A Darkened Reflection

It felt weird. They had never considered that to blend in they would have to change. They weren’t entirely comfortable wearing what had been the uniform of their enemy but needs must. They caught themselves in the mirror as they re-joined their family.
“Say what you want about The Guild but they really knew how to make armour.” Lore twirled for themselves. “I may have to nick this.”
“Form fitting and functional.” Char smiled. “Shame about the colour.” She admired her partner admiring themselves.
“If you wanted something in your colours, I can set you up once we’re finished. Our R&D department is second to none.” Crait and Charrlene entered the room. “All ready?” The reminder of their destination sank Lore’s stomach. They nodded silently.
“I never thought I’d be going back but, needs must.” Char subtly grabbed at Lore’s hand. They nodded as she made contact.
“Link up.” Crait took Charrlene’s hand who in turn took Lore’s until they were all linked in a circle. Crait moved Piper’s hand further up their wrist so they could use their Breacher. Unlike his underlings, Crait was yet to upgrade. With a flash of white, the party were on their way.
Some things never change. Quatarr hung in space above itself. A shattered future that wasn’t to be. Despite the time that had passed, it was exactly as Lore remembered it. Nostalgia didn’t quite cover it. A metallic tang clung to the thin and hastily cobbled together atmosphere, the fallen’s last goodbye. Crashed ships littered the craters, burning rainbows slicked from their drive cores and the wounded scrambled to safety. They could do nothing to help them, they were already dead. It didn’t help when they started to cry out. That was always the part that haunted them. It wasn’t the pain, it wasn’t the stakes, it was the ones that they left behind. An explosion rocked at their left side and the first of the walking dead stopped their march. Even with their powers, they were useless. In a place without time, there was nothing to pause and nothing to rewind. It was convincing themselves of that, that they could never do. The final duel wasn’t too much further ahead. The crowd extended for a fair bit but nowhere near as far as in their universe; it was much more diverse too with more of the Rexian fighters forming the ring. Helmets on, they pushed their way through the ringside. Lore held their arms out wide, staff held high, addressing their audience.
“Rules!” They spun on the spot, sponging up the attention. “Obviously, no guns. That wouldn’t be fun for anyone.” The Guild members cheered. “We fight till we drop. And what else…” They holstered their staff and began mumbling to themselves. “No guns, fight to the death… Ah!” They flourished their staff. “Prizes.” The crowd hushed. “I win, I get you, this planet and the pleasure of finally cleaning up your Quatarrian mess.” They pointed to the planet that loomed above.
“And if I win?” Crait dared to entertain the possibility.
“If you win, you can have… What can you have? I know, you get The Guild, I’m talking absolute control, and obviously both of these stinking rocks.” They paused. “Doubt you’ll last long but…” Lore scoffed. “Deal?” They extended their left hand.
Crait stood for a moment besides themselves with confusion. “I’m sorry, what the actual hell? Who in their right mind offers their left hand? I know you’re right handed…” Crait shook their head before shaking Lore’s hand. And with that, the fight commenced.
“So, what do we do to make sure Lore doesn’t kill themselves?” Lore whispered to Crait.
It took them a moment, they were entranced by their own proficiency with their blade. “It’s my sword. Last time, it cut through you like butter. After I take your arm off, you knock me to the floor. My sword goes flying and someone in the crowd throws it back. We need to make sure I don’t get it back. I can still beat you but not kill you.”
“I’ve got a plan.” Lore scanned the arena. It was exactly as it was in their universe. “I pinned Crait here so…” They whispered. A hand parted the crowd and joined them. At first Lore recoiled but when they realised the hand belonged to Piper, they pulled themselves back together.
Piper unfolded a slip of lined A4 paper. At its heading: A series of important questions by Pwy’he Piper. Every other line had a question and the page was filled on both sides. A little box had been crudely drawn beside every question mark. “It’s not exactly what I was hoping to see but it’s better than nothing.” He smiled. Lore looked down at the sheet.
“I’ve told you about when I met your mother.” Lore poked the sheet. “And I have definitely told you the story of what happened here.” A few of the questions lower down the list had been answered but they appeared to scale in importance as they ascended. This was number three. Lore’s eyes widened at the first entry hoping they would never talk about that.
“Forged in India. Last of its kind.” Roars erupted from the ring, drawing Lore back to their surroundings. They gave Piper his list back. “The Last true Damascus blade.” Crait jumped atop the hulking remains of The Vengeance. They leapt over Lore, catlike in their motions. Reorienting themselves mid-flight, they landed facing them once more. Lore closed the gap in a moment but suddenly felt themselves lose weight as they passed their target. Their arm fell to the floor but their staff rose. Even with only one arm, they were still devastating. That’s when it happened. The Damascus blade flew through the crowd and embedded itself in the earth at Lore’s feet. Already prepared, they untangled their own staff and hurled it at Crait. It was second nature to them. They took Lore’s staff and in a single fluid motion, they reversed the roles. From their position on the floor they levered themselves around their target and used their own momentum to bring Lore down. They took Lore’s staff and held the two rods in a cross around Lore’s neck, pinning them to the floor.
“Guess I win.” Crait smiled breathlessly. Lore’s wound gaped open. Blood pooled around their shoulder. Lore could see where they went wrong. It wasn’t the blade. Well it was but it wasn’t just the blade. They covered their face and entered the arena.
They bowed to Crait and pointed to Lore. “Director, I accept your victory but may I see to their wounds.”
Crait was taken aback. They hadn’t expected the immediate respect. They nodded and Lore saw to their own wounds. They were glad they were wearing standard issue gear. The plasma knife made short work of cauterising the wound. Lore nodded to Crait. Together, they secured Lore’s ankles and remaining arm. Lore passed out with Crait atop them. Neither one looked particularly happy. Time resumed and the planets hurtled towards their new homes. White flashes popped around the arena as the guild withdrew. Job half done.