Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire,

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

― Robert Frost

Chapter Eleven

It was just by chance that they located the bounty hunter.

The months had eaten away at Anakin Skywalker. He is no longer the easy going, loyally dedicated general as before. He seemed darker somehow, his own light diminished. The men in the 212th knew death in every form, but this walking apparition of pain and wrath was new, even for them. Assigned to General Skywalker after their own commander's death, the clones began to see the difference in the man they had grown to respect.

Even in the full light of the bridge, and Cody couldn't suppress cold spike of fear down his spine. For Cody, his brothers and the Republic came first. Yet with General Skywalker; the man had always been unpredictable, and now Cody was beginning to doubt the man's true intentions.

The first month had been difficult for all parties involved. The 212th had been put on standby again and again as their general turned up missing, searching for the bounty hunter called Malus. At each return, the general seemed to collapse in on himself a little more, like a star collapsing into an infinitely dark singularity.

The general had also gotten more reckless. With every disappearance he had been coming back with more wounds. He hid them well, but Cody's keen eyes picked up the slight limp or the careful movements after each departure. Perhaps the wounds were a result of recklessness or simply of neglect. But Cody suspected it was a different reason. The general was fighting half crippled, missing a half that had always been there.

There were also rumors as well at the Jedi Council's displeasure with their Chosen One. Gossip of threats of expulsion for the young Jedi, of being stripped of command filtered its way through the ranks like a sickly vapor. It was just like Anakin to pay them no heed, and he continued his vengeful pursuit.

But something changed after a month and a half of searching. The trail on the bounty hunter had gone cold. No one, from the Outer Rim to the Core worlds, had seen of or heard from the bounty hunter in weeks. He had seemingly disappeared into thin air. The weeks stretched on to months. The general returned to his duties, throwing himself into the campaigns and battles, seemingly dedicating himself completely to the war. The bounty hunter failed to reappear.

But that all changed that fateful day on Stenos.

Anakin pulled his hood further down over his face, covering his own hooded eyes. The brisk, cold wind caused by the surrounding mountains funneled through the streets of Sentron. Although members of the Republic, the people of Stenos preferred to live simple lives. The capitol city where Anakin found himself was small; the squat buildings in the center city only reached several hundred meters into the sky.

Anakin strode through the narrow, winding streets, a scowl deepening the lines on his face and the hollows under his eyes reflected the hollowness within them. He despised this type of mission. Pointless, useless, an utter waste of time.

The informant he had just met had claimed to possess important information regarding Separatist movement in the area. Believing himself to be watched, he refused to transmit the information, instead insisting on being met by a Jedi. Against his wishes and their own better judgement, the Council requested Anakin to meet the informant and determine the validity of the information due to his proximity to the planet.

Anakin narrowed his eyes. The information had proved to be weeks old, completely useless.

The wind whipped at his clothes, causing him to tug once again at the hood and to pull the edges of the cloak tighter around himself. These days, enemies were everywhere, lurking in the shadows. The people of Sentron may tolerate the Republic, but their feelings for the Republic's guardians ran in completely the opposite direction. No one quite knew where their hatred for the Jedi originated. Yet no matter where it came from, it ran deep and intense, a shared hatred a planet wide. Anakin felt strange dressed in clothing other than his normal robes, yet felt a small sense of comfort at the weight of Obi-W—of the lightsaber at his belt.

The lightsaber. Not Anakin's, never Anakin's.

He didn't allow himself to think about Obi-Wan, not anymore. It was too raw, too painful. Somehow his mind knew, screaming at the injustice, trying to express the damage he was doing to himself. Memories need to be shared. But it was something he had to do, a necessity to function. Just like the blast doors sealing against a bulkhead breach stealing precious oxygen from within, so too his mind closed the door on those thoughts the day he walked out of his former master's room. He couldn't think about what he had lost and still be able to function normally. So he pushed it down and away, locking the memories away in their own corner of his mind, letting the pressure simmer and build until the day he found the bounty hunter. But by the Force . . . on that day, all hell would break loose.

So instead, he functioned with half a heart and half a soul, slipping behind his mask of Jedi while hiding the dragon within.

Boots crunching in the dirt and snow, he slowly wound through the streets to the outskirts of town. Lost in thought, he felt rather than saw his way through the maze of passageways and meandering crowds of pedestrians, vehicles, and creatures. Artoo would be waiting with his fighter to leave this place. He had been told the 212th was being recalled to Coruscant, allowing them to resupply before another extensive campaign in the Outer Rim. Anakin was glad. They deserved rest after their trials of the last months. Many, he recognized with a flash of contrition, were because of his . . . excursions.

Besides, Coruscant meant Padmé. Now, more than ever, he felt the need to be near his wife. His mind still reeled and balked as he recalled what she told him at their last communication. How could it be possible . . . to think that they . . .

I'm pregnant, Ani. We are going to be parents.

He couldn't deal with that right now. Not so soon after—

No. For he had just lost the one who fulfilled the roll of his father, his brother, his guiding hand in the twists and turns of life. The knowledge that he would soon be a father caused a wild shift in his already precarious stability. To think that he now needed to fulfill that roll for someone else, let alone the very complications the birth of said baby would bring upon both of them, his mind stopped when he thought about it.

But if he was frightened, he knew Padmé must be terrified. He could push the thought of their future out of his mind when he desired, choosing to focus on his tasks on hand. But Padmé, she had to live every moment acknowledging the growing life within her.

A flash of guilt spiked in his gut. He knew he hadn't been very present in the last few months. His grief and all-consuming desire for vengeance lurked like a shadow between them, a dark specter in the halls, dampening their relationship. But no matter what people said, he was not ready to just . . . move on.

The feeling was sudden, like the slightest ray of sunlight caressing his cheek, a brush of laughter against his mind. Not solid, but rather so nebulous and amorphous that it was almost like a whisper of a bird's wing. But it was there . . . was it there? And so achingly familiar that he choked.

Anakin jerked to a stop, his heart thundering in his chest, his legs all but collapsing in paroxysm. He cast his eyes around the crowed street, searching, searching, his heart screaming for an answer.

None came.

It was his own imagination, his own desperate wish to have what was lost returned to him that caused him to picture what he wanted to see. He knew that, he knew it, but with all his heart he didn't want to believe it.

Eyes and heart still straining into streets so achingly devoid of the one being for whom he searched, Anakin suddenly found himself tumbling to the ground amid a flurry of wheels and feet.

"Watch where you're standing, bantha poodoo!" the driver of the cart shook his fist at Anakin where he lay stunned and dirty on the slushy ground. For a moment he was too shocked to move. He had just been run over by a cart? Anakin Skywalker, Jedi General, had been taken out by a little old man and his four wheeled vehicle.

For the barest of seconds, laughter threatened to bubble up within him. Wait until Obi-Wan hears about—

The smile completely died on his face, the laughter freezing to crystalline shards in his throat. As he scrambled to his feet, slamming down his mental barriers against the sudden memory, he caught sight of a young boy glaring at him with malice, his finger pointing accusatorially in his direction.

"Look!" The shrill voice cut through the fog in his mind and the rumbling traffic on the street. "It's a Jedi!" The boy's yelling began to attract the attention of the passersby, several casting suspicious glances as the dirty stranger in the street.

Kriff. He couldn't afford for his cover to be blown, not now. In one swift move, he grabbed the boy by the arm and thrust him into a side alley, distractedly hoping no one saw that. An accusation of attempted kidnapping would not make him very welcome. He glanced around to see if anyone caught his action before turning back to the child. He looked to be about ten or twelve, scrappy and streetwise. But his eyes held a hatred out of place with his age.

"What makes you think I'm a Jedi?" Anakin questioned in a low voice, his arm still slightly grasping the boy's elbow to keep him from running away.

The boy struggled against his grip, eyes flashing. With his free hand, he gestured at Anakin's belt. "I saw your laser sword when you got run over. Only a Jedi carries one of those." He thrust his chin up defiantly toward Anakin, ceasing his escape attempts. "But it doesn't matter. One day I'm going to kill a Jedi. The Grand Conclave says anyone who kills a Jedi will receive great rewards in the afterlife."

Anakin huffed out an irritated breath. Fanatics, great. Just what I need. He turned an angry look on the child, tightening his grip. "No one can kill a Jedi," he lied through clenched teeth. Emotions he didn't want to deal with struggled to surge to the surface, and he clamped them down hard.

Once again the child stared boldly at Anakin, the senseless hatred pounded into him by those in authority echoing in his face. "Yes, they can," he insisted. "Your Jedi weapon can't save you. I saw a man stop a laser sword with his gauntlets, and that's what I'll use."

Those words sparked an immediate reaction in Anakin. Even though he was just a child, Anakin grabbed the youth by both shoulders and slammed him into the gritty stucco wall. "What?"he hissed, his face centimeters away from the child's. "When did you see this man?"

The boy's eyes were wide with sudden fear, his youth abruptly starkly apparent in his pale face. "Three days ago," he stuttered, his bottom lip quivering. He shifted in Anakin's grip, whimpering slightly. "He was in Yanto's Cantina." Blinking rapidly, the boy tried to keep up his brave front.

Without a second thought, Anakin dropped the boy into the dirty slush, turning away so fast his cloak snapped in the wind. Shame and anger burning high on the boy's cheeks, he glared after the departing form. "You can't kill him, you're a Jedi!" he mocked, his words floating through empty air.

Anakin didn't answer, but he didn't need to. The swirling darkness surrounding him needed no explanation.

Not today. He didn't think he had truly been a Jedi since Obi-Wan's death.

Malus was here. Of all the twists and turns of fate, to be here now; it must be the will of the Force. And he felt it, as sure as the suns burned hot on the dessert on Tatooine; today was the day of reckoning.

Fear.

It was not a concept Malus was used to. A bounty hunter lived by the death of others, by instilling fear in them. True, for some hunters it was just a job, a quick dead-or-alive always taken alive, but for Malus, a bounty was always better dead. Dead, they can't fight back. Such a life demanded no remorse, and fear, well, it had no place either.

But Malus had not survived as long as he had by being stupid as well. The life of a bounty hunter didn't allow for mistakes. Killing or capturing beings for money creates a certain animosity towards a profession, one that does not allow for foolish slip-ups and a healthy dose of paranoia added to a hunter's lifespan. No, he was not stupid. But he had made one mistake.

Unknown to him, that one mistake sealed his doom. And it was heading his way like a thunderstorm building on the horizon, a fire that would not be quenched.

He sat alone in the shadows of a small rented room, the artificial light from the garish signs outside slating through the blinds, casting gashes of light and dark across his face. He understood the need to lay low after a high profile killing such as a Jedi. Stenos was a perfect place. Far away from the standard space lanes, it also shared a commonality with himself—the hatred of Jedi.

However, it was about time to move on—the galaxy had. No longer did the holonet bemoan the death of one of their favorite Generals or lament the sad state his death left the war effort in. They had returned to their typical vapid programing, and the Jedi was lost to the flowing obscurity of time.

Yet someone had not forgotten.

Suddenly that signature presence assaulted his senses. A presence overflowing with flashing energy and pulsing light—but now mingled with something new, an interwoven thread of dark tainting the light. Skywalker. At the same moment, a quiet alarm from one of his installed sensors warned of the approaching Jedi. He had no idea how the man had found him, but he knew why he was there.

In the dark of the room Malus froze for a brief second, considering his options. The drive to kill any and all Jedi he encountered was strong, a seething hatred that gripped his soul, but wisdom overcame his vendetta. A cruel smile crept across his face. He had gotten lucky last time, and now he wagered he had not gained any favor from Skywalker by killing his master . . .

Besides, he wasn't getting paid to kill Skywalker, and any bounty hunter worth their while knew not to waste time killing for free.

From experience, he knew he had about ten seconds before Skywalker burst through his door. He didn't have time to grab anything more than his blaster and gauntlets, leaving his cumbersome jetpack behind. The bounty money from killing Kenobi would more than pay for another one. Grasping the fire escape out the window, Malus caught the briefest glimpse of flashing eyes and a sizzling lightsaber before the tripwires he had installed went off. The explosion blew hot air out the window, threatening to dislodge the bounty hunter as he clambered up the rusty steps. He knew the explosion would not kill the Jedi, perhaps only slow him down, but it would grant him extra time to reach his destination.

He grunted as he pulled himself onto the roof. Ahead, only fifty meters away, sat a small, single person fighter. Its tiny frame allowed it to slip past many sensors and patrols undetected, a necessity for a person in his line of work. But even as his feet finally touched the icy surface, he knew he would not escape in time.

"Malus!" The roar came from beside him. As he turned, he saw a sight that would haunt the dreams of the most steadfast of men. Skywalker stood there, his robe tattered and singed from the explosion, the blue lightsaber casting deep shadows onto his soot-darkened face and curls. His mouth was turned in a snarl, contorting his face into that of a demon. "Malus!"

The fact that the Jedi had not even bothered to hide his approach testified to the reckless anger driving him. Even a being blind to the Force could feel the building tension, the mounting rage crackling within the young Jedi. Suddenly, the smallest impression of not-quite-fear slithered down Malus' spine, and he realized that maybe he had misjudged in taking the bounty on Kenobi.

Years of instinct kicked in. He rolled to avoid the first swipe of Skywalker's blade, coming up on one knee to fire a rapid burst in the Jedi's general direction. The Jedi skillfully deflected each shot, yet found himself struggling to find purchase on the icy rooftop. Malus found himself struggling in that regard as well. The ice buildup from recent snowfall created a slick, frictionless surface.

Both men realized the disadvantage at once, and Malus saw Skywalker's eyes narrow. Neither could afford to move too quickly, lest they risk losing their balance and their advantage. Malus also knew the Jedi would have to be careful to avoid his gauntlets, but also that he would not be foolish enough to fall for the same trick twice.

With a single glance, the young Jedi took in the small fighter craft and Malus' positioning on the roof in a single glance, sparing all his anger for the hunter in front of him. The two men circled each other slowly. It was a crude facsimile of a dance, an obscene rendering of two lovers pursuing each other for the first time.

"So how's the war effort, Skywalker? You seem a bit . . . off," he shook his head mockingly. "Perhaps losing Kenobi unveiled an attachment you had?"

His comment had an immediate response. Malus could feel the leaching fury that had been percolating beneath Skywalker's exterior explode.

"Don't say his name!" Skywalker snarled in anger before charging headlong at Malus. But Malus was ready, for he himself felt the singing pull of the Dark Side in his veins and knew its weaknesses. Strength, speed, agility—it gave the user all that and more. But serenity, or the ability to perform controlled movements? Not so much.

At the last second the bounty hunter threw up his arms with the gauntlets, protecting himself from the vicious assault. Skywalker pulled up short in an attempt to avoid hitting them. The change in momentum caused the Jedi to overbalance, slipping and sliding on the icy surface. His feet shot out from under him and he crashed onto his back on the ground.

Malus pressed his attack, his rapid blaster fire and defending arm causing the Jedi to rapidly leap to his feet and backpedal to avoid hitting the gauntlets. Attention taken up completely by his 'saber movements, Skywalker looked surprised to find the edge of the roof behind him. Nimbly, he balanced on the balls of his feet, heels hanging off the edge. He made the precarious position looks easy, but the focus going into defending himself and keeping his balance was causing a toll.

Blaster still in his right, Malus stepped back and reached with his left hand to throw a grenade. But he never got the chance. One moment the Jedi was in front of him and the next he was leaping through the air, summersaulting over the stunned hunter. The lightsaber flicked down, severing his blaster in two just as he felt a ferocious push send him stumbling forward. He landed hard on the ground, sliding toward the edge, his fingers scrabbling for purchase. Stopping just shy of the edge, he jumped to his feet and face to face with the glowing tip of a blue lightsaber. The fight was over so quickly it momentarily surprised them both.

The lightsaber buzzed hot in Skywalker's hand, the tip mere centimeters away from Malus' torso. He stood with his back to the empty air, Skywalker fixed in front of him. The bounty hunter felt the void his back, the whistling wind tugging at their bodies. He shuffled his foot slightly, feeling a piece of the gritty rooftop skitter into the abyss behind him.

The surprise in Skywalker's face changed to a flinty rage, his chest heaving as his lungs pulled in air—from exertion or emotion, Malus didn't know.

"You," the growl seemed to come from deep inside Skywalker, the anger spasming his mouth around the vindictive obscenity. "I should kill you right now."

Malus stood his ground, his mind refusing to accept the fate he saw marked in Skywalker's eyes. Those eyes, outwardly flaming cauldrons and searing flames, but deep within there was ice. And that alarmed him more than the fire.

Those eyes of fire and ice—he had the sudden irrational notion that the fate of the galaxy would be decided by this man.

Heart beating in his chest, Malus squared his shoulders against the beating wind and hate. He kept his hands to his side, fingers splayed. Forever defiant, his eyes met Skywalker's.

"I'm not afraid of you."

And then Skywalker laughed, a dry mirthless laugh that cracked ice and rock and chilled Malus to the bone. The laugh turned into a grimace, contorting the once handsome face into that of carved stone and nightmares.

"Then you are a fool," he said simply.

And for the first time in his life, Malus knew fear.

The wind whistled, whipping Anakin's clothes in sharp snaps, the buffeting gusts not even coming close to matching the swirling anger and seeping dark within him. Before him stood the man that had destroyed his life, had taken the one man he thought of as father, brother, friend. The man who had torn his soul in two, rending it like a chasm in the dessert.

His anger and the dragon within surged at the bounty hunter's defiant and derisive stare. Didn't he know what he had done? Didn't he know the pain he had brought upon the universe for taking a single man from it? Didn't he know?

But there was something that Anakin had to know. While Malus was the instrument of death, he was not the orchestrator. Behind him lurked a darker figure, something or someone that had ordered the death of his master. And while, dear Force, Malus would pay, someone else deserved the same fate.

"Who hired you?" He spat out. Talking to this poodoo was the last thing he wanted to be doing, but he had to know. He leaned in, pressing the tip of the lightsaber closer to Malus' chest. The bounty hunter's eyes shifted defiantly to the blade singing and humming centimeters from his heart, the blue light reflecting the steely look in his eyes.

Suddenly, their positioning, their words, so eerily similar to that day brought him up short. He looked down at the lightsaber in his hand, mouth parted slightly as he began to grasp the implications of the deed he was contemplating.

And flickering in the wind, like a whisper against the howling storm, came the same caress as before, the lightest touch of a familiar laugh, a gentle correcting hand on his shoulder. He gasped and staggered back for the barest of seconds, his eyes glazing as he desperately searched for the source.

Promise me . . . you'll stay in the light.

But once again, the Force refused to unveil its mysteries. And in Anakin's swirling morass of darkness, his mind strayed far from his promise. The dark surrounded him, pulling him under. A tornado that sucked him up with it, twisting and turning until he didn't know which way was out. Malus deserved to die, and Anakin would be his executioner. One thrust and Malus would be sent into oblivion, sealing his own fate as well.

Yet the Force was not done with Anakin Skywalker's soul just yet. The very moment he staggered back the bounty hunter made his move. The Dark Side was clouding Anakin's judgement, and it took little effort for Malus to conceal his intentions.

The small, poisoned knife hidden in his palm missed his mark by the barest of centimeters. The action overbalanced him, as he had expected to meet solid muscle and bone. His feet slipped on the icy roof, his arms pin wheeling briefly as he sought for balance.

Their eyes locked, and with a wordless cry Malus fell.

It all happened so fast that Anakin barely registered it happening at all. He stared at the empty space where Malus had stood, struggling to comprehend. Gingerly, he stepped to peer over the edge, half expecting to find an empty alleyway below. But far down on the ground he could just make out the twisted body of the man who had killed his master.

Upon seeing the body he expected to feel . . . something. Maybe relief, perhaps triumph, but at the very least an escape from his constant companion that was the pain shadowing his every moment. But instead he felt . . . empty.

It's over, you won.

But instead of peace, Anakin was left with more questions than before. And one still all-encompassing emotion: guilt. Guilt, because Anakin realized he almost didn't keep his promise to Obi-Wan. He wanted to kill Malus, to make him suffer as he had suffered. Guilt, because he knew wholeheartedly that if he had the chance again, he would kill the man without a second thought. Guilt, because Obi-Wan was still dead, he was still alive, and he had failed once again.

He searched for that feeling from before, he searched for a feeling of relief he thought would come, he searched for something, anything other than the pain and guilt he felt.

His mind sent out a tentative plea. Obi-Wan? Master?

But only the wind answered him.

Author Note:

Thank you to all who are still reading this! Don't worry, we are moving away from Malus and onto the TRUE perpetrator, Palpatine.