For some, it was even a chance to answer a question: After all, they had captured someone from the Witches' Camp months ago a red-headed human man, and lost him. Along with two walls, four doors, and roughly a hundred of their own including a master interrogator. Supposedly to one rescuer.

Suddenly, that made sense. There was even com chetter about it.

The heat of the air should be a warning to Vader, his back palate was dry and aching, his core body temperature rising fractional without him able to sweat to lower it. His left upper arm continued to blister and swell. And yet he paid no mind. Singularly focused on the oncoming storm, despite it's foregone conclusion.

Vader didn't learn into the stance. He stood rigid, braces, even in the face of teeth and claw, saber and Force blocking blows and crushing toes and teeth. Shenan drew a breath, the glow in it's throat finally noticed before the furance-blast roar.

This close even Vader's Force shield could only offer some protection. The flames never touched him but the metal of his body heated until his clothing began to let of whisps of smoke over his limbs. When the dragon relented, Vader Force-pushed it back, flipping it over while the dragon clawwed at the arm, once again pinned.

Vader finally moved, bending his knees and calling on the Force to leap and jump far more than a human would be able to, to land on the upturned dragon.