Vanishing things—especially if said things happened to be people—always complicated matters. And finding this spot, this dented, barren patch of ashen earth without anyone there…that really irked him. He might've been fine if there a neat band of footprints branching away from the spot, that the being who'd left his prone silhouette impressed upon the ground had merely wandered a mile or two away and would reappear any second now, but the soil surrounding the location left no such indications. It was if his master had simply dissolved into thin air, leaving only a vague shape in the earth as a good-bye.
As if he'd just…disappeared.
Of course, that couldn't be the case, right? Anakin rolled his eyes around, glowering up at the dark purple and ebony tapestry overhead. As far as he knew, it was impossible to merely vanish without some sort of trace, albeit they ashes or glinting ivory fragments of teeth. But with the entire, unnamed world drowning in coarse, black ash—well, he could hardly pick out the carbon remains of a human from a marmeta tree, now could he? It would take a handful of pet chemists to determine that, Anakin decided, and considering he didn't have any at the moment he opted to search for more palpable clues. Less morbid ones.
Lowering himself to a croach, Anakin scanned the area once more. Then he sighed, shoulders sagging, and plopped himself onto the ground, the movement accompanied with a small puff of ash. Further searching—no matter how well-meaning or dogged—was futile. Absolutely so. Leaving only a sol option, one that made his hand curl into white-knuckled fist: head back to the ship. It was probable, after all, that scanners aboard the vessel would detect some scant hint of life he would otherwise miss; the thing was, he wasn't so sure he'd actually find anything. Once a wraith in the night, able to waft in and out of visibility like a feather on a lazy summer breeze, always a wraith in the night.
His main concern was whether or not his master was the wraith, or that that role belonged to whoever had caused his disappearance in the first place.
Slapping his thighs, Anakin pushed himself to his feet, wandering around and scouring the area for anything he might've missed on his cursory examination. After all, why not? Wasn't as if he had anything to lose, participating in this little double-take. With a cold, metallic feeling lodging in his chest, he knew he might never live the same way if he didn't make this one last effort; he'd rather come across something unpleasant, he told himself, than never see another wink of sleep for however long his miserable existence lingered on. Didn't wish to be haunted eternally by what-ifs.
Brow lowered like a craggy over-hang on a cliff face, Anakin's gaze settled on something…interesting. It couldn't have been larger than his hand, even if it were balled into a fist, with a network of colorful streaks breaking up its flawless surface. Light reflected off it, iridescent as an insect wing, and as he drew closer he noticed that the thing consisted of a network of tiny, individual scales. Each of them of was barely larger than a pinprick, so he felt a measure of shock ripple through his fingers as he discovered just how hard they were. Like a fingernail, horn, or some other keratinized substance, rippling beneath his touch with every color and shade imaginable.
Tentative, he plucked the object from the ground, held it up before his eyes. The stuff was extraordinarily supple, as if it were the freshly-shed hide of some delicate reptile. He could stretch and stress it till apocalypse come, he surmised, and the scales would not only remain intact, but would spring promptly back into place like new elastic.
Anakin flipped the piece of skin—that had to be what it was, he now realized—over, revealing its other side. Where the top had been brilliant, scintillating like ice crystals under a zenith sun, the bottom was drab, colorless, and pure black. A few strands of connective tissue still clung to it, tendrils of pale myelin and tendon flapping angrily in the harsh wind, but other than that, the flesh looked as if it been shorn off as cleanly as possible. Not the result of a desperate brawl, to be sure, unless the combatants had been duking it out with scalpels.
Or if one of them happened to carry a lightsaber.
A fierce grin split Anakin's features, ear-to-ear. There'd been some sort of struggle, it seemed, and his master had managed to get a blow in. What had transpired after that, though, he didn't have a clue; all traces of the scuffle must've been swept away by the wind, even as the impression of his mentor had now been erased from the sable earth.
Either way, he was sure someone hadn't made it out alive.
As he pushed himself to his feet, Anakin tucked the flap of hide in his tunic, trudged back to his waiting, gangly speeder bike. He'd ridden the thing here to save their vessel's fuel, for the greater speed and maneuverability the smaller vehicle provided, and it worked just great within those parameters; in the comfort department, however, he'd found it somewhat…lacking. Sleek, polished durasteel curving sinuously under his body, the bike rocketed over the terrain like no being's business-often blasting him with a wall of dry tundra air in the process—and provided no shielding whatsoever against the elements. No repuslor-wave buffers. No retractable canvas flapping overhead. Just his robes and smeared, foggy-lensed goggles, which he slipped over his eyes as he straddled the chilled durasteel bike.
Anakin tightened the goggles, squinting, and shivered as a rush of cold coursed up his legs and rear end. If and when he finally located him, he was going to have to ask Obi-Wan about getting some upgrades for these things. Like seat-warmers.
With that revelry to amuse him, Anakin started the bike up, the engines humming into warm, almost delicate life. No roars here. Just lithe efficiency, a trait his mentor was rather fond of in vehicles—and, he realized, in beings as well. Another thing to talk his master about, then, his mind already sifting through a hundred different methods to start that particular conversation as he set off, wind blaring at his exposed cheeks.
After roughly ten minutes of heavy riding, he sidled up to their ship, hair plastered in every imaginable position on his head. He slid off his bike, guiding it up the landing ramp. Then he stopped, breath catching in his lungs, heart drumming madly against his rib cage as he caught sight of something drifting over the viewscreen.
A shadow.
Every muscle in his body that could went taut. His hand drifted to the hilt of his lightsaber, ready to ignite the azure blade if need be, and he felt his spine tingle with prickling danger-sense. Whatever had left those scales hadn't been too far from the ship in the first place—maybe a half-mile or so—so it was entirely plausible that the unknown creature could've wandered over here while Anakin was out searching, could be lurking just outside with its serpentine body flush with the hull. And if the…thing…had caused Obi-Wan enough trouble to force him into combat, then it was definitely not to be underestimated. Or confronted, for that matter; quickly, Anakin rushed over to the dashboard, stabbing at controls till the landing ramp began to hiss back into place.
Just as the ramp was about to seal, something slid through the gap. At first glance, Anakin took it to be a metal rod, some bit of dilapidated machinery that had gotten broken apart by the wind; but as he focused on the object, he found himself going rigid. It was reflective, alright—just not in the way he was expecting. This object—this nameless thing—glittered brilliantly, even under the ship's tired glow lamp, and almost instantaneously the entire cabin was filled with a kaleidoscope of dancing rainbows.
Before he could spring into action, the thing twisted, shoving itself further into the ship. Stunned, Anakin realized he was starring at a hand: four fingers and two thumbs, tapering out to end in wickedly sharp talons. Muscles, thick and banded, surged along its surface, pushing against the ramp, causing it to buckle with a surly groan. In just a handful of seconds, the space around the arm had nearly doubled, allowing a flat, arrow-shaped head and ribbon-like body to snake in behind it.
The creature was—like the nameless, amethyst planet underfoot—utterly unique…and alien. Unlike most non-human creatures, its features appeared not to operate within the constraints of a single species, a mutant hodge-podge of traits from dozens of differing animal groups. Its eyes were narrow, slit like those of a snake or lizard; the main body, sparkling under its assortment of iridescent scales, possessed the agile, feminine grace of a sand-panther. Its head was angular and pointed like some type of glittery shark, and its hands, long and elegant, were unmistakably those of a human. All of these—not to mention the feathered tail, its plumage flashing and sparkling just as gloriously as its scaly counterparts—made it look as if the animal were a walking mistake, as if a bored scientist had haphazardly sewn together several creatures to create this frightening entity.
As if pausing for him to admire its lethal beauty, the beast stretched toward him like some sort walking worm, inching close enough that he could feel the ice of the outside world still clinging to its scales. It wound around his body, piercing eyes scrutinizing him, and pressed a surprisingly soft cheek to his chest, chuffing softly within its throat. The cheek then rubbed against him, its flat head butting gently into his shoulder like a suckling eopie, and he almost felt like reaching out and stroking the thing, right then and there. The only things that stopped him from acting on the impulse was the malevolence shining in the creature's jet-black gaze, the pupil-less orbs glaring hungrily at his throat, along with the fact that he probably couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. For reasons unknown, he just couldn't shake the mesmerizing effect the beast's shimmering scales had on him. Couldn't take his eyes off the captivating display of color and light.
"Anakin, don't move!"
Feeling a ripple of shock jolt his skull at the sound of the familiar voice, Anakin wondered two things. First, he wanted to shout and carry on about how monumentally stupid the request was, ordering him not move; after all, he was positively rooted in place, had stayed like that the second he'd laid eyes on the nameless animals. Second, a tiny corner of his mind found something about the voice to be off. Wrong. It carried a strained, raspy timbre, and came out sounding a little slurred, as if delivered by drunkard's clumsy tongue. But he hardly had time to dwell on that, his attention suddenly drawn to a figure crashing through a side-hatch, sky-blue lightsaber buzzing angrily.
Master!
A perplexed look showed in the creatures beady eyes, and Anakin sensed a spot of hesitation on its part. It didn't move, didn't even blink, until Obi-Wan was already vaulting over its head, and by then it was too late. Before it could even swing its broad head from Anakin's chest, his master's blade plunged into the creature's spine, snuffing its life out instantly; the animal's jaws were still parted in a near-human gasp as it collapsed, limp and doll-like, to the ground.
Anakin heard a snap-hiss, and then his master was striding toward him, blade extinguished. A wave of elation surged through his chest, bright and joyful, but he too paused, caught-up in the sight of his mentor's bedraggled form. Weaving like a drunk, eyes glazed and unfocused, Obi-Wan wasn't quite…Obi-Wan. More like a pallid, clammy shadow of the man, really. It was hard to believe the being before him was actually was standing, his shoulders hunched and bent weakly, as if keeping his shredded, bloodied cowl from slipping off his body were an enormous effort.
"Master!" Anakin cried, rushing to support the frail Jedi. He pressed the back of his hand against Obi-Wan's icy forehead. "You're as cold as a tauntaun, you know that?"
Kenobi nodded absently. "Yeah…yes…I knew…that. I-I…" He starred up at Anakin dumbly, teeth-chattering, eyes glossy. "What…happened…?"
"I'm not sure, Obi-Wan," he admitted, struggling to slower his mentor to the floor as the man slipped into unconsciousness. "I'm not sure..."