“I will grant you this wish, Bentre.” the Jedi raised his lightsaber, the cerulean blade strong and unwavering. “I will allow you the honour you truly seek.”
Sanguinius’ lightsaber stabbed out and Bentre stopped it in a high guard, his training and experience telling him that it would be an experimental strike more than anything else. The Corellian almost missed the open palmed hand that followed afterwards, seeking to slam into his throat. A cold sliver that ran down his back warned him in time, allowing him to step backwards out of the blow.
“Quick…I like that.” Bentre quipped, “Do you have many complaints about your ‘speed’?”
Bentre rotated his saber in a flourish as he taunted Sang, allowing himself an opportunity to move away. The Vanguard refused to give up the initiative however, advancing implacably forward, his saber darting out in defensive probes.
Sanguinius was quick, but Bentre had something to prove, he had his ending all planned out. To go out in a blaze of glory, but this fight had no glory in it.
Fed up of the Anaxsi controlling the momentum of the fight, Bentre took the initiative and went on the offensive, his own blade cutting a bloody swathe through the Ragnosian’s defensive stance. The Knight’s weapon kept breaking upon the rocks of Sanguinius’ uncompromising defense.
The Quaestor’s demeanour betrayed nothing, the calm, almost robot like emotions that meant Sanguinius had fallen back on muscle memory, having had the movements of his defensive form burned into them after hours and hours of practice. It irritated Bentre, helping him draw more and more upon his hatred, fuelling his strikes.
The Corellian pressed his attack and slowly drove Sanguinius backwards, the Jedi allowing Bentre to tire himself out. The Vanguard’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he watched the frustrated Sergeant breathe heavily and wipe an errant bead of sweat that had gotten in his eye.
“Want a breather, boy?” Sanguinius asked innocently, as Bentre scowled in response. The professor had allowed him his fun, had given Stahoes what he wanted. His pride had been pricked, his ego deflated. He knew the outcome, had known it since the he had sensed the Sith’s presence.
“You can’t win, Bentre. You serve Marcus out of pride, out of your misplaced sense of honour.” Sanguinius rumbled, seeking to end the conflict. “I can respect that, you stick to your guns.”
The Jedi continued to allow the Shadow to tire himself out, before flicking aside a weary strike and unleashing a flurry of controlled blows that blew past Bentre’s defense and left the Vanguard’s cerulean blade prickling the Dakhani’s throat.
Sanguinius shrugged emphatically, a sad smile on his face, highlighting the predicament before them. “It’s over, boy. Surrender to your fate."