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For all that Cal really likes his new crew, they are, of course, no match for an Inquisitor, which leaves him very much alone when it comes to this latest asshole dogging his steps with his stupid red saber and stupid orange eyes. The warehouse is abandoned, gloomy and dusty, but it is far enough from Gabs and Bravo that they will not be at risk of the Inquisitor's saber. Even Beedee is absent, leading his new friends back to their ship so that Cal can deal with the threat.
It is not his first scuffle with Sixth Brother, the man who has been almost lazily pursuing him since Fifth got the business end of Cal's lightsaber in his gut and presumably returned to Nur to lick his wounds. He remembers that fight. He almost lost a hand in that fight on Takodana, when Fifth had brought a dozen Purges with him in an attempt to overwhelm Cal. He has not seen Fifth since.
Sixth Brother, despite his bulk and strength, is far more like Trilla than Fifth, he's vicious and uncompromising, he moves like quicksilver and speaks with a velvet tongue that sets Cal's skin tingling the same way Trilla's husky words always used to.
Sixth no longer bothers with a helmet and Cal thinks it's because he knows exactly what effect his feline smile and the sharpness of his brilliant golden eyes have on the Jedi, and Cal wishes that Sixth's reluctance to actually finish the job and capture him was sheer incompetence, and not…whatever it actually is. Sixth could bring Cal in, Cal isn't too proud to admit it - he is easily the most difficult opponent he's ever faced.
And yet.
Sixth Brother (Bode Akuna. His name proved far harder to find than Masana's, but he found it. He owes these fallen, tortured, broken creatures their once-names, he thinks), Sixth Brother never quite delivers a finishing blow. He pulls back his arm, retreats with a wicked smirk and a promise of next time, and leaves Cal panting and confused after every encounter. Cal likes fighting him. He has always enjoyed the adrenaline of a good skirmish, and Sixth obliges him with the hardest duels he's ever had to fight, and his tongue is almost as sharp and sassy as Cal's own when they clash.
Almost.
He senses the Inquisitor's approach before he hears him, and ignites his saber in a brilliant flash of orange just in time to catch a powerful blow with it, letting out a grunt at the strength behind the red blade. Sixth Brother laughs. “Did you miss me, Kestis?”
“Dreadfully, but my aim is improving.” He snarks, and delivers a powerful force push to throw Sixth back. He draws his offhand saber - he has always found dual wielding to be the best defense against Sixth's powerful single blade and clever Shien fighting form - and drops back into stance, and not a second too soon. Sixth recovers fast, and launches himself forward to engage Cal in a flurry of sharp, powerful strikes that Cal has to frantically back up to parry.
Sixth makes him feel hunted, cornered, takes his breath away with how fast and clever he is. He wears the Dark Side like a second skin, passion and fire and fury lending him strength and precision. He doesn't brute force his attacks, and he is always frustratingly good at herding Cal like prey. A swift strike to his side has the Jedi hissing in pain - a glancing blow that Sixth definitely pulled back so it would not be incapacitating. Cal reels, once again forced to move in a direction Sixth herds him. He scowls at Sixth and is rewarded with another one of those startlingly feral smiles in response.
Sixth confuses him. He doesn't reek of anger and hatred the way the others do. He seems…not to delight in the Dark Side so much as he has made some sort of accord with it. He is resolute in his convictions, and is clearly a very competent Inquisitor (all of his limbs are his own, which is, from what Cal knows of Nur, quite some feat) and he wreaths himself in Shadows as effortlessly as he wields his saber.
The Force vibrates around him, and Cal yelps as he is thrown into the warehouse wall, choking on a lung full of dust as pain races up his spine. He barely gets a chance to lament the fact that he is really going to feel that later before Sixth is on him, and Cal lets out an embarrassingly high pitched squeak as he is pinned to the wall by his wrists, and the full weight of Sixth Brother's leather clad body. His sabers clatter uselessly to the floor and Cal…Cal is not faint hearted but he cowers now, panting with exertion and trembling with…something anticipatory and frightened.
Sixth has never been this close, and Cal doesn't know what to do about the way the Inquisitor leans down, his mouth a hair's breadth from his very red ear. “Caught you.” He breathes in that low, velvet voice, and it makes Cal's breath hitch and shudder as he struggles to hold onto his composure. Sixth hoists him up against the wall and Cal grunts as he's left struggling on his tiptoes, held almost casually aloft by the bigger man as golden eyes rake over him. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” He says conversationally. “You'd think after pissing off the Empire as much as you have…” He pauses to push a knee between struggling legs to hold Cal still. “You'd be smart enough to lie low.”
“I'm persistent.” Cal grunts, feeling his face heat as the faintest hint of black scruff tickles his cheek.
“Persistently stupid. Why fight? The Empire is inevitable.” Cal has nothing to say to that, not least because his throat feels very thick, and he isn't sure he trusts himself to respond anyway. Sixth Brother sighs. “I should take you in.” He sounds sorry about it. “It really has been too long now, and I don't wanna ruin my perfect record.” He leans back to grin down at Cal, and Cal desperately tries to reach the floor with his toes, finding being held up by his wrists and a knee between his legs really karking uncomfortable.
“...But Force you're so much fun like this, all righteous and blushing and noble and Jedi.” Sixth admits.
“...Bode.” Cal tries, latching onto the shred of doubt he thinks he hears in Sixth's voice.
“Ha. The little rebel did his research. I'm flattered, sweetheart, but that isn't really my name anymore.” He shifts both Cal's wrists into the grip of one enormous gloved hand, the other drifting down to stroke Cal's cheek. He catches the Jedi's chin and tilts his head up, a thumb pressing against his lips, and Cal thrashes furiously.
“Six is a number. Not a name.” Cal says. Or tries to, by the time he gets half way through the sentence, Sixth has pushed a thumb in his mouth. He struggles, but there is something wild that he's feeling beyond the obvious terror of being held captive by an Inquisitor. Cal bites down on red and black leather, and Sixth yanks his hand back with a huff of aggrieved laughter.
“Such a spitfire.” He praises. “You never disappoint, Kestis.”
Cal is panting now, his shoulders and wrists aching at the prolonged stress position, and he struggles for a moment to draw breath. “Guess I should try harder.”
“Oh please don't." Sixth abruptly steps back, catching Cal's startled stumble and swinging him around into a dip, one hand on his back, their hips flush. Cal flails, arms utterly useless after several minutes of restricted blood flow, and stares up at Sixth, feeling a very strange swooping sensation in his stomach he does not want to examine (nor compare to the couple of times Trilla managed to pin him, because karabast, Kestis, having a stupid stomach swoopy thing for being manhandled by Darksiders is blindingly idiotic). “The day you disappoint me is the day I'll have to take you back to Nur and let the real bastards have a go at you.” Sixth murmurs.
He drops him.
Cal yelps, sprawling to the floor on his already injured back with a wince. He scrabbles to call his sabers back to his hands, but by the time he has scrambled to his feet and ignited them, bathing the warehouse in their comforting orange glow…Sixth Brother has vanished into his shadows, leaving Cal alone, confused, and aching.