Minut oyacyir te akaanir.
This ship. It always came back to this ship. Hovering a small distance above the Venator, the silence of space was always uneasy on my mind. I prefer the roar of blaster fire, shouts of pain, and screams of the defeated. That was the music of our people. Our way if life. Switching on my magboots, I was tugged a brief moment downwards onto the hull. There I paused outside the large hangar door I knew would soon be open. This wasn't hesitation, but a moment to clear my mind, prepare for the coming breach. With these moments though, memories had their chance to rear their ugly heads.
"Keep your hands up, child!" I heard as I spun to the ground, the blow still burning on my cheek. "Keep your damned hands up, or I'll ring you again, Bes." he said in a thick Mandalorian accent. Every combat lesson he would use a different language. Knowing your enemies makes it that much easier to kill them. I was on my feet, spinning around and raising my clenched fists to my chin. Even at 12, I knew failure would yield harsher lessons. This I had learned over the years. Down. The hook passed right over my head, as I could feel the wind of the swing on my hair. I countered, a left jab to the chin to disorientate, followed by a right cross into the gut. Connection made me feel as If I had won, till the world spun upside down around me. He had anticipated the counter, taken it for a more valuable finish, sweeping my legs out from under me. I rolled as soon as my back hit the ground, avoiding a grasping hand aimed for my throat. Bliss was watching, I could feel her judgemental burning stare without seeing it. Hoping onto my feet, I spun around extending my leg in anger at the thought of her laughing at my failure again. To my surprise I felt a connection on my heel. This time it was Father spinning, landing on his back. The roundhouse had hit him right on the chin, and we both seemed stunned for a moment. I blinked with realization that in that moment I had accomplished something I had failed to do in all my seasons of training. "Now that, Bes, was unexpected." He said with a smile.
My eyes snapped open when I heard the communicator buzz with life. "Bes'bavar, Charges are set, and primed." the voice of my squad commander said. "Copy, And it's Babe on the job, Utreekov." I reported back. I hated it when they used my name on missions. "Babe then, You are clear for go in three." Disabled my magboots. "Two." I knelt low in a runners stance. "One." I pushed off the hull as the doors to the hangar blew open, debris flying into the vacuum around me. I fired up all the thrusters on my jetpack, screaming into the hangar like a rocket. A few of the white armored, pale imitations of Mando'ade troopers had been caught in the explosion. A small group stood below, still in surprise. Foolish. I pulled my Westars from my holsters, and placed two shots into the chests of the farthest two. I cut my thrusters as they regained their senses, plummeting downward. The trooper beneath me must have been horrified as I braced my fall by landing onto him, a foot going into each shoulder, dislocating them for sure. I rolled as we both hit the ground, blue streaks wizzing past. Ignition again, as I spun into the air, firing rapidly. Some shots went wide, but I still caught my flanking targets. I landed before the last trooper, who attempted to hit me with the butt of his rifle. The duck came naturally, muscle memory taking its turn, as I turned my beck into him and pushed while catching his arms in my own. Twisting them at an angle over my shoulder, hip tossing him onto his back like a K'lor'slug. A twist of my wrist sent the blade in my gauntlet out, and I plunged it down into his neck. The other one was still reeling, unable to get up with his arm injuries. I put two in his head with my wrist blaster without a second thought, and pressed on with my mission.
This Venator was where my sister fell in battle. I heard rumors it was a Mandalorian armored warrior, whose favored weapon was a three bladed dagger. One of the "Skirata" clan I had encountered on this ship before. Good warriors, though why they serve the Republic is beyond me. The ship was alive now, with the music of my people. It felt right as I walked down the hallways, blasting anyone who got in my way. This was what we lived for, our entire people. The fight. Long live the fight. I paused when I heard a familiar laugh echoing down the hallway from behind me. It was him, I could feel it. Ducking once again out of instinct as I turned, I caught glimpse of the three bladed dagger soaring above me where my neck had been but moments ago. Before me stood a warrior in Crusader armor, painted with shades of blue. "Nice." I said out loud, openly appreciating the armor. I didn't get a response verbally, but one in the tune we both danced to. Blaster fire and flashes of red filled the corridor.
I hate leaving battles unfinished, but the mission comes first. Siting within a stolen L.A.A.T., I studied the three bladed dagger I snatched in the retreat my commander had called. My distraction had paid off, and we had stolen numerous weapons from the armory of the ship. This blade was the only one that interested me. Fine craftsmanship, and well sharpened edges. I stole a glance at the Venator one last time before the doors to the L.A.A.T closed. It felt heartbreaking to leave the contest unfinished, but Deathwatch had no tolerance for disobedience, and they had my clan under their boot. Bastards. Atleast the fights they drag me into prove entertaining, I hungered for another go with the Skirata clan. "Till we meet again boys." I spoke into the open comms, in native Mandalorian. "We'll be waiting" I heard in Mandalorian as a response. A smile slithered its way across my face. Something to look forward to.
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