Freeze Frame. Some would say he was crazy to believe he had a chance, but there he stood, the notorious Boba Fett, poised to strike out at the most feared man in the galaxy. Well, one of the most feared. There was still the Emperor, Jabba the Hutt, and of course, him. But that was beside the point. At the moment time stopped, Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, had his lightsaber out and ready. Held high over his head, he wouldn't need any special aid from the mystical force to slice through the Mandalorian armour that was his trade mark.
Whether or not the hokey old religions had any truth to them mattered little to the bounty hunter. What did, was that Vader dared even think that he could stiff the mercenary. Boba Fett was more than a household name- He was the boogey man in every childs closet. He was the shadow looming over bedsides. But for most he was perhaps the most frightening of all descriptions: He was an enigma. But amidst the raging volcanoes of Sulust, with the crimson light humming above his head, he was simply a man trying to make a living.
Behind the pair, volcanoes erupted, magma burst forth, the ground shook, and the narrow paths began to crumble. Doomsday on Sulust was an everyday occurance. All Fett could see, however, was the tall black form in front of him and the smallish green case to his right. Inside that case were the credits promised him, and so much more. Undoubtedly this battle was one of life and death. Death would be the end of Fett, which could ultimately prove peaceful and tranquil. Conversly, life would mean a triumph over the Dark Jedi, and a furthering of his reputation.
Boba Fett was not worried about his future employs with the Empire; they looked on mercenarys as "scum." More than likely part of the reason Vader had attempted to stiff him. But to have the Dark Lord's death on his hands would mean amplifying the fear already connected to his name. Hopefully, it would at least throw off some of his would be assassins. He'd had to disintegrate at least two on his trip to this fiery planet.
The previous battles- well, not even worthy of that name- the two *squabbles* had required at least a little mental strain, which was uncommon and therefore healthy. Albeit they could still be blamed for the simple mistakes he had already made against the Lord of the Sith. The last Jedi he had fought...Sky- something? Skywalker, right. When he had fought Skywalker...had he fought Skywalker? When was that? It didn't matter. What did was Vader and the money. He could reminisce another time.
And time was almost up. He could feel more than predict that time would resume it's normal pace soon, and he still hadn't figured out what his next move would be. In this situation, it was attack, escape, or die. Escape was not one of the more prominent options, so Fett searched his mind for a plan of attack.
As motion slowly seeped back into existence, a thought came to Fett. He silently said a thankful prayer to whatever gods had been worshipped on his home planet of Kamino- he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so. His resourcefulness, as well as his insistence with himself to be armed to the teeth paid off once more.
FLexing the muscles in his right arm, Fett triggered the blaster hidden in the gauntletts just above his right wrist. A flash of red and a high pitched sound of the release of sheer energy.
Vader, either by divine intervention or dumb-founding intuition, moved to block the shot. Too late. There was a small explosion and flash as the most feared visage was blown apart; now only the second most feared visage, now only shrapnel.
Time had returned to it's normal flow. Exhileration trilled through Fett's body unchecked; on rare occasions, such as this, he allowed himself to enjoy the joy of great victories.
Tottering and eventually falling, the remains of the Dark Lord of the Sith fell backwards to the ground. His lightsaber emitted sharp hissing sounds as it dissolved the dirt beneath it.
Within his mask, Fett smiled grimly. The lightsaber would be the perfect trophy of this kill. Perfect as could now be hoped for, it being that the helmet was no more.
As he pried the weapon from the hands of the Jedi, Fett remarked to himself about the lack of blood that had spouted from the body. Mentally shrugging, he pushed the thought aside. At the moment, it didn't matter. Let those Imperial morons say he was scum now. He had slain one of the most prominent figures in their dictatorship.
Rising, Fett clipped the lightsaber onto his belt. It hung loosely, as if it belonged there.
The ground suddenly shook beneath him, and Fett was forced to half-crouch to maintain his balance. Something on the ground caught his attention; the green case. In his triumph, Boba Fett had nearly forgotten the reason for the battle.
After the rumbling had stopped, he walked slowly to the case. Kneeling down, he lifted open the lid gingerly. It was all there: 2,000,000 credits. Or was it 2,000? Suddenly, Fett realised he couldn't tell. Everything was growing black, and a sharp stinging pain was crawling up his lower body. Pain so excrutiating, it was mind-numbing. Eventually, the darkness completely overtook him, including all the sensor lights within his mask. All was void. Except...
Except for the face of Han Solo, still blind with carbonite. His only arch-foe, and only prize to escape his capture continuously. That's when he had encountered Skywalker. Just before Solo had gotten lucky and taken him out while he wasn't paying attention.
The realization of his present situation stung his mind almost as painfully as the acid seeping through his armour. He was not on Sulust, and had not been for sometime. He was in the belly of the Sarlaac, waiting to be "digested slowly over the next one hundred years." But how could that be true? No one person lives that long...and no one person ever survived the Sarlaac's stomach acids to tell the tale. So how the hell did anyone know how long he had?
Fett began to mentally run through his equipment list. Perhaps his gear hadn't truly saved him from Vader before, but something just might be able to help him. And he was crazy enough to believe it.
Whether or not the hokey old religions had any truth to them mattered little to the bounty hunter. What did, was that Vader dared even think that he could stiff the mercenary. Boba Fett was more than a household name- He was the boogey man in every childs closet. He was the shadow looming over bedsides. But for most he was perhaps the most frightening of all descriptions: He was an enigma. But amidst the raging volcanoes of Sulust, with the crimson light humming above his head, he was simply a man trying to make a living.
Behind the pair, volcanoes erupted, magma burst forth, the ground shook, and the narrow paths began to crumble. Doomsday on Sulust was an everyday occurance. All Fett could see, however, was the tall black form in front of him and the smallish green case to his right. Inside that case were the credits promised him, and so much more. Undoubtedly this battle was one of life and death. Death would be the end of Fett, which could ultimately prove peaceful and tranquil. Conversly, life would mean a triumph over the Dark Jedi, and a furthering of his reputation.
Boba Fett was not worried about his future employs with the Empire; they looked on mercenarys as "scum." More than likely part of the reason Vader had attempted to stiff him. But to have the Dark Lord's death on his hands would mean amplifying the fear already connected to his name. Hopefully, it would at least throw off some of his would be assassins. He'd had to disintegrate at least two on his trip to this fiery planet.
The previous battles- well, not even worthy of that name- the two *squabbles* had required at least a little mental strain, which was uncommon and therefore healthy. Albeit they could still be blamed for the simple mistakes he had already made against the Lord of the Sith. The last Jedi he had fought...Sky- something? Skywalker, right. When he had fought Skywalker...had he fought Skywalker? When was that? It didn't matter. What did was Vader and the money. He could reminisce another time.
And time was almost up. He could feel more than predict that time would resume it's normal pace soon, and he still hadn't figured out what his next move would be. In this situation, it was attack, escape, or die. Escape was not one of the more prominent options, so Fett searched his mind for a plan of attack.
As motion slowly seeped back into existence, a thought came to Fett. He silently said a thankful prayer to whatever gods had been worshipped on his home planet of Kamino- he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so. His resourcefulness, as well as his insistence with himself to be armed to the teeth paid off once more.
FLexing the muscles in his right arm, Fett triggered the blaster hidden in the gauntletts just above his right wrist. A flash of red and a high pitched sound of the release of sheer energy.
Vader, either by divine intervention or dumb-founding intuition, moved to block the shot. Too late. There was a small explosion and flash as the most feared visage was blown apart; now only the second most feared visage, now only shrapnel.
Time had returned to it's normal flow. Exhileration trilled through Fett's body unchecked; on rare occasions, such as this, he allowed himself to enjoy the joy of great victories.
Tottering and eventually falling, the remains of the Dark Lord of the Sith fell backwards to the ground. His lightsaber emitted sharp hissing sounds as it dissolved the dirt beneath it.
Within his mask, Fett smiled grimly. The lightsaber would be the perfect trophy of this kill. Perfect as could now be hoped for, it being that the helmet was no more.
As he pried the weapon from the hands of the Jedi, Fett remarked to himself about the lack of blood that had spouted from the body. Mentally shrugging, he pushed the thought aside. At the moment, it didn't matter. Let those Imperial morons say he was scum now. He had slain one of the most prominent figures in their dictatorship.
Rising, Fett clipped the lightsaber onto his belt. It hung loosely, as if it belonged there.
The ground suddenly shook beneath him, and Fett was forced to half-crouch to maintain his balance. Something on the ground caught his attention; the green case. In his triumph, Boba Fett had nearly forgotten the reason for the battle.
After the rumbling had stopped, he walked slowly to the case. Kneeling down, he lifted open the lid gingerly. It was all there: 2,000,000 credits. Or was it 2,000? Suddenly, Fett realised he couldn't tell. Everything was growing black, and a sharp stinging pain was crawling up his lower body. Pain so excrutiating, it was mind-numbing. Eventually, the darkness completely overtook him, including all the sensor lights within his mask. All was void. Except...
Except for the face of Han Solo, still blind with carbonite. His only arch-foe, and only prize to escape his capture continuously. That's when he had encountered Skywalker. Just before Solo had gotten lucky and taken him out while he wasn't paying attention.
The realization of his present situation stung his mind almost as painfully as the acid seeping through his armour. He was not on Sulust, and had not been for sometime. He was in the belly of the Sarlaac, waiting to be "digested slowly over the next one hundred years." But how could that be true? No one person lives that long...and no one person ever survived the Sarlaac's stomach acids to tell the tale. So how the hell did anyone know how long he had?
Fett began to mentally run through his equipment list. Perhaps his gear hadn't truly saved him from Vader before, but something just might be able to help him. And he was crazy enough to believe it.