected form remaining motionless in the center of the corridor. I kept an eye on them as I headed to a passage leading to the central stairwell. The corridor stretched ahead with a distinctive architectural feature. One entire wall was comprised of floor-to-ceiling transparisteel windows that offered a view of the arena's other towers and the central courtyard far below.
I moved carefully toward the stairwell access, doing my best to monitor the situation throughout my range of perception. The sounds of combat echoed from multiple directions the sharp crack of energy weapons, the distinctive hum of vibrating blades, and occasionally the deeper rumble of what sounded like explosives or heavy weapons.
As I approached a structural pillar positioned next to one of the large windows, I took cover behind its substantial frame. The pillar was wide enough to provide protection while still allowing me to observe both the corridor behind me and the arena beyond the windows.
What I saw through the window was both spectacular and terrifying.
Combat was raging between all three towers simultaneously. Energy bolts streaked through the air between the structures like deadly lightning, their colored trails creating patterns of violence against the arena's perpetual twilight. Some contestants had apparently accessed the connecting walkways that linked the towers, engaging in battles across the elevated platforms while others provided covering fire from windows similar to the one beside my position.
In the tower directly across from mine, I could see muzzle flashes from at least three different floors as contestants engaged in firefights within the structure itself. The windows of that building flickered with the intermittent illumination of weapons discharge, and occasionally I caught glimpses of figures moving rapidly past the openings.
As I watched, a brilliant flash erupted from one of the middle floors of the third tower, followed immediately by the sound of an explosion that made the everything around me vibrate. The blast had apparently been centered within the building, as several windows on that floor suddenly shattered outward, spraying crystalline fragments into the arena's air space.
The sight of those shattered windows gave me an idea, I raised my rifle and used the butt of the weapon to strike the window beside my position, targeting a corner where the transparisteel met the building's structural framework. The first impact created a spider web of cracks that spread across a section roughly two meters square. A second, more focused strike shattered a portion of the window entirely, creating an opening large enough to provide a clear field of fire while leaving most of the transparent barrier intact for protection.
Settling into a kneeling position, I rested my rifle on the jagged edge of the broken window and activated the weapon's scope system. The optics immediately began analyzing potential targets in the opposing towers, highlighting movement and calculating range and wind compensation for accurate long-distance shots.
Through the scope, I could see into several rooms across the gap between buildings. Most were empty, their previous occupants having either moved to other floors or been eliminated from the competition. But in one chamber on the fourth floor of the second tower, I spotted a target of opportunity.
A human male was positioned behind an overturned desk, using the improvised cover while engaging someone outside my field of view with what appeared to be a blaster rifle similar to my own. His positioning was tactically sound but predictable as he would lean out from behind his cover to fire, then duck back to reload or avoid return fire. The pattern was consistent enough that I could time a shot for the moment when he exposed himself for his next attack.
I controlled my breathing, feeling my heart rate slow as through the rifle's scope, I tracked his movements, learning the rhythm of his engagement pattern. Lean out, fire three quick shots, duck back, pause for approximately four seconds, then repeat the sequence.
On his next exposure, I squeezed the trigger.
The energy bolt crossed the space between towers in a fraction of a second, striking the target center mass just as he leaned out to fire at his unseen opponent. Through the scope, I watched him stagger backward and collapse behind his makeshift cover, his weapon clattering to the floor beside him. Whether he was dead or merely unconscious was impossible to determine from this distance, but he was definitely out.
My satisfaction at the successful shot was immediately replaced by alarm as energy bolts began impacting the window frame around my position. Someone possibly the person my target had been engaging, or perhaps another sniper who had observed my muzzle flash was returning fire with impressive accuracy.
"Shit!" I cursed, rolling away from the window as blaster bolts seared through the air where I'd been positioned moments before. Energy impacts against the transparisteel created brilliant flashes that temporarily overwhelmed my vision, forcing me to rely primarily on Force sight as I sought cover.
I dropped to the floor and began crawling toward the stairwell access, keeping as low as possible while the transparisteel above me continued to absorb incoming fire. The sounds of energy weapons striking the windows created a continuous crackling that reminded me uncomfortably of the intensive combat training scenarios Vex had subjected me to during our most challenging sessions.
As I crawled, I rolled onto my back and used my elbows to propel myself backward while maintaining visual on corridor ahead. My rifle's cooling vents were beginning to glow softly as they dissipated the heat generated, though the weapon's temperature remained well within acceptable operating parameters as single shot barely registered on the weapon's heat capacity.
Through my Force sight, I could sense additional contestants converging on the same stairwell I was approaching. Multiple signatures were moving through the building's staircase, and from how they were moving several of them had already begun attacking each other in the confined space.
I reached the stairwell access door and paused to sling my rifle across my back, securing the weapon so it wouldn't interfere with close-quarters maneuvering. It would more likely be more liability than asset in the tight confines of the stairwell.
Instead, I drew both of my pistols—the Imperial training blaster in my right hand and Sera's family slug thrower in my left. The familiar weight of the weapons felt reassuring as I settled into a two-gun combat stance that would allow me to engage multiple targets rapidly while maintaining mobility.
As I prepared to enter the melee, more contestants were arriving at the stairwell from other access points throughout the building. I followed them through my Force sight as they burst through doorways and immediately engaged whatever targets presented themselves. The tactical situation was becoming increasingly chaotic as individual combatants brought their own weapons and capabilities to bear.
One contestant appeared to have cybernetic enhancements that allowed for superhuman speed their movements created brief afterimages in my Force perception as they darted between cover positions faster than opponents could track. Another was using what appeared to be some kind of energy whip or chain weapon, the distinctive electromagnetic signature creating sweeping arcs as they tried to entangle or strike multiple opponents simultaneously.
A third fighter was wielding dual vibrobades with the kind of fluid coordination that suggested either extensive training or neural interface assistance. Their weapon patterns were creating overlapping fields of death that forced other contestants to maintain distance or risk being carved apart by the humming energy blades.
Taking a deep breath to center myself, I activated the door controls and immediately dropped into a crouch as the portal slid open. My timing was fortunate three energy bolts seared through the air where my head would have been if I'd entered standing upright, their passage close enough that I could feel the heat against my scalp.
I returned fire immediately, both pistols tracking toward the muzzle flashes that had revealed my attackers' positions. The training blaster spat rapid bursts of energy while the slug thrower boomed with its distinctive deep crack and piercing through the cover.
The stairwell was a nightmare of intersecting fire zones and moving combatants. The central well dropped away below me while rising above, creating multiple levels of engagement as contestants on different floors tried to eliminate each other through the railings and open spaces. Energy bolts crisscrossed the vertical shaft like deadly lightning, while the metallic surfaces created ricochets that made cover positions uncertain.
Before I could advance further into the stairwell or establish a defensive position, I detected immediate danger from an unexpected direction. Above me, perhaps three floors up someone had abandoned common sense entirely. Instead of using the stairs or seeking cover behind the railings, they had climbed over the barrier and were falling directly toward my position the contestant was a male humanoid, heavily muscled and wearing what appeared to be full combat armor designed for maximum protection rather than mobility.
"Oh, hell" I cursed, immediately kicking backward to slide away from his impact zone while simultaneously raising both weapons to engage the falling threat.
I managed to fire three quick shots as he plummeted toward me two from the training blaster and one from the slug thrower. The energy bolts struck his armored torso but seemed to have minimal effect, absorbed by the heavy plating or dispersed by some kind of personal defensive system. The slug thrower's round found its mark in his left shoulder, spinning him slightly in his descent, but failing to significantly alter his trajectory or disable his combat effectiveness.
He crashed to the landing where I'd been standing moments before, his impact creating a spider web of cracks in the durasteel flooring. But instead of being stunned or disabled by the fall, he rolled smoothly and came up in a combat crouch.
I tried to scramble further away, but my retreat was limited by the stairwell's confines and the ongoing combat around us. Before I could regain my feet and establish proper distance, he lunged forward with inhuman speed and grabbed my right ankle with a grip that felt like a mechanical vise.
"Stay down" he growled through gritted teeth, his voice carrying the mechanical undertones that often-accompanied extensive cybernetic vocal modifications.
"Fuck you!" I snarled, immediately reversing the slug thrower in my left hand and firing point-blank into his torso. The heavy round struck him center mass with enough force to stagger him backward, but his grip on my ankle remained unbreakable.
Using his hold on my leg as leverage, he lifted my entire body weight off the ground with one arm and slammed me down against the stairwell landing with brutal force, my back and shoulders striking the urface hard enough to drive the air from my lungs and send shockwaves of pain through my body.
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I struggled to draw breath, my vision blurring from the impact. His grip tightened around my ankle again, and I felt myself being lifted off the ground for a second time. The ease with which he manipulated my body weight was both impressive and terrifying. His augmented strength made me feel like a child's toy being tossed around by an adult.
But as he raised me above his head, preparing for another devastating slam, I managed to angle the gun toward the wound I'd already created in his left shoulder. The barrel lined up almost perfectly with the entry hole from my previous shot, and I squeezed the trigger without hesitation.
The round struck the exact same spot as before, but this time it tore through damaged tissue and cybernetic components instead of encountering intact armor and flesh. The heavy projectile widened the existing wound dramatically, sending sprays of blood and what appeared to be hydraulic fluid from damaged enhancement systems across the stairwell landing. His scream of pain and rage echoed off the metallic surfaces, but his grip on my ankle remained secure as he slammed me down for a second time.
As he lifted me again, his movements slightly less controlled due to the injury, I made a desperate decision that would have horrified any combat instructor but maybe would make vex proud.
I released my grip on the training pistol, letting the energy weapon clatter away across the landing, and immediately drove my now-free right hand directly into the gaping wound in his shoulder. The sensation was indescribably horrible, warm blood, torn flesh, and the hard surfaces of cybernetic components all mixed together in a nightmare of texture and temperature.
But as my hand plunged deeper into the wound, my pinkie finger struck something that wouldnt move a piece of his internal armor plating or cybernetic housing that my desperate thrust couldn't penetrate. The impact sent a lightning bolt of agony up my arm as the small bone snapped under the force of collision with reinforced materials.
I screamed but didn't withdraw my hand. Instead, I drove it deeper into the wound, using my broken finger as a guide to navigate around the obstruction until I found what I was searching for: the solid surface of bone, or what remained of it after cybernetic modification.
Driven by adrenaline and desperation, allowed me to grip what felt like his clavicle or shoulder joint and pull with every ounce of force I could generate. The effect was immediate and devastating.
His scream shifted from pain and rage to something approaching genuine terror as I literally tore apart the internal structure of his shoulder. Whatever cybernetic had been integrated with his skeletal system weren't designed to withstand this kind of direct mechanical trauma. I felt something give way, bone metal or both, and his left arm immediately went limp and useless.
The combination of agony and system failure caused his grip on my ankle to release involuntarily. I dropped toward the landing but managed to control my fall enough to land on my back rather than sprawling helplessly.
Before he could recover or adapt to his suddenly disabled arm, I planted both feet against his chest and drove my legs out in a double-kick that sent him stumbling backward toward the stairwell's edge. His balance, already compromised by the shoulder injury and the shock of having his cybernetic systems partially destroyed, couldn't compensate for the impact.
He toppled backward over the railing, his functional arm windmilling frantically as he tried to arrest his fall. But the stairwell's design worked against him the railings were positioned to prevent accidental falls, not to provide handholds for someone already tumbling over and into the central well.
The moment his form disappeared into the stairwell's depths, I collapsed backward onto the landing. A shaky breath escaped my lips as I lay there for precious seconds, staring up at the stairwell's ceiling while just processing the cascade of pain from multiple injuries.
My back throbbed where it had repeatedly struck the durasteel surface. My broken pinkie finger sent sharp spikes of agony up my arm with each heartbeat. The metallic taste of blood coated my mouth, and I could feel bruises forming along my ribs where his grip had compressed my torso during the lifting and slamming.
Forcing myself to move despite the pain, I began pushing and pulling myself across the landing toward the relative safety of the railing. The barrier wasn't much just a metal guardrail perhaps waist-high but it would provide some protection from the crossfire while I regrouped and planned my next move.
As I dragged myself across the durasteel surface, my injured right hand bumped against the training pistol I'd dropped during the desperate fight. The impact sent a lightning bolt of agony through my broken finger, causing my eyes to immediately tear up from the intensity of the pain. I bit back a cry, not wanting to draw attention from other contestants.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I forced my damaged hand to close around the weapon's grip. The simple act of grasping the pistol sent waves of nausea through my system as the broken bone shifted within my finger, but I managed to maintain my hold on the weapon. The training blaster was too valuable to abandon, especially given the chaotic nature of the ongoing tournament.
Finally reaching the cover of the railing, I positioned myself so that the metal barrier provided protected me from the most obvious angles of attack while still allowing me to monitor the tactical situation through my Force sight. The position wasn't perfect, anyone with an elevated angle and eyes could still target me but it was significantly better than lying exposed in the middle of the landing.
Drip