A Dance of Forms and Fire

Posted on Sun May 10th, 2026 @ 1:19pm by Darth Serus & Bomoor Thort & Mentis

4,358 words; about a 22 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Moz Müt, Öetrago
Timeline: Day Eight, Afternoon

Bruta had been the first one to suggest Moz Müt. The Öetragan authorities still technically owned the decommissioned research station on the volcanic island, after a number of former ÖetraGrow facilities were seized, but no one wanted responsibility for a half collapsed geothermal facility perched on the lip of an active volcano. It was to be kept safe and ticking over only, until new guardians could be appointed. In the meantime, that meant it now hosted only a skeleton crew of droids in order to maintain its systems.

Which made it perfect.

“Remote, unmonitored, and already half ruined,” Bruta had said, handing Bomoor the access codes, “If you break something, it will make little difference.”

And so they came.

They had ascended to the uppermost catwalk: a wide, open maintenance platform overlooking the volcano’s glowing throat. Heat shimmered in the air like a living veil. Smoke curled upward in slow, serpentine coils. The metal beneath their feet thrummed with the deep, tectonic heartbeat of the world.

Mentis stood opposite Serus, chest rising and falling, the blue blade in his hand casting a pale sheen across his grey skin. The crystal within it, once Jedi Knight Thane’s, hummed with a resonance he still wasn’t used to.

Bomoor’s voice cut through the volcanic wind.

“Good technique, but don’t simply react,” he called, projecting over the distant roar of magma, “Serus does not want to keep striking at a ghost. He wants to see some bladework.”

Mentis broke away, boots scraping lightly across the scorched durasteel. He exhaled, steadying himself, and glanced down at the shimmering blade.

“Okay… more bladework,” he panted, nodding once. “What Form?”

Bomoor considered with a tilt of his head.

“Your Form II is sharp, but he can match it. Start there. Then push into something faster: IV, or even VII if you can channel it. That will keep him on edge.”

Mentis swallowed, squared his stance, and lifted the blade.

Bomoor added, firmer now:

“And remember, we came here to make use of our environment. Use your surroundings. Unleash your abilities. Show me what you are truly capable of. Then, like my old master, I will see the cracks we can begin to mend.”

The words settled over Mentis as he swallowed any unease and focussed on what he came here to do: become stronger and, he hoped, confirm that the newly anointed Sith Lord was still capable of putting up a fight.

He inhaled. Shifted his weight. Let the Force coil through his limbs.

Then he moved.

The Makashi line formed cleanly; a precise, elegant advance, blade angled in a narrow thrust toward Serus’ centre. But at the last instant, Mentis broke the line entirely. His body snapped sideways in a blur, momentum redirected through Force Inertia, carrying him off centre in a sudden, disorienting shift.

He came at Serus from the flank, blue blade cutting in at a sharp, unexpected angle; a strike designed not to land, but to force a clumsy reaction from the Sith Lord’s still adapting frame.

The strike should have forced him to turn.

Mentis saw that much in the instant before contact, or thought he did. The red lens in Serus' right eye had already found him, fixing on the new angle with a precision that felt almost mechanical, but the body beneath it did not answer with the same speed. There was a fractional delay in the Caanan's shoulder, a stiffness through the line of his spine as the movement Mentis had demanded of him reached the limits of what flesh, surgery and machinery could yet perform together.

For half a heartbeat, the opening existed - but Serus did not chase it. He moved less rather than more; one boot shifted across the metal floor with a hard scrape, enough to alter his centre without committing to the turn. His torso followed only by a few degrees, the cloak dragging behind him in the volcanic wind, and his left hand rose,

The Force struck Mentis before his blade could finish its path. It was not a shove in the ordinary sense - there was no dramatic wave, no visible exertion, no anger spilling loose from the young Dark Lord. It hit like a sealed door suddenly blown open by a current, a dense and concentrated impact that caught the Rattataki through the chest and shoulder and tore him out of his own momentum. The blue blade cut wide through empty heat as his body was hurled sideways across the platform, boots leaving the ground for a moment before metal found him again.

Darth Serus' weapon then ignited. The bled blade came alive with a low, decisive snap-hiss, its crimson light cutting through smoke and heat shimmer, painting the black respirator and scarred cheek in something close to a ritualistic colour. He had not turned fully even now - he did not need to. The red eye remained fixed on Mentis, unblinking, while the golden one followed a fraction later, colder for the delay.

The blade angled downward at his side, glimmering through volcanic ash and smoke whipping between them.

Serus then began to advance, but not quickly nor cautiously. He simply moved forward with the same measured certainty as the volcanic machinery beneath the platform, each step deliberate against the heated walkway. The cloak shifted behind him in the rising thermal winds, its dark folds disturbed by sparks and drifting ash as the mask obscuring much of his pale, ravaged face maintained its steady, almost inaudible mechanical cadence.

The pressure in the Dark Side of the Force tightened with his approach, gathering around the former Jedi Knight with purpose as he advanced on Mentis, his stride still reminiscent of Thane, albeit heavier and somehow now more dangerous.

Mentis watched him approach: the man's movements seemed carefully considered, almost sluggish but he knew that Serus' was anything but, even in his revived form.

Mentis paced around the Human, blade at his side, ready to snap forwards at a moment's notice. But he knew that he would be the first to strike. While Serus advanced, he could tell that he was merely waiting and watching for his faster opponent's flurry. Like an expert dejarik player, both opponents had to consider several moves ahead but, in the mind of a Force user, that meant peering into multiple possible futures and hoping your opponent picked the one that your path had the advantage over.

He gripped his hilt tighter, feeling the uncovered metal biting his hand as he shot forwards.

As he neared his opponent's body, he tilted his own, thrusting his blade out for a fairly central pierce. It would be easily caught and deflected as, indeed, it was: Serus' own blade was already there to meet it, as was his uncomfortable glowing red and golden stare. Mentis continued moving his body and retracted the blade back, across his body as an anticipated parry returned from Serus.

Now, with more vigour, Mentis pulled back a fraction, disengaging again and attempting a sharp downwards thrust to drop the man's defence lower and create an opening up high. The movement seemed successful and Serus' body was open for the next wide high sweep. But, instead of delivering the blow, his way was impeded by a thrust of the Human's off hand, delivering a concussive blast at Mentis' temple.

The Rattataki managed to pull up his Force defences enough to avoid being cast completely back, but he still found himself shunted back; his offensive swipe turned into a defensive guard as the bloodshine blade took the advantage to push at him. Holding the saber lock awkwardly with his wrist bent too far clockwise, Mentis reached out to find a safe escape route.

Clenching his teeth, the combined light of red and blue blades casting a violet dance across his face, Mentis pushed into the pain and bent more towards the right. But Serus' grip was locked hard - movement in that direction would be near impossible even if he attempted a two handed grip.

Instead, he did the opposite: he suddenly released all resistance and twisted his whole body away to the left. In a desperate attempt to maintain a guard as he spun off, he brought up a modest backhanded grip. But Serus was not interested in his blade any more and angled the now disengaged blade at Mentis' retreating form. The searing heat of the blade caught the fibres of his robe and radiated through to his skin. It was an extremely close strike that could have severed his right shoulder, had he not been faster.

But he had been and now looked at Serus, knowing that the man would not hesitate to strike a blow should the moment arise. He spared a glance back at Bomoor, who did not flinch at the near miss, merely watching and still expecting more.

Okay, the Rattataki thought, Makashi is what he knows best. So let's get more aggressive.

He brought his other hand up to grasp his hilt, although kept his blade low and central, not betraying his stance. Not yet.

Mentis moved fast towards the Dark Lord. This time there was no measured Makashi probing nor attempt to disguise intent beneath elegance, his decision made to capitalise on Serus' apparent physical limitations. The Rattataki launched forward in a sudden burst of speed, boots hammering once against the heated platform before the Force carried him the remaining distance in a blur of motion. His blue blade came alive in rapid succession, striking high, then low, then reversing instantly into a diagonal cut aimed toward Serus' flank, each movement feeding directly into the next with mounting aggression. The catwalk groaned as he accelerated, the cleaner lines of Form Two dissolving into something far more kinetic and predatory.

Serus actually gave ground, but only slightly. His bled lightsaber moved in short, precise arcs, catching and redirecting each strike with the smallest movement necessary not yet abandoning the familiarity of Makashi's economical shifts,but he longer fought for elegance. Every parry seemed compressed, economical to the point of severity, the red blade intercepting Mentis' attacks close to his own body rather than sweeping outward to create space. The old refinement that had often typified Thane remained visible beneath it all, but narrowed now into something harsher and more brutal, stripped of flourish and reduced to pure efficiency.

Blue and crimson flashed violently between them as Mentis pressed harder. A high strike became a spinning descent toward Serus' shoulder but he caught it, perhaps more narrowly than he had anticipated. Mentis rebounded instantly, pivoting off the momentum into another attack aimed lower, then drove forward bodily behind the next exchange, forcing Serus backward across the catwalk. Metal continued to groan beneath their boots and heat rolled upward from the volcanic throat below in suffocating waves, distorting the air around them until the lightsabers seemed to bend and ripple within the haze.

For several seconds, Mentis' speed genuinely forced the issue as the Sith Lord's body could not entirely answer what his mind certainly understood. Mentis saw the moments where the cybernetic eye recognised the strike before the muscles beneath scar tissue and machinery fully obeyed. The delay was slight, but it existed and was obvious to Mentis, who had fought with and against the other man on a number of occasions now.

Serus' spine stiffened through one abrupt turn. A descending cut struck harder against his guard than intended because his shoulder corrected too slowly. Once, Mentis' blade passed close enough to burn fabric from the edge of Serus' cape before the red blade violently knocked it aside, albeit with greater force than Thane had ever summoned in such a minimal kivmejet.

But each exchange carried a growing pressure behind it now. Serus was not simply defending - he was studying the rhythm, even of his own body and technique.

Mentis launched upward suddenly, boots striking a railing support before he rebounded over Serus entirely, blue blade carving downward from above in a fast Ataru plunge meant to overwhelm the narrower defensive posture. Serus twisted to meet it, but this time the movement came too quickly for the damaged lattice of flesh and machinery along his back to fully comply.

For the first time, the opening was real, as his correction lagged and pain seemed to pierce through whatever medication and dark power he used to manage himself, and Serus did not attempt to complete the turn - but Mentis did not get to capitalise on the moment.

Instead, Darth Serus' free hand clenched sharply, and a section of heated conduit along the adjacent wall tore free with a shriek of twisting metal. Thick piping ruptured violently as the Force ripped it sideways across the platform directly into Mentis' path. Superheated coolant exploded outward in a blinding spray of steam and molten droplets, accompanied by a shower of sparks and fractured metal. The entire catwalk trembled beneath the sudden structural violence as severed machinery whipped loose from its housing.

The former cultist was forced out of the attack immediately, his momentum breaking apart as he was forced to twist away from the burst of scalding vapour and collapsing metal.

Serus advanced straight through it. Steam rolled across his blackened silhouette in thick waves, momentarily obscuring him entirely before the crimson glow emerged from within it again. The respirator's quiet mechanical cadence remained steady beneath the screaming metal and escaping pressure. Sparks scattered across his cloak without drawing reaction. The plasma of his lightsaber hung low beside him as he pushed forward through the chaos he had created, not avoiding the destruction but using it to constrict the available space around Mentis.

The duel was changing, as the platform itself no longer felt separate from Serus' will.

As Mentis landed hard further back along the catwalk, Serus was already upon him. The Sith had closed distance with frightening directness and the red blade struck downward with enough force to hammer Mentis' guard toward the deck. The impact reverberated through the platform beneath them, but Serus did not disengage cleanly afterwards. Instead, he stepped directly into Mentis' space, switched his blade to his offhand and drove his reinforced right fist brutally across the Rattataki's upper chest and throat, forcing him backward toward a bank of damaged machinery.

Serus followed that immediately with a short, vicious kick into his lower leg that destabilised his footing against the uneven grating.

These movements lacked flourish but were simply effective.

A fast exchange followed at dangerously close range as Mentis managed to maintain his position. The two blades crashed repeatedly within the confined space between shattered machinery and exposed railing as steam hissed around them in violent bursts. Mentis' speed still forced reactions, his blade snapping toward Serus' head and torso from difficult angles, but Serus no longer seemed interested in maintaining the shape of a proper duel, especially unhinged in this environment with far fewer stakes. This was not, after all, a space station aligned to his friend's father, nor the Red Raptor they so keenly relied and lived on.

One strike from Mentis was caught not only by the blade but by Serus physically trapping Mentis' wrist against his own forearm for a fraction of a second before releasing it with a sharp Force-assisted shove. Another attack was avoided by the narrowest shift of posture before Serus slammed his shoulder directly into Mentis' sternum hard enough to force him stumbling sideways into a hanging chain assembly.

The entire catwalk groaned again, betraying the sorely-reducing physical stability of this environment. Above them, warning sirens finally began to sound throughout the old facility as damaged systems registered cascading failures through the geothermal network. Red emergency luminance flickered to life overhead, staining the steam and smoke in alternating pulses of crimson warning light that merged almost seamlessly with the glow of Serus' blade - but he kept advancing.

Drawn by the warning sirens, a small Y8-L4 unit floated from somewhere beneath the platform and inspected the situation. It's once pure white casing had browned with chemical and heat exposure and it had several scorch marks on its surface. With a slow whirr, it regarded the organic life present before zipping on to inspect the burst pipework.

In its wake, Bomoor also drew forward and stood a short distance behind Mentis.

"Not bad, Mentis," the Ithorian's voice was low but cut through the haze of noise like a knife through smoke, "Your techniques are firm and he struggles to match them, yet you keep finding yourself on the back foot."

Mentis turned slightly to his mentor, as Serus slowed his approach at his friend's presence, like a hungry beast momentarily quelled but still ready to pounce. Bomoor continued, hands drifting in the air as though practicing the strikes in his mind:

"Whatever technique you adopt, it will only take a few strikes for him to sense a weakness so you must break his rhythm: switch forms, force him to adapt and, when his body slows... you take the advantage."

Mentis nodded, exhaling deeply and attempting to sooth the burning sting of the superheated air that had spewed at him.

"I understand..." he said simply, as he turned back and held his blade up again.

Bomoor drifted back adding, "And don't keep ignoring the environment. It is not his alone to control."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Mentis recalled dark chambers lit by crimson candlelight where instructors of the cult and, eventually Axion himself, taught him of the dark secrets of the blade. While ever fearful, these were some of his proudest moments as he honed his favoured craft - Bomoor was not Axion, yet it was good to feel a firm hand at the wheel once more. It steadied him after such a long period of uncertainty.

He opened his eyes as he remembered the teachings of one of the more effective forms for facing another Force-user. Pouring one's essence into each strike to not only strengthen the blows, but to also misdirect the opponent. A flurry of emotion could be misinterpreted or intentionally misdirected.

But he did not slip into it just yet. As Serus came within reach, Mentis raised his blade and swept it down in a simple, powerful Shii-Cho opener, then spun it off almost immediately darting around Serus and delivering a series of heavier blows from all angles. The blue blade carved heavy arcs through the heat‑warped air, hammering at Serus’ guard from multiple angles. The Sith Lord absorbed the blows with minimal movement, letting the impacts travel through his frame rather than meeting them with equal force. Sparks spat from the catwalk as their blades dragged low, gouging molten lines into the metal with each pass.

But he watched Serus carefully as he continued, wary that he should not allow the success of his continued assault to make him complacent. As Bomoor had said, he must break the rhythm. He struck down hard again, allowing their sabres to hold for just a moment longer while, inside him, he reached deeper into his feelings.

He drew on his fear, his frustration and his anger. The pain he had been suppressing in his shoulder from the near miss previously and the scorching skin instantly returned to him. Even the pain of his long dormant facial scar began to re-awaken as though the plasma bolt had only just struck him once again.

It revolted him. He turned it towards Darth Serus.

The shift was immediate and violent. His blade snapped inward, then outward, then downward in a jagged, unpredictable sequence that broke every pattern he had shown so far. The Force surged through him in a volatile rush, feeding each strike with a flicker of fury and exhilaration. His movements became sharper, more angular, more dangerous. No longer elegant, nor measured, but explosive.

Serus reacted, but even he was forced to give ground now.

Their blades clashed with a ferocity that tore glowing scars into the catwalk. Metal shrieked beneath them as each impact sent molten fragments skittering across the platform. The air rippled with heat and pressure, the volcanic winds whipping their cloaks into violent motion.

Mentis felt the Dark Lord’s power rising in answer. It was a pressure like one of the magma chambers below them just waiting to explode. Yet, he pushed harder, letting the chaos of Juyo drive him forward. His blade carved a vicious diagonal that Serus barely caught; the red blade shuddered under the force, and for the first time, the Human's stance faltered.

Mentis didn’t hesitate.

He leapt, boots hammering once against the trembling patform before the Force carried him upward. His blade carved through the overhead chain in a single decisive stroke. The severed links snapped back with a violent metallic crack, whipping upward in a spray of sparks as the counterweight above Serus dropped like a stone.

It struck the platform beside the Sith Lord with a seismic thud, the impact shuddering through the entire platform. Heat vents flared open in response, belching a plume of superheated air that rippled across the walkway. Serus staggered; only slightly, but enough. His cybernetic spine locked against the tremor, boots scraping hard across the metal as he fought the sudden shift in balance.

Mentis landed in a crouch, hand already outstretched.

He commanded the now-slack chain to whip towards his opponent in a spiralling arc that threatened to wrap around the man's body.

The chain screamed down toward him in a spiralling blur of blackened metal and glowing sparks. Serus raised his arm to meet it rather than evade. The links wrapped violently across his side and shoulder with a heavy metallic crash, tightening around cloak and machinery and skin alike as Mentis imposed his will upon the strike. The impact dragged hard against Serus' frame, enough to wrench his posture sideways and force a harsh scrape of boots against the trembling catwalk. For a moment, the systems along his spine visibly resisted the sudden torsion, locking rigid beneath fabric as the force of the entanglement travelled through him - but he did not stop advancing.

The bloodshine blade came up one-handed in a savage, economical arc, carving through part of the tightening chain in a spray of molten fragments while the remaining length still clung and sparked against his arm and shoulder. Metal shrieked against metal and the severed section whipped wildly overhead, smashing through a nearby support strut hard enough to shower the platform with burning debris.

Serus then lifted his free hand. The dark side gathered instantly and Mentis saw the shift before the lightning came: not rage nor loss of control, but a clear decision. The power around the Sith Lord compressed inward for a fraction of a second, dense and focused, the respirator hissing softly beneath the scream of ruptured machinery as it struggled to adjust to the exertion of its wearer, as blue-white light began to crawl across the fingers of his outstretched hand.

Then, the torrent erupted. Lightning exploded outward across the catwalk in a blinding surge, violent forks of energy crashing directly toward Mentis with enough force to illuminate the entire platform in stark, flickering light. The discharge struck the damaged environment almost immediately, branching through exposed conduit and ruptured coolant lines as the facility itself became a conductor for Serus' wrath.

The investigating Y8-unit drifted directly into the path of the discharge. For a split second its scorched casing became a glowing white silhouette against the darkness before the lightning consumed it entirely. The droid convulsed mid-air, exploding outward through split plating as the ruined machine spun violently into the railing and vanished into the volcanic haze below.

As the lightning arced towards Mentis, he jumped back and batted away the first tendrils before the full storm surged forth and he was forced to leap upwards to avoid its devastating power. His feet burned as they caught the corners of the lightning as he ascended and momentarily pinned himself to the maintenance ducts. He quickly zeroed in on Serus and kicked off again towards him before the Sith Lord could spin his power upwards. The pain in his scorched feet became red hot with the force of pushing off, but he channelled it into his blade, seeing it carving down upon the Human in his mind's eye.

As he approached, yet more of the lightning tendrils whipped at him but he continued on regardless, turning pain into power. The blade screamed down in a fierce arc, so close to his target that he could taste it. But, in the final moment, he watched Serus shift just a fraction. It was minimal, but deliberate: the blood red blade in the other hand rose, not in a block, but as a redirection. He caught Mentis' strike at the very edge of its arc and slid his trajectory off course just enough to expose him.

Before Mentis could correct, the hand that had just been casting lightning snapped upward and clasped around Mentis arm with mechanical precision. The lingering electricity surged through Mentis and his whole body convulsed briefly as the iron grip tightened further and Mentis was compelled to release his weapon as Serus directed his whole body downwards. His body followed whether he willed it or not.

He struck the metal floor with shuddering force, his eyes had closed from the electrical surge but he felt the heat of plasma brought beneath his chin. The red glow burned through his eyelids and he shot them open to see the blade angled cleanly towards his throat. In his ear, he heard heavy breath through the Sith's respirator, pressing in on him louder than the hiss from the pressure vents that now were stuck open.

For a moment, he remained there, unable to resist the vice-like grip on his arm, or retreat from the blade at his throat. His whole body still trembled with the surge of emotion he had summoned, now useless as he lay half-collapsed at Serus' mercy.

TBC

RSS Feed