"A few minutes longer and I am not so sure escape would have been possible. You were foolish to risk being captured, habibi." The old man sat, absent-mindedly picking at a cuticle of his wooden prosthesis. A heavy sigh and soft chuckle before he continued. "But here you are, and hundreds owe you their lives. You couldn't make me prouder."

Back turned to him, Najwa washed away the blood and ash of the previous 6 hours. The remains of the Xanathan uniform she'd expropriated earlier lay in a huddled mass by her father and commander's feet. Having completed her report, she stepped away from the alcove artfully hewn into solid rock and entered an adjoining chamber of her quarters.

She returned moments later, now comfortable in her fatigues and ready for further admonishing when her environment subtly shifted. Upon retrospect, she could never determine what exactly occurred. Najwa found herself in a dimly lit hall. Gone were the scents of Kethiwe's cooking. The sounds of tired and grateful villagers adjusting to the sudden upheaval of their lives once more.

Fingertips brushed against the cragged surface of a massive stone tablet, depicting a seated figure draped in many robes. Something... a fire perhaps? A cold gust of air sailed the corridor's length and on it danced the heady perfume of incense and mucidity. There... breathing?

Apprehensive at the alien nature of her arrival and surroundings, Najwa drew her pistol and readied it. Like her namesake, the Lioness silently approached the source of what she was almost certain was breathing, passing through several chambers before reaching the wide arch that gave way to an expansive hall. The mountains that broke through the thick haze beyond narrow carvings in the stone were unlike any she had seen across her homeland.

A few steps further and she was met with the locus of her unease. He... It- had its back to her and sat in the center of a pool of sand, neatly surrounded by the dregs of seeds and... what smelled like sap? The Gwinyai brothers told tales of mtyholi, devils of the jungle, that drew power from terrible places. This thing, that seemed to be both living and dead, must be one of them.

Najwa stood nearly ten yards away, weapon up and pointed at the center of its back. Finger on the trigger and alert for the slightest provocation, she called out in Xhosa.

"Did you bring me here? What is this place?"

-

Gossamer pennons of fragrant smoke rose slowly from the occasional brazier scattered through out the wide chamber. She wonders if these mummified remains surrounding her are the victims of the slowly rising form. Its movements were strained, and its bones cracked like splintering wood. How long had it been there, waiting?

It spoke the language of her southern cousins with a voice like wind passing through gnarled roots. It gestured at the ground at its feet in invitation; to what? The longer she remained in this place, the more unnatural it felt. Not in the same way as Marange, where life flourished in fantastic fashion. This was a place of death.

The mtyholi were known for their treachery and spoke such sweet words to lull so many to their doom. She would not allow this. Two shots ring out and sand erupts at its feet. She makes a mental note of the remaining 8 rounds in her magazine.

"Return me now! I warn you, there will be consequences!" Her tone remains even as she takes a slight step to her left, repositioning herself so that she was provided partial cover by one of the mummies.

-

As the archway above and behind her bursts with the sudden impact of crushed lead, her resolve strengthens with the explosive confirmation of her suspicions. If not a demon, it was still a creature of immense power in the husk of a man. Najwa wondered- how much power?

She recalled one particular lesson during her training with Asad. As a human in a rapidly changing world where geomancy or telekinesis were becoming the norm, his wits were his greatest weapon.

For now, she wouldn't reveal the extent of her own capabilities. Her movements carry her laterally while the first pebbles behind her strike the ground; she double-taps the trigger once more and aims for its center mass. The shots are timed just before she bounds behind a robed mummy. Her goal is to reach the creature's left flank while steadily closing the distance between them, using the myriad shrines as cover.

All of these motions had the appearance of a highly trained operative moving with tactical efficiency and a bit of good timing.

-

The gap between them had closed during her advance and Najwa now found herself nearing the tiered ring's raised edge. In that time, her mind had begun to assess the principles of her opponent's motions and capabilities. She made note of the furrows carved by her previous shots; the momentum with which her first shots had been returned and the speed necessary to intercept rounds traveling at nearly 1,140 ft/sec. Postulating that the two were of comparable speeds, her next course of action was determined at the exact moment she leapt off the edge.

The platform gave way with a brutal crack as a winding trench split down the epicenter of where she'd pushed off from. Those desiccated husks nearest her had toppled over while others began to fall into the collapsing structure, plumes of disturbed dust and smoke rising towards the high windows.

Poised to strike with a retracted left fist, Najwa soared through the air at a descending 30 degree angle. Wary of her opponent's withdrawn appendage, she would be mindful to clear her own speeding profile with her firearm by tucking in her right elbow as her left arm began to shoot forward to complete a powerful straight punch. If left unimpeded the prismatic alloy of her reinforced knuckles would make a solid connection with the mtyholi's jaw.

-

“You are wonderful!” the voice struggled against hibernal gales, carried across a wide chasm carved into the mountain the temple had been erected upon. It was immediately answered by the smoldering length of a support beam that had exploded through the remnants of the window, a muted clatter of debris striking against stone before plummeting into an expanse of densely-packed snow and ice.

Cinders fought to stay lit as the projectile soared through the air, its trajectory poised to crush the appendage the mtyholi was using to support itself and send it crashing down into the gulf between them.

Seconds prior…

Najwa holstered the sidearm as her lithe form gracefully pirouetted in mid-air in a short parabola, carried away from the point of contact that had sent that demon hurtling through the window. She noted the majority of her punch’s impact had been dispersed by timely reactions. Caution was warranted.

Landing by the demolished remains of the platform she’d initially leapt from, she heard the distant impact against rock, followed by the sound of its aged croak. She grimaced inwardly at the thought of this monster enjoying itself.

Wood splintered in her grip as she single-handedly tore the support beam loose from the rubble and began a short sprint that sent the projectile flying, approximating her enemy’s position through sound and thermal disparities.

The momentum of her throw continued to carry her forward into a charge that would end with her fist punching down a separate section of the temple’s walls down, creating her own exit from what would become a blazing pyre mighty enough for the Heavens to notice.

-

The force of her blow had caused a sudden drop in air pressure, sending a column of dust and smoke to billow out into the brumal air. Minute variances in this concealing cloud's atmosphere sent shivers across her bronzed skin, revealing the form's presence careening towards her.

Not enough time for a clean dodge, she reflected as her hands shot up in accordance with the attack's trajectory with it shifting from her face to her torso as her form lifted inches off the ground in imitation of the mtyholi's previous movements. The muscles along her arms and shoulders braced at the moment of impact, her armored right palm pressed against the flat of the monster's outstretched foot; her left hand wrapped around the toes.

Najwa gave a horrendous, twisting yank of her attacker's foot that would have torn the limb from its socket in a lesser creature. As she was propelled backwards, Najwa's grip tore loose and the two separated. Her form crashed through a layer of stone wall back-first, through a broad corridor where her body doubled-over itself then through a wooden latticework that overlooked an auspicious courtyard. A few tight sable tresses came undone as she flew across the square and came to a crashing halt against a central pillar of the temple's ornate gate, her boots sinking nearly a meter into the material. Tiles clattered to the cobblestone from its tiered design, their sound muted by the gate's heavy groan of severe structural damage.

Najwa dropped to her feet, immediately assuming a defensive position with fists at the ready, the familiar heft of her sheathed machete shifting along her waist. Her eyes took in the majesty of these empyreal heights, prismatic hexagons of light dancing along arctic winds; thick blankets of snow draped over towering, razor-edged karsts. Any other time, this would have been a pleasant experience. But others relied on her return, and return she would.

-

The lapels of her fatigues flapped sporadically from hibernal gusts as globules of congealed blood fell from Najwa’s leading left hand, marring the pristine snow that was gathering at her feet. She had adopted a defensive posture similar to that of a Western boxer, one of many forms she was comfortable with. The demon bleeds… but does it live? Her gaze shifted from each possible avenue of attack she would consider as the lambent interior of the massive structure began to pulse with an amber effulgence.

A resounding crack sliced through the roaring winds and the courtyard shook in its wake. The sound reverberated through the surroundings and cascades of ice loosened from the karsts only to crash into the mountain and create a series of avalanches. The main supports of the temple buckled, its ancient roof crumbling to reveal a tempest of flames. Air had been funneled through the cavities created during their brief yet explosive encounter, feeding the fire’s intensity. The remains of the gate behind her collapsed, devastated further by the temple’s ongoing demolition. She watched dispassionately as distorted shadows danced with the inferno’s frenzied movements, focusing on any movement within the flaming edifice.

It can’t be this easy. It never is.

-

“Girl. Follow or die.”

The words came to her through the sonorous din of the collapsing temple, her eyes following the mtyholi’s form on its journey across the courtyard. She scoffed as she recalled a favorite phrase of her father’s, picked up during his time fighting alongside Americans during the First Contact War. Najwa shifted to English as she muttered into tempestuous winds, “What an asshole.”

She considered the demon’s hesitance at engaging her head on, weighing various contingencies. Perhaps its purpose was to prolong the conflict, thus preventing her from returning to her comrades at Marange. Were they safe during all this? Or did it mean to goad her into lashing out in an attempt to capitalize on an emotional outburst? Calculations drifted through her mind at hyper-speed and she began to act as the mtyholi’s sole foot sank deep into the stone of an adjacent pillar, its intricate design obliterated with the impact.

Najwa’s torso shifted at the hips, knees beginning to bend as her right shoulder came up in a looping arc. She shot forward in a short parabola that covered a few meters, her thrown fist crashing downwards through the initial layer of the courtyard’s cobblestone, driving deep into the mountain. She remained on one knee as a network of fissures erupted from the impact’s epicenter; they channeled through the stone supports of gates and the temple’s foundation alike.

The courtyard shifted in a sickening manner and, with a sudden groan from deep within the mountain, it began to fall away into darkness below with the majority of the temple following close behind. Najwa’s weight shifted as she rolled forward into a series of descending somersaults, the soles of her boots coming into the contact with a plummeting pillar in a feat of exemplary coordination. She ran along its surface before pushing off, her motions bringing her closer to the sensation of moisture that clung to her skin as she deftly avoided the storm of incoming debris. Najwa’s palms pressed against the mountain’s interior wall for but a moment before she sprung off the surface, acrobatically launching herself into a subterranean pool with a graceful splash. She extended her senses outward in an attempt to localize her opponent’s position as wreckage continued to crash all around, the light from high above providing little illumination at this depth.

-

Cascading chaff borne from the fearsome impact above pelted the pool around Najwa, spurring her into action. Filling her lungs with air, she sent herself beneath the water’s surface with a powerful stroke of her arms. The throb of Najwa's pulse was steady in her ears, legs propelling her further into the lightless depths when a mighty force reverberated through the pool.

The water around her churned furiously in the fallen pillar’s wake, and as it sunk it struggled in vain against her strength. With a resonant thud it hit the pool’s basin and she cast her obfuscated gaze upwards, the sunlit aperture undulating through the refraction. Even at her current depth, she could feel the warm tinge of sunlight from above where the mytholi no doubt was preparing its next attack.

Her outburst had put her at a disadvantage and Assad’s words bubbled up to her through the fog of memory. “Your strength will always be overwhelming, habibi. Do not let it be used against you.”

Minutes passed. Najwa focused on the sensations bombarding her when she took notice of slight disparities in the water’s temperature and pressure. She swam over to the site of the pillar’s impact and pressed her palms against its breadth.

Through the stone she could feel the rush of water being pulled through fissures in the concavity’s foundation. There at the nadir of a sunken piscina did Najwa fasten herself to a protrusion on the pillar through the use of a carabiner attached to her war-belt. Using her boots to anchor herself as best she could against the pillar, Najwa began to smash her fists against the basin with concentrated strikes.

The first few blows caused the fissures in the strata to deepen, fresh fractures appearing each time fist met earth. On the fifth strike the foundation of the pool exploded outwards in a frothing rush of stone and water that battered Najwa as she was pulled through. With a supine splash she fell into the shallows of an embankment along a languid hypogean river, hungrily taking in air rich with diversity.

Superficial lacerations tingled in the cave’s high humidity as she rose to her feet and took stock of her new environs. Najwa could make out the delineation of a deteriorating settlement further up the embankment as her eyes adjusted to the low light. Far off she could hear the familiar roar of rushing waters and chittering of troglofauna. Nostrils flared and Najwa was met with the heady perfume of loam and lotus.

Scattered about where she’d fallen were the majority of her war-belt’s contents, a casualty of being ripped away from the pillar. Recovering a flare from the detritus, Najwa lit it with a quick strike and threw it uphill. The sheathed blade remained steadfast against the small of her back as she climbed, the ground slick with guano.

Upon reaching the settlement’s edge, Najwa realized the architecture as reminiscent of the destroyed temple above. But while the temple above might have once had iconography depicting acts of self-reflection and worship, what details remained here told a different tale. In the shifting red haze of the flare did she approach a relief carved into the rockface that dwarfed her.

Her fingers brushed along the relief's surface as she made sense of the tale that remained. A figure, armed with five weapons at the edge of a forest. The figure confronting a monstrous being that towered the trees. The last remnants of the relief depicted a great battle between the two. Unlike Marange, a place of life and warmth deep underground, this was a place of cold and death. A tomb meant for a monster.

Najwa's fists crashed against one another with a splash of prismatic light, a telekill field radiating from the reinforced knuckles of her combat gloves.

"Come, demon! Come so that I may return you to your tomb!"

Her voice echoed through the cavernous chamber, laden with the threat of violence. She was prepared to kill.

-

It was during the mtyholi’s theatrical descent that Najwa calmly strode towards the demon in the shape of a broken man. The steady percussion of her boots softly echoed through the long-deserted waterfront while the soft fluttering of tattered cloth came to an end with the mytholi’s landing atop the water’s surface. She pushed on, the distance between the two steadily decreasing and only stopped advancing when It reached the water’s edge. Just over six meters, she reflected.

“Yes, girl. This is an appropriate place.”

Najwa’s arms rose in response, elbows tucked in while her fists leveled with her nose. Her hands were relaxed, ready to strike at any moment. Her eyes were fixed upon her opponent’s torso, taking in any slight shifts in its shoulders or hips as It settled into its unorthodox posturing. She estimated the club’s length and considered which angles would be preferred, while immediately growing wary of the mytholi’s leading left leg. Given the shift in his weight, she thought, a push kick wouldn’t be out of the question. But those missing toes could slow him down enough to...

She exploded forward and in one single bound shortened the distance between them by a third, forearms still up providing a strong defense. Another step and another meter gone and it was then that her knees bent slightly as she continued to charge forward. Just under three meters acquaints me with that nasty looking kirabhu. The height advantage that Najwa enjoyed became negligible as she pushed off her rear foot and entered the mytholi’s striking range. By keeping a lower stance during her advance she was prepared to slip or weave whatever angle of attack she could be met with by the weapon held aloft.

With another step she found herself moving past the immediate danger of the club and with an additional over-extended step she was within her own effective range. It was this step that Najwa stopped keeping her knees bent, and with her rising motion her left arm snapped forward, extending at the elbow in an alacritous jab that was meant to strike squarely at the mytholi’s chin. By not dropping her shoulder during the punch, she presumed its speed and unpredictability would rattle her opponent. The blow would be retracted immediately and as her body followed through with the over-extension of her foot, the preternatural balance she enjoyed stripped her of all worry as she finished her pivoting jab by repositioning herself outside of the mytholi’s leading left profile while having herself shifted into a southpaw stance, her leading right fist poised and ready to unload on her now crowded opponent.

At that moment a wormhole split open at the top of the atmosphere of their planet letting a red starinterceptor through.

Within the cockpit: In his red Imperial Royal Guard Pilot Uniform he sat at the controls of his starcraft. "So we can leave hyperspace interjectedly." He voiced to his astromech droid. The droid was outside the starinterceptor in it's own socket. within the cockpit were the main controls the Royal Guard had to function with, it was his starcraft afterall but hyperspace routes were a clumsy nuisance when it came to flight-and-fight techniques. When the Royal Guard was just a young adult in the Stormtrooper Corps he didn't have an astromech droid, just a kill count and a red pauldron. This droid was his first, and it went by the name of R4-T7. It held space navigation, hyperspace routes, could hold the starinterceptors shields a while longer too. All it needed was to be commanded to do so. So with the ease of being a human it came naturally to the Pilot. "R4 - Where are we? Produce it onto the lower left quadron of the combat screen."

And so it did.

They flew away through it's atmosphere.