Bloody weather and fucking with her senses. She wouldn't have made this mistake otherwise. The knife from the one she's attacking? Parried with a saber hilt to shove aside.

The one hitting her from behind? Fuck. Unaccounted for. Careless. Rookie mistake. Would've gotten her killed--if not for the thick robe and layers of clothing. It shocks her, causing a yelp in pain and instinctive reach for the Force, shoving outwards.

Shoving away. Get distance, control the field. Control the fight. It's a raw, uncontrolled burst of telekinetic power.

Dia's quick to reign in the flood, control the cascade, grabbing the one in front of her with whoosh of displaced air, a grasp forming around its throat as she hauls it into the air, and hurls him into the third with enough force to try and send them tumbling.

Sabers twirl, flashy and bright crimson in the white air, snow and ice melting in their wake, blades humming and hissing as snow melts into water, which evaporates on contact with the superheated plasma. These things don't seem fully sentient, especially from the snarling yowls they're making.

Play on that fear. Use it to your advantage.