>>5674633Shien is a form that emphasizes guards without sacrificing the ability to make a counterattack. Its ideal opponents are blaster-wielders, and those who’re either stupid enough to get in melee range of a Jedi, or are similarly lightsaber-users. But one would be hard-pressed to criticize you when you’re attempting to apply Form V against a weapon that’s not only alive, but can change its physiology on demand to make itself into a whip, a bow staff or a spear.
Lightsaber and living staff collide, locking as their owner struggle for dominance. He retreats, flicking one hand in a reverse movement that sends the snake’s head hissing towards your midsection. You twist, pivoting away before bringing your lightsaber in a brutal <span class="mu-i">sai tok</span> slash meant to carve through his midsection.
At least, it should have. The black, jagged armor that had turned away Trykov’s blaster fire similarly resists your lightsaber. In the moment of panic that nearly overtakes you, the snakehead comes around for another attack. The impact of its head against the polycarbonate helmet nearly drops you to the ground, even as its fangs scramble for purchase and penetration. Its wielder closes in, membranous mask ripping in some barbaric yawp of triumph…
<span class="mu-i">snap-HISS!</span>
<span class="mu-i">Sai cha</span> is similarly frowned upon by the Jedi at large, although not completely as discouraged as <span class="mu-i">sai tok</span> for dealing with enemies. And if Mace Windu had done it on Genonosis to Jango Fett, then it’s more than a valid tactic when all else fails. Ideally, you’d want to bring the alien alive, but his survival and potential for interrogation doesn’t nearly outweigh the benefits of your continued living.
Your second lightsaber comes up in a thrust meant to take his head off. The only thing that stops it from hitting is the damned snakehead – its fangs bite into your arm, deep enough to grab a firm enough hold to jerk it back before the blade connects. Its edge grazes the warrior’s head, flash-burning the membrane and the side of its temple.
Howling in rage and pain, the alien stumbles back, and the weapon retreats to protect its master. You leap to your feet, lightsabers blazing as you press the attack.
If there’s one advantage you can press, the alien warrior is unmistakably <span class="mu-i">tired</span>. Whether or not he’s shaking off hibernation sickness or unseen injuries from the battle, every strike that connects shudders with the telltale feeling of someone running on fumes. Hell, his damned snake is doing more of the work than he is, the lazy bastard.
You reach into the Force, trying to get ahold of the alien’s mind to expedite the process…
…and the shock nearly takes your head off in a blow that you only barely dodge.
“Gaelle!” shouts Trykov, “What’s wrong?!
There is absolutely…nothing.
Not even a void in the Force or an absence you can keenly observe.
Simply...nothing.
That is the only way you could describe it.
(cont.)
