Mace Windu leaned heavily against a pile of alloy debris, all that remained of his once dynamic, jedi starfighter. Tributaries of blood, nestled themselves into the recesses of his robe and tunic, his left shoulder dangled useless in its socket. Yet, a grim line set his jaw with determination. Inside a satchel dangling at his side was evidence that could save the host of beleaguered jedi, and restore peace to the galaxy. "Who could have foreseen that Senator Palpatine, was Lord of the Sith," he mused, coughing, the sound sounding labored through his parched throat. His mind was hazy, the moments before his jedi starfighter crashed into the hillside were as ethereal as a half-remembered dream. Luckily, short-term memory enhancement had been one of the techniques Yoda had taught. Focusing his mind, feeling an aura of serenity and peace wash over him, enthralling him, Mace began to playback the forgotten timeframe before crashing. He saw an old patrol ship waiting in ambush on the dark side of an asteroid snake in behind him. Verdant green pulses of light, arrowed in on him, slicing through shields and armor like a lightsaber through paper. The incessant jubilation of alarms, reporting overstressed cross-members, failed systems, and critical damage. Matted tundra, and sparse rock outcroppings, seeming to spin up towards him. The most hideous sound he'd ever heard in his life, a sharp, pain. Then silence.
Boba Fett strode through the shadows littering the interior of the cave, paint of his armor mottled and weathered in places, the armor of his father. An ancient bard once narrated that revenge is a dish best served cold, Fett nodded in the affirmative, perhaps he would write a testimonial. Sleek sawed-off blaster stark against the myriad of shadows splayed among intermittent drivels of light. It had seemed the hour of his vengeance had dawned, no longer would he be tormented by dreams, and visions, the bloody ichor of his fallen father that assailed him his every waking moment, driving him to do what no man should ever have to. The Mandalorian helmet haunted his every thought. Its t-shaped visor, seemingly an implacable extension of the man who had once claimed the helm as his own. Perhaps, this night would bring salvation from the bonds that bound the very depths of his soul. Perhaps tonight, Boba would slay the slayer. Maybe the voices would stop then.
Bracing himself against the cave, Mace winced. He had torn his rotator-cuff. His ship was beyond repair, the subspace tranceiver a mass of broken-down spare parts. And, Mace felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand on end, a presence, was hunting him. A presence, familiar, somehow.
The maimed jedi, leaned heavily against a stalactite dangling from the ceiling. He looked like something the rancor had thrown out. Hefting his Blastech EE-3, Fett set the reticle to bear on the Jedi's chest, fast and clean, one depression of the trigger and it would be over. Yet, he hesitated. It wasn't enough, he wanted the jedi to know who he was before he made an end. Advancing into the light, Boba Fett, activated his external comm. "So, we come full circle," his index finger tightening on the cool, worn, metal of the trigger." "So it seems." Mace replied. There was a sense of truth in the other man's words, that unnerved Mace. The blaster-rifle kicked back, blue kill bolt arcing in an unerring line towards Mace's chest, seconds seemed to slow, the moment frozen somewhere in time.
Retaliating, Mace sprung from his place of rest with a speed that belied the blood matting his robes. In a single fluid move to quick for the eye to follow he plucked his lightsaber from his belt deflecting the bolt with a single clean sweep. "Why do you attack, bounty hunter?" Mace asked, arching his eyebrow in question. Fett laughed. "You've haunted me as far back as I can remember. The nightmares, are practically a part of me now." he paused. "Now reap the sour seeds you've sown, jedi." Fett's attack came swift, a flurry of rapid fire bolts, stricking at Mace's hands, torso, and face in short succession, Mace deflecting the bolts with his purple-bladed lightsaber - snapped and parried as if a thing alive, seemingly unhampered by his wounds. Something pinged in Mace's memory, a warrior with similar armor, dancing across a blasted landscape, an arena, littered with bodes piled high, the memory clicked, in shock Mace hesitated for a fleet moment. Noticing his lax guard, Boba grinned, increasing his rate of fire, a single bolt pierced Mace's defenses, striking him through the throat. The satchel full of documents revealing Palpatine's true identity as lord of the sith thudded into the dust, Mace's eyes glazed over, remembering: A beheaded warrior, the lost soul of a boy, grasping the helmet in muted contemplation.