The temple's core seethed with darkness, alive with the whispers of centuries. Red light bled from carvings etched deep into the walls, shadows bending into the shapes of forgotten Sith Lords, their silent gazes watching the clash about to unfold.
Nox's saber blazed to life, a hiss of crimson fury cutting through the stillness. His stance was rooted, unyielding.
From the far end of the chamber, Vrakus descended the blackened steps of the dais like a predator savoring the scent of prey, each movement deliberate, regal, and merciless.
There were no further words. The air ignited between them, the Force itself bending and convulsing. Shadows writhed as Vrakus lunged, his crimson blade singing with malice. Nox met him head-on, red striking red, the impact ringing like a death knell through the chamber.
The first clash shattered a nearby column, fragments scattering as waves of invisible power rolled outward. Dust rained from the high ceilings as the duel escalated, every exchange a storm of rage and precision. Nox fought like a blade honed by fire, each motion calculated, each countermeasure born of blood and betrayal. Vrakus matched him, strike for strike, a dark mirror wielding experience and cruelty in equal measure.
The chamber itself seemed to strain beneath their fury. Each blow reverberated through the stone, a grim conversation of power, anger, and unspoken history. Sparks erupted in showers as sabers locked, walls trembling with the legacy of destruction carved by Sith long dead.
"You've grown sharper, my blade," Vrakus said at last, voice thick with both venom and perverse pride.
"But even the keenest blade shatters when turned against its master."
Nox's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening.
"You taught me that strength was survival. Then you sought to end me. Today, master, I repay the lesson."
The air convulsed as their sabers met again, fury against fury. Sparks flared like dying stars, shadows screamed against the walls, and the temple groaned as if it remembered every life ever sacrificed in its depths.
This was no duel. This was annihilation made flesh, the will of two Sith bound only by the certainty that one must fall.
The corridor pulsed with menace, runes flickering like veins alive with poison. Zen raised his hand, the Force rippling in warning.
The first trap sprang without mercy, the walls split apart, razor-edged blades lashing out in a whirring storm meant to shred any who advanced. Zen stepped forward, saber a blur, his movements flowing like water. Each strike dissolved into the next, batting the blades aside in sparks and shrieks of metal.
Tif pressed close, her own blade weaving a complementary pattern, her motions precise and sharp. Together, they forced the trap into silence, the corridor falling still as smoke drifted.
They pushed onward, and the statues awakened.
Monolithic figures groaned, splitting down the middle to reveal armored guardians, half-machine, half-Sith sorcery. Their eyes burned red, their weapons forged from cruel alchemy. One lunged, massive axe descending. Zen intercepted, but the strength behind the blow sent him reeling. Another guardian struck from the flank, too fast to counter.
"Zen!" Tif cried.
She surged in, her saber flashing to intercept the deadly strike. Sparks exploded as she caught the blow inches from his side. With a fierce push of the Force, she hurled the construct back, its form cracking under the pressure. Zen was already moving, blade arcing to finish the creature in a blaze of molten metal.
Their eyes locked, breath ragged, a heartbeat of raw gratitude between them. Zen reached, his gloved hand brushing her cheek, and before words could come, the space between them vanished.
Their lips met in a fierce, unrestrained kiss, passion born of danger, relief, and the unspoken truth that their bond had already crossed every line. For an instant, the darkness around them receded, consumed by the light of their connection.
When they pulled apart, both were breathing hard, sabers still humming in their hands.
"You saved me," Zen whispered.
Her smile was fierce.
"All your fights are mine, remember?"
The moment fractured as the floor split wide beneath them, molten fire roaring upward. The temple itself sought to devour them. Zen thrust out his hand, pulling broken stone into a makeshift bridge, but the surface wavered, unstable.
He moved first, balancing on the shifting path, the heat clawing at his skin. A section gave way beneath him, too sudden, even for him to recover.
Tif's shout cut through the roar. She extended her will into the Force, seizing Zen in mid-fall and flinging him to the other side with a surge of desperate power. She landed beside him a breath later, rolling into his arms, both of them gasping from exertion.
Zen pulled her close for the briefest instant, his forehead resting against hers.
"We endure because we're together."
"And together," she answered, lifting her saber,
"we don't stop."
The temple fell quiet once more, but the dark presence ahead was undeniable. The clash of sabers, the roar of unleashed power, Darth Nox and Darth Vrakus, thundered through the stone, pulling them onward.
Zen and Tif moved through the last corridor, each step measured, senses straining with the temple's dark energy. The oppressive aura thickened as they approached the central chamber, and the unmistakable hum of two crimson blades cutting through shadows reached their ears.
Nox was already there, a whirlwind of red, every strike laced with fury and precision. Zen's eyes softened, no hesitation lingering.
He's my brother. I know him. I trust him.
Every motion, every counter, confirmed what he had felt since Nox's Force call: this was the same Nox he had always known, only tempered by desperation and the fire of survival.
Tif, however, kept a wary distance, her eyes sharp. She had seen the seething hatred in Nox before, every previous encounter marked by grudges and barely restrained rage. Could she trust him now? Could she believe that the fury she'd witnessed before was truly aligned with Zen's purpose?
"Zen… are you sure about this?" Tif's voice was low, tinged with unease, almost drowned by the echoes of clashing blades.
Zen's gaze didn't waver.
"I know my brother, Tif. He called me because he needs help, and I trust him to fight, no matter the darkness. We face Vrakus together."
Tif bit her lip, torn between caution and necessity. She stayed close, following Zen's lead, her lightsaber ready. Despite her doubts, she had no choice but to step into the fray, to fight alongside a man whose intentions she could not fully read, yet whose power was undeniable.
The temple shuddered as a surge of dark energy erupted from the inner chamber. Vrakus had sensed them.
The confrontation that would decide the fate of the three of them, and perhaps the legacy of the Sith, was about to begin.