"It's over, Anakin," I said, mentally pleading for him not to try to attack again. "I have the high ground."

"You underestimate my power!" Vader said, standing on the floating platform, hate in his eyes, something I had not seen in him since the beginning of the Clone Wars, when he fought Count Dooku.

"Don't try it, Anakin!" My thoughts finally willed themselves out of my head, into words.

He jumped up toward me, and I, feeling his pain as if it were my own, swung my lightsaber, severing his left arm and his legs.

Vader screamed in agony, falling to the ground, clinging with his remaining limb to the ash that formed the ground on Mustafar, slipping dangerously close to the lava.

"You were the Chosen One! You were supposed to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!" I screamed over the rushing of the lava. My voice shocked me; tear-filled, raspy, disbelieving, and angry.

"I hate you!"

Though his voice was near unrecognizable, twisted in his pain and evil, I felt it was truly Anakin speaking, not this Darth Vader. I have fought in many battles, sustained many injuries, but nothing, not even the death of Qui-Gon, hurt me as much as the poison in his voice.

"You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you."

For a moment, in those golden eyes, there was a flicker of blue, a window into the broken soul that was Anakin Skywalker. I could see in his eyes a pleading boy, Anakin, begging, "Help me, Obi-Wan. Don't leave me here to die, let me live, let me see Padmé once more. Please."

But that was just a moment, and as Vader began to fall, desperately trying to cling onto the dust and volcanic soil with his mechanical arm, the only limb he had, I felt that, in my own eyes, I said to him, "I'm so sorry. Vader is not who Padmé wants. Redemption will not come easily."

He once more screamed as his robes caught fire from the lava, and it engulfed him, burning flesh and charring his already scarred soul.

I bent down to pick up his lightsaber, running back to the relative safety of the crumbling buildings and the docking bay where Padmé's ship was, the only way out of Mustafar, the only way to help her.

Yet as much as Anakin had hurt me, I felt so much more pain in what I was about to do. I was to leave behind the last true friend I had. Master Yoda was more of a mentor then a friend, and even as I was traveling to confront Anakin, I realized that Yoda and I would never see each other again, not until the Sith were stopped, or both of us died.

And what was worse, I was leaving him behind as a Sith, dead or close to it, having killed him myself.

For any last trace of Anakin Skywalker was gone. And Vader, though he had begun to, did not truly kill Anakin. I did.

Like I had almost told him, in even my eyes, for even me, redemption will not come easily.