Bonded

Chapter 29: Rematch

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Kylo Ren seeks to improve the First Order's martial forces

The training room is in chaos. Or at least, it appears to be.

Men run at each other, wild-eyed and snarling, wielding all kinds of melee weapons— vibro-axes, pikes, double-sided blades. They hack and slash at one another, thrusting, swinging, leaping, dodging. Some duck behind curved structures scattered about the room, tall blocks of metal with no other function than to serve as a spring board or a hiding spot.

But no one hides for long. They can't. Not with throngs of adrenaline-charged men rampaging about, hungry for an opportunity to prove themselves, to stand out from the rest. At first glance, it looks like a war zone, a violent free for all without rhyme or reason.

But if one looks closely, there's a method to the madness. The chaos is organized, men grouped in clusters of four or five, never venturing far from their corner of the room.

Not everyone is fighting. Some men are crouching on the sidelines, watching, waiting. Every now and then, a black-clad officer gestures to one of them, directing them to join the fight as he pulls another man, sweaty and breathless, from the floor to take a seat.

The officers observe coolly, often glancing down to enter notes on a datapad. Most are careful to stay out of the way, but a few boldly stride through the melee, barely avoiding bodies and weapons as they fly across the room.

One isn't so lucky. He cries out, dropping his pad, after the blunt end of a spiked blade flies directly into his face. He whips his hands to his nose, desperately trying to stay the blood, as another officer rushes over to him. Several men lower their weapons, turning to check out the commotion.

But Kylo Ren doesn't move. His focus remains straight ahead, fixed on the man in front of him.

His opponent is short and stocky, not too old, about thirty from the looks of him. He's soaked in sweat, the fabric of his clothes clinging to his pale brown skin. He stands just a few feet away, shoulders hunched, gripping the end of a long, black baton.

Kylo slides his thumb over the handle of his own baton, activating the weapon. The man flinches at the electric crackle but never looks away. Instead he straightens and switches his baton to the other hand, answering Kylo's crackle with his own.

Kylo smirks.

He likes this one. The man's a bit brash, but confident and decisive. Kylo can sense he's intimidated, but he doesn't show it, his face remaining neutral, relaxed even. Only his eyes hint at his inner state— urgent, focused, on edge.

Kylo steps to the side, circling, his demeanor casual. He tilts his head, eyeing his opponent, curious to see what he'll do next.

Suddenly, the man flies at Kylo, his baton crackling overhead. At first, he aims for his head but dips at the last second, striking at his side.

Kylo easily dodges the blow, then whacks the man sternly on the neck.

The man hisses, a small burn visible on his skin, but he doesn't skip a beat. He tucks and rolls behind Kylo, grabbing an abandoned vibro-axe on the floor and rising, already swinging his newly acquired weapon. The ax whips through the air, creating audible wind, barely missing Kylo's chest. In the next instant, the man aims his baton at his core.

But Kylo catches the man's wrist with his free hand, squeezing and twisting against the joint. His opponent cries out and drops his weapon. He tries another swing of his axe but Kylo strikes hard at the crook of his elbow, loosening the man's grip. He strikes again at his forearm and the axe clatters to floor as the man falls to his knees.