Planetary Alignment

Quiet. After their declaration, not a single sound. The two planets sat awkwardly in the Null Space as the inhabitants of the present made their way over to the past. Crait made their way to Lore without challenge or obstruction, their audacity and showmanship pardoning their behaviour.
“So, if we’re going to be ending this cycle there better be some rules.” They smiled as they went to run their finger along Lore’s cheek. Their advance was swiftly spurned. “Rule One: No guns. They’re not fun so hand to hand or melee only. Rule Two: We fight till we drop. That about covers the rules now as to the prize…” They thought for a moment. “I win, I get to wipe every last stinking Quatarrian off of this planet for a second time and Humanity gets the mining rights to the planet.”
“And if I win?” Lore tried to square up to them but failed creating a mildly and inappropriately homoerotic spectacle of themselves.
“If you win my dear, the planet and its people are yours to do with as you please and… You can take my place as the head of The Guild.” They scoffed. “I doubt you’d last long but the job’s yours.”
Lore took a moment, looked to Char then held out their left hand. “You’ve got a …” Crait cut them off.
“I’m sorry, what the actual hell? Who in their right mind offers their left hand? You’re right handed?” Crait slapped their hand away and grabbed the correct hand. Lore smiled.
“It’s a deal then. Where will we be duelling then?” Lore’s tone was somewhat mocking tone given the audacity of the whole situation. “I’ve always used my left hand.” They added under their breath.
“Follow me.” Crait huffed away, Lore and the rest of The Reaper pairs in tow
It was a decent walk away. There was smoke everywhere. They had journeyed far outside of the anchor fields outer perimeter towards what appeared to be a star ship graveyard. Crashed landers littered the pock marked hills as copper green fires burnt. Blue and their family, hearing movement outside, left the wreckage of The Vengeance to find Lore, Char and Crait leading the combined armies towards them. The Guilds faceless soldiers lay slumped against their landing craft, disabled upon exiting. The light from the rifts openings glinted off of The Vengeance’s golden fin, ricocheting on its angular form. Crait’s flair for the dramatic had not let them down.
“Oh, one last rule. That dog of yours enters the ring, or assists you in any way, the duel is forfeit.” They revelled in Lore’s grimace.
“She isn’t a dog but I will respect the ruling.” Char was not amused by the compromise.
“Lore, you don’t have to do this. We’re more powerful than them and there’s fifty two of us. We outnumber them twenty six to one.”
“I’ve been here before. This is where it ends.” Lore looked to The First. “Wish me luck.”
Char hugged tighter than she had ever before and was reluctant to let them break the lock. She planted a kiss on their cheek as they unfurled their staff and entered Crait’s arena. All eyes were on them. Lore on the one side with their staff in hand and Crait on the other. Crait retreated to the perimeter and retrieved their weapon from their past self. They affixed the scabbard to their hip and began their return to the circle’s centre. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw him.
“Loren?” They turned to double check. “What… How?”
Loren moved away from The Vengeance and towards the Craits. “It’s complicated but I’ve got a personal stake in this fight.” He smiled. “Good luck.” He kissed both Craits before flashing Lore a thumbs up. “Begin!”
Immediately after Loren’s call, Crait answered. Their sword came crashing towards Lore’s head. Lore dodged left and teasingly tapped the back of Crait’s neck as they spun. Crait retaliated launching a flurry of rapid strikes with their ancient blade. Although inexperienced in such combat, their relatively equal levels of training allowed Lore to keep up their defence, however, they couldn’t for much longer.
“Forged in India. Last of its kind.” They hit back at Lore. “The last true Damascus blade. Almost poetic that it’s going to kill the last Lore.”
Lore’s staff couldn’t take much more of the beating the ancient blade was giving it and the crowd could see it. Their raucous chants fell to solemn reverence as Crait struck it one time too many. The staff’s head split cleanly from its body. The remaining metal unfurled, spinning like a headless chicken as it straightened into a thin metal strip. Crait didn’t stop. They kept attempting attack after attack and all Lore could do was dodge. Loren made their way over to the clones that had accompanied The Reaper unit from the anchors and scoured their belts. He slid Edge’s hilt from their side and tossed it into the arena. The metal and leather handle spun in the air before landing in the sands below. Lore rolled towards it, shook the sand from its emitter and began their offensive. Despite its advanced age, Crait’s blade was more than an equal for the Quatarrian gladius. They locked blades. Crait placed their hand along the spine of their blade, using his hand as a pivot to push Lore’s sword back onto themselves. Lore attempted to dodge but in their haste, fell and dropped their weapon. As Lore stumbled in the sand, Crait retrieved their weapon. First kicking them to the floor, Crait grappled at their shirt and propped them on their knees. Both blades in hand and around Lore’s neck, they smiled. Lore didn’t. The noise, the heat, the sound of their heartbeat ringing in their ears and the taste of blood in their mouth. Time began to slow for them. They reached for Crait’s Damascus blade and twisted it from their grasp. Staining the blade with their blood as they turned. Crait was moving too. As the light made contact with their skin, time resumed. Even with time moving at its normal pace, the attack seemed to last forever. They made it to their feet but felt a warm mass nearby. They didn’t even look as they continued to fight. Their balance was off but they were faster now. Contorted in estranged horror, Crait’s face said all that needed to be said. Using whatever disfigurement they had obtained to their advantage, Lore drove Crait’s sword into Crait’s side. They made sure not to hit anything major as they pinned them to the ground.
“I won’t kill you. You’re pathetic and you probably deserve it but your victims deserve to see you to trial.” Lore began. They turned and saw what Crait had been pointing at. Their arm lay motionless on the desert floor. Bleeding slowly, Crait was out cold. Time resumed and the planets continued their journeys towards their new homes. Lore looked to their stump, already cauterised and joined them in unconsciousness. As they exited the rift and watched it close behind them, Loren and The First looked to one another. Starting at their hands and spreading quickly, they were reduced to ashen dust. Their oaths fulfilled, Time took its due. Lores.