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Marius flew through the air, calmly. He was no stranger to abrupt changes in pressure and altitude, having piloted many fighter craft that weren't really ships, but more like big jet-packs strapped to his back. He landed, somehow, on his feet and dug them into the ground to stabilize himself.
Well then, it appears that we need a little chaos. He thought to himself.
"That is funny. Because all the Prophet's I've heard of never won any battles. Being able to know what will happen is one thing, but knowing what to do afterwards, that is where the true power lies. Tell me, Prophet, do you know what to do afterwards? Or do you merely tell the future and let others act upon it?"
One thing Marius knew he needed was to cloud the Prophet's mind, to blur his view of the future. His Military training gave him the advantage with terrain and natives, but that would not beat the Force. He could only hope that Crozeus fell off a dune and broke his neck, got run over by a Sandcrawler or got sat upon by a Bantha.
He charged forward and swung his saber with precision, keeping his movements conservative and saving his energy. One thing he knew he could do was physically outlast the Prophet. He had years in the Military, spending days on end in battle, with little to no sleep, whereas the Prophet was accustomed to the life of luxury and being rested.
His saber was met at all points by the Prophet's blade, but Marius did not anger or become discouraged. He knew that he could beat the Prophet. He just needed a plan. _________________

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