AN: Or: The Grand Inqusitor's Really Shitty Day.
So remember how I said no update until Monday? Uh...FOOLED YOU! I managed to belt this one out like a kriffing pimp, so here you go! I'm actually getting started on the next chapter, like, now, but I doubt I'll finish it tomorrow. Expect it Tuesday, and after that, I gotta get the next chapter of Blood of Mandalore up. Those lovelies have been just about as patient with me as you guys. Gotta give them the love, since the next chapter is, you know, the payoff from eleven chapters of build-up. Like how the next chapter of this baby is going to be friggin' epic. I hope...
Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy, my lovelies!
Chapter 28: Rebel Resolve
Come on, Hera, keep it together. You can do this.
By some miraculous show of will, Hera had managed to keep herself calm, her emotions in check, a necessary thing in light of the situation. When the situation got tough, her crew could always turn to her and Kanan to keep them focused, to keep everyone logical when emotions ran high, to keep them from making foolish, impulsive decisions. They had always worked together in this, drew strength from the other if they felt weak, if they were too involved and couldn't see objectively, if the mission hit a nerve by striking too close to home, Kanan and Hera had always compensated for each other. And now, in the time of her greatest need, Hera had to do it alone because Kanan was gone.
It had been the hardest thing she had ever done. The focus necessary to fly them to reconnect with the Ghost and then to the safety of the jump point had helped, but nothing could block from her mind Ezra's anguished cries for his Master as he clawed at the locked hatch. Nothing could explain to Sabine why they hadn't fought harder, why they were so helpless to save him. Nothing could ease the grim expression from Zeb's face as the genocide survivor lived through the pain of grief all over again. Even the foul-tempered Chopper, who claimed to like nobody, was sullen and morose. It had taken everything in her power not to show the kids how badly she hurt, how deeply personal this loss was for her, to not curl up in the seat and sob for the man their mission had forced her to let go. The mission first, always the mission first...
Once they had jumped, the trip through hyperspace stretched to eternity, though the jump was a short one. The pain in Hera's chest became unbearable, the dull, throbbing ache threatening to tear her open, the silence feeling as though it would swallow her whole. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, they all just sat and stared out the viewport at the lines of blue and while, once so calming to the pilot, but now they only felt like the cold indifference of the stars. No matter who was lost, no matter the pain they felt, the galaxy would continue on, and Hera knew she must as well. Kanan had sacrificed himself to save them, and he had done it without a second thought, just like he had always promised he would. What they were to each other didn't matter in that moment. Or perhaps it did. Perhaps he had done it because he loved her, because the Spectres were family, because they were worth dying for, not because of any great and noble cause, but because the idea of their loss was too terrifying for Kanan, who had lost so much, to face again.
They had always known this might happen. They had always known that they may one day be called upon to let someone go for the sake of freedom, for the rebellion, to see the end of the evil that plagued the galaxy. And deep down, Hera always knew that the guilt, the pain, the loss would be hers to bear. And it was worse than she could have ever imagined. She knew part of her crew blamed her for what had happened, for not doing more to save him, but there was nothing that could have been done without getting the rest of them killed. And still, Hera did blame herself. The plan was too risky, too foolish too quickly executed. Kenobi's instinct to turn away and abandon Lothal had been the right call, but Hera stupidly insisted.
She didn't regret it, just as she never regretted actions done to help those suffering. The message had gotten out before the tower was destroyed, an inspirational plea from Ezra for the people to be strong, because the fight for something better was never without loss or sacrifice, but in the end, it was worth it for freedom. She clung to that now, and only hoped that she wasn't the only one touched by the young Jedi's heartfelt plea. And even if it amounted to nothing, they were still alive, and they could fight, and maybe, just maybe, Kanan was still alive. Maybe they could save him. Maybe...
The pilot nearly broke completely when they came out of hyperspace and saw the badly damaged Umbra hanging in space before them, and with the quick scan of the surrounding area confirming their successful escape, Hera left the cockpit, her eyes stinging as she bit back tears, and locked herself in her room and put in a call to Fulcrum. She needed him back. She needed Kanan, they couldn't give up on him, not now, and not ever. She couldn't deal with Ezra's accusing stare when she had flown away, she couldn't deal with Zeb's grim acceptance or Sabine's indignation. She couldn't deal with herself. Hera had never been so disgusted with anything she had ever done. She didn't regret the mission, but she regretted leaving the man she loved.
She loved him. She had always known it, always felt it deep within her, ever since she had put aside her reservations, ever since she decided to forego the idea that her mission for the rebellion was the only thing she had room for, ever since she gave in and dragged the lovesick Jedi into her bed. The mission came first, yes, but Kanan mattered to her more than just another piece in the rebellion. Her entire crew did. And as she paced her room, avoiding looking at the bed she neglected to make from the night before where she and Kanan lay passionate entwined with each other, all her regrets hit her like a storm. She regretted not spending more time with him. She regretted not loving him with everything she was able, for not being more open and honest with her feelings for the fear that something like this would happen. And now that it did, all she could think about was how foolish she had been.
When Fulcrum answered, the distorted hologram showing a figure in a hood, their faces concealed in shadows, Hera slammed her hands on the desk, her entire being trembling when she demanded, "Fulcrum, I need your help." She quickly explained the mission, what they had done, what had happened, how it had all gone wrong, the hologram listening quietly, occasionally asking for clarification or details, the Twi'lek's voice shaking as she did all in her power to keep the desperation and panic from her face, though she knew she was failing. Being emotional would not serve her now, and she would not cry. Not now. Not when she had a crew she had to be strong for.
"So what do you need from me?" Fulcrum asked, the distorted voice seeming distant and harsh, and Hera swallowed hard.
"I need reenforcements, o-or information, or anything to get a lead on Kanan!" She took a deep breath to still her trembling voice. "He's a vital part of this crew, I...we need him." There was a moment of silence, an eternity in just a few seconds before the hooded head lowered.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Fulcrum said, and Hera stared slack-jawed at the image, her head shaking slowly in disbelief.
"W-what?"
"Kanan knew the risks," the hologram said. "You all knew the risks, and your Jedi accepted them, which is why you are alive now. I'm sorry, but you must focus on your next objective."
"But Fulcrum, Kanan is our objective!" Hera said softly, her eyes wide and wet, and she had to look away. "We can still find him, we can still-"
"At what cost, Hera?" Fulcrum asked in a steady voice. "Are you worth it? Is your unit worth it? How much are you willing to sacrifice for one man? How much will you give to find him? Is your over all mission within this rebellion worth giving up so you can search for one man?"
"One man in the hands of Grand Moff Tarkin!" the Twi'lek snapped. "He's going to make an example of him to discourage others from rebelling, and it will work! You know how effective his brand of terror is, it will make the message we sent out completely meaningless!"
"About that..." Fulcrum said, the distorted voice lowering in pitch. "That transmission you were able to beam out has...attracted attention. Not just from civilians, but from the highest levels of the Empire. They destroyed the transmission tower to stop the message from spreading, but..." Fulcrum paused for a moment, considering the next words. "The Imperial ability to use the holonet to their advantage has been...greatly diminished, and they're struggling to counter your message. You were small before, but now, there isn't a single Imperial that won't know about the Lothal insurgency."
"Well, the plan was to get attention, so mission accomplished."
"That was not the mission," Fulcrum snapped. "Your mission, Spectre Two, was to stay small, hidden and unseen, do good where you were able, but to wait-"
"We wanted to inspire people! Hera shouted as she grew desperate. "We wanted to give people hope! Fulcrum, I am sick of flailing against the Empire, I want our strikes against them to make a difference! Don't get me wrong, I love helping people, but the problem is the Empire, and the only way to save the people from that is to destroy it!"
"...well, you were successful in your attempt to inspire," Fulcrum said slowly after a moment of silence. "But of you are caught...if your rebel cell is caught, than that hope will die. To protect your unit, to protect the hope that you have inspired, you must give up your search for Kanan and go into hiding."
"I-"
"Hera," Fulcrum said firmly. "The force around Lothal is too strong. It is the only way."
"No, it isn't, if he dies-" Hera choked on her words, looked away to clear her throat, and pressed her emotions down. "Tarkin will make an example of him."
"And it will not be enough," Fulcrum said swiftly. "The Trayvis broadcasts showed all of you, and one rebel out of six is not enough. So long as the rest are alive, the people have something to cling to. Other rebel groups will have something to rally behind. But not of you are killed." The hologram breathed deeply for a moment, quietly observing Hera. "We fight for a greater cause, Hera," Fulcrum said gently. "We will all be called upon to make sacrifices, and his will not be forgotten. It's time to let go. Your mission must come first."
"...I know," Hera whimpered, sitting down in the chair against the wall, hardly daring to breathe because the room smelled like her lost love still, and she could hardly take it. There was a sudden commotion just outside her door, the soft sound of mechanical whirring heard from within the wall, and a moment later, the locked door slid open, allowing Ezra, Sabine and Zeb to topple inside, followed by the irritated grumbling of Chopper as he rolled away.
"Hera, we can't just leave Kanan!" Ezra said desperately. The Twi'lek rising and staring in outrage at the trio.
"Wait a minute, were you all listening in on my conversation?!"
"We can't just leave Kanan," Ezra repeated, looking pointedly at the hologram. "You're underestimating how important he is to this rebel cell, to us. If there's even the slightest chance of rescuing him, and there is, then we have to take it!"
"No, not this time," Hera said quietly, taking a deep breath as she drew herself up tall. "The Empire will just be waiting for us with a trap. It's too dangerous."
"Since when has that ever stopped us before?" Sabine snapped. "I am Mandalorian, and we don't run from anything! None of us have ever run from anything!"
"Maybe not, but we never rushed stupidly into a situation!" Hera countered. "We can't risk it."
"We can't risk it?" Ezra asked bitterly. "Or we won't risk it?"
"There's a bigger mission at risk, Ezra," Hera said between clenched teeth. "Believe me, nobody wants to get Kanan back more than I do, but billions upon billions of lives are at stake here, and if the rebellion fails, they are all at risk. Kanan wouldn't want us to save him if it meant sacrificing everything we worked for. He wouldn't want us to put his life above others."
"I know it's painful," Fulcrum said softly. "Because you are close to him, I know. But this pain will be shared by everyone if the Empire is not stopped, and we cannot in good conscience weigh billions against the life of one soldier."
"...soldier?!" Ezra said in disbelief, his gaze shooting to Hera and his heart pounding in his chest when he saw her lower her eyes in acceptance. "Kanan isn't a soldier, he's our friend! I can't forget about him and I can't believe that you would either, Hera!" He hissed and looked away, his fist clenching at his side. "No, I don't believe it! You wouldn't do this, you want to save him as much as we do! I can feel it. Kanan would do everything in his power to protect us, and-"
"He already did, Ezra!" Hera shouted, her the strength of her calm finally broken, her eyes swimming with tears that she still refused to let fall, but the violent showing of emotion stunned her crew, so used to seeing their firm but loving pilot stay calm and collected even in the worst of times, and they collectively lowered their eyes, ashamed that they didn't realize she was suffering as well, that all her strength had been for them. "Kanan would want us to honor the choice he made in sacrificing himself, and I am choosing to respect that, even though it hurts me like you cannot possibly hope to understand!"
"Hera, we-"
"No," the Twi'lek snapped, reeling on the trio. "Just because I don't express myself in the same way you do doesn't mean I am not grieving his loss, so...s-so..." She bit her lip, looked away from her crew, and sat back down in the chair, silent and still, save for the twitch of her lekku as she struggled to press down her emotions and regain the calm strength the Spectres needed.
"I'm sorry..." Ezra whispered as he took a step closer to the pilot. "Hera, I'm...so sorry, I know you-" Whatever the boy was going to say was cut off by a large, heavy crash from the hold of the ship, followed by a furious, outraged scream, and a moment later, Chopper raced passed the open door, beeping and whirring in distress and panic as he tore down the hallway as fast as its wheels would allow. The crew barely had the time to get up and begin to leave the room to investigate when Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared in the doorway, a dark and menacing presence unlike anything they had ever seen, and Ezra gasped for breath under the tremendous weight of the Dark Side that howled in the air, a savage beast that thirsted for blood and death and demanded to be sated. One look at Kenobi, and Ezra knew that need would never be satisfied.
"You left him?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice sickeningly sweet and dripping with malice, his face almost seeming to be cast in dark, sinister shadows, his eyes eerie and strange as they hadn't been before, the bright gold a mere small sunburst around his pupil that seemed to drown within a blood-red iris.
"Shadow King," Sabine said, stepping forward to stand between the pilot and the furious man. "She didn't leave him, she-"
"Cetar, adiik be Manda'yaim, bal cuyir shev'la!" Kenobi snarled, and Sabine dropped to her knees, her eyes lowered as she was made to bow before the Sith Lord. Ezra began to move to rush to the girl, but Zeb's large hand closed around the teenager's arm and pulled him back, the Lasat's sharp teeth bared and his short, purple hair raised as he watched the predator in the room. "Vaabir nayc jorhaa'ir be meg gar kar'taylir naas be..."
"Lumis," Fulcrum said firmly, immediately drawing the attention of the Sith. "I told Hera-"
"You will be silent as well, Fulcrum!" Kenobi hissed, and the hooded hologram drew up in offense.
"I will do no such thing, Lumis. You do not command me," Fulcrum snapped. "Why did you do nothing to save the Jedi? Surely you must have sensed that he was not with the others. Surely you must have felt the Spectres' distress."
"You are blaming this on me?!" the Sith Lord snarled, the black robes integrated with his armor whipping at his ankles in the sudden surge of wind, a result of the very visceral hold the man held on the Dark Side. "I didn't sense him because I was too busy focusing on saving their lives!" Obi-Wan turned his wrathful eyes back on Hera. "I had thought you were all on board. I thought you would never leave without him." His eyes narrowed as his jaw clenched in his rage. "You are supposed to love him! How could you leave him behind?!"
"I-I had no choice!" Hera gasped, her voice shaking as her shoulders hunched, the proud pilot never looking as small as she did in that moment. "I didn't want to leave him behind, but I had to choose between the Empire getting him, or getting all of us! He stayed behind to give us a chance to escape, he sacrificed himself for us!" Hera whimpered softly her hands tightly clutching at her knees. "I don't take that lightly...Kanan. My Kanan..." With a deep, angry growl, Obi-Wan slid his hands into his hair, the golden strands sliding between his fingers and leaving it out of its usually pristine styling.
"Alright..." Obi-Wan growled, pacing back and forth before the door, his grasp on Sabine released, and with a gasp, the girl quickly rose and walked back to stand beside Ezra and Zeb, never once turning her back on the Sith. "Alright. This is Tarkin we are talking about, so he's going to execute him as an example to other rebels. But, Kanan is a Jedi, which means his value goes beyond a mere example. He's far more useful to them alive than dead, so they'll take him for interrogation."
"What does Kanan know, Hera?" Fulcrum asked, and the Twi-lek shook her head, but said nothing. "An Imperial interrogation, Hera. They all break eventually, I need to know."
"Kanan will not break!" Obi-Wan growled, when the stalwart Hera whimpered softly. "I have been training him, he has had to deal with me, a mental manipulator, for some time now, and he's been keeping me out!" Kenobi pulled at his hair. "That resistance of his won't break, there are few as strong as him! He's stronger than his Master was, I can tell you that much!"
"Lumis, Kanan Jarrus is not stronger than Vader."
"And from now on, you will be silent, Fulcrum," Obi-Wan hissed, resuming his pacing. "Interrogation is good, interrogation means he is alive, so he can be saved. All we need to know is where he is so we can go get him." The Spectres looked at each other, the fear in the room vanishing as they realized what Kenobi was saying.
"No," Fulcrum said firmly, and the Sith snarled ferociously as he looked at the hologram. "I have explained to Hera already the reasons, and I will not allow-"
"You do not command me, Ahsoka!" Obi-Wan shouted, the Dark Side opening up like a chasm, and for a moment, all Ezra could see was darkness, eternal and enduring, like a star drawn into a black hole, the light extinguished and destroyed until only darkness remained.
"Obi-Wan, the mission!"
"To hell with your mission!" the Sith said in a low, smooth voice, the danger within him so heavy in the air it could be tasted. "I am a Master of the Dark Side of the Force, a Lord of the Sith, and I pity the poor fool that stands between me and what is mine!" Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as he looked at the hologram. "So tell me, Fulcrum. Are you going to attempt to stand between me and Kanan Jarrus? I like you, we work well together, but if you think I will hesitate to destroy you if you get in my way, then you have forgotten exactly who it is you are dealing with..."
"I haven't forgotten, Obi-Wan..."
"Then you know there is nothing that will keep me from making those bastards pay for what they have taken from me..." the Sith said, his voice low and menacing. "If you will not help me, Fulcrum, you will stay out of my way." When Fulcrum didn't respond, he smoothed back his hair, breathing deeply as he quietly reached out to calm the Dark Side, the beast coiling around him when he summoned it. "The Umbra has taken serious damage. I can't use her against Tarkin, he knows the stealth system. I'm sending her and K-2SO back to you for repairs and upgrades, and when I return with the Spectres, I will begin working on upgrading the stealth system."
"You're bringing them back here..." Fulcrum sighed. "You did tell them my name so I suppose it doesn't make much of a difference now..." It was said like an accusation, but the Sith merely shrugged.
"Welcome to the rebellion, Spectres," Obi-Wan drawled, looking over his shoulder at the group behind him. "Our mission is the retrieval of Kanan Jarrus from Imperial custody. Failure is not an option."
"We won't fail," Ezra said firmly as he stepped forward. "I can promise you that, Master."
"Lumis, the Inquisitor," Fulcrum said swiftly when the Mandalorian and the Lasat stepped beside Ezra, excited, eager grins on their faces. "He's they reason we couldn't allow them near us to begin with. If he's involved-"
"I haven't forgotten about the kriffing Inquisitor, Fulcrum, relax," Obi-Wan muttered. "If he's involved in this-"
"He is involved," Zeb growled. "Kanan was fighting him when he sent us away."
"Well, then he is most certainly going to find himself in my care," Obi-Wan said, a faint smile crossing his lips. "I need to reward Yoda for his work tonight, it has been so long since he has had a new toy, and I know how much he misses Maul..." Fulcrum sighed and shook her head.
"Very well...take care, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Spectres. May the Force be with you all." The com cut, and clapping his hands together, Kenobi quickly turned to face the crew.
"Alright! We have a job to do. Ready yourselves for a mess, we leave within the hour. The longer we wait, the more likely that Kanan will be lost to us."
"How are we going to find him?" Sabine asked. "If Fulcrum's right and that transmission tower was knocked down, then communications between Imperial forces will have slowed to a crawl. We aren't going to be able to find him by hacking into the system because we won't know if the information has been updated."
"And if he's inside the Imperial facility, he's as good as gone," Zeb growled, and Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes as he tapped on his comlink.
"Oh, you rebels lack imagination..." he drawled, and Ezra's eyes widened as he understood.
"Minister Tua!"
"Minister Tua..." Obi-Wan drawled in agreement, his hand up for silence as the com chimed once, twice, and was answered.
"H-hello?" came the rushed, tense, breathless voice, a rustling on the other end when she fumbled the device. "Oh, um...t-this is Minister Tua..."
"Maketh!" Obi-Wan sighed in relief, his hand upon his chest and his voice much lighter than his usual sinister tones. "Oh, thank the stars. Maketh, it's Ben." Again came the shuffling sound of the device being fumbled, and he could hear the woman's soft, stressed curses.
"Ben!" she whispered. "Ben, I was so worried about you..."
"I was worried about you," the Sith drawled, concern in his voice that contrasted sharply with the smirk on his face. "I heard the Shadow King was there, I heard he was killing government officials!"
"H-he was..." she whimpered. "Our Senator and a holonet reporter." She swallowed hard. "But I'm fine. But you...were you fighting? I heard a lot of TIE pilots were shot down, I couldn't stop thinking about you..."
"I was flying, yes..." Obi-Wan said softly. "The fighting was quite bad, I wasn't sure I'd make it."
"But you are safe? You're unharmed?"
"Mm, save for a few bruises, I'm fine. Hey, listen..." Obi-Wan said, lowering his voice. "They aren't telling us anything, and there are a lot of rumors going around...is it true Moff Bo-Katan is dead?"
"Oh! No, she's alive..." the Minister whispered, a slight ruffling on the other end as the woman shifted. "Listen, Ben, I shouldn't be telling you any of this, so you have to keep it to yourself."
"You have my word..." Obi-Wan drawled, a faint, smug smile on his lips as he held the device out, the Spectres leaning in closer.
"Moff Kryze is alive, yes, but she was injured. Nothing severe, but it was enough to get her sent to a bacta tank on Governor Tarkin's orders."
"It pleases me to know she is alive..." he said with a sigh of relief. "What about her Mandalorians? Is it true they have turned against the Empire to follow the Shadow King?"
"Goodness no!" the Minister gasped, sounding horrified at the very notion. "No, the Mandalorians fought admirably against him. Their dedication to Moff Kryze is...an inspiration."
"Ah. Is it true they captured the Shadow King?"
"No," the woman said in a hushed voice that was tinged with excitement, and the group leaned in closer. "But we did catch the Jedi." She squeaked in excitement. "I can hardly believe it. Everything's going to be alright now."
"Aren't you worried about the rebels coming for him?" Obi-Wan asked, and the Minister laughed softly.
"That's the best part, he isn't on Lothal!" Maketh said gleefully. "He's on the Sovereign in preparation for his transfer to Mustafar for interrogation."
"Well, that explains the change in my orders..." Obi-Wan muttered a cold chill gripping him as he looked at Hera, the woman's eyes wide with fear and hopelessness and unshed tears the strong woman bravely held back. "I was reassigned to the Sovereign as an escort flyer. I suppose a Jedi does require additional security."
"You're leaving?" the Minister asked softly. "When?"
"Very soon. But when I return..." he drawled seductively, his tone low and smooth. "I'd like to see you again."
"I'd like that too..." the Minister said shyly, and Sabine rolled her eyes as Obi-Wan softly chuckled.
"Wait for me, my Minister..." the Sith said sweetly. "I'll see you when I return from Mustafar." He cut the com, the amusement on his face dropping away as if it was not even there, replaced with burning fury. "Mustafar." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, centering himself in the Force as his fury grew, and when he opened his eyes, the encroaching red had returned. "I said earlier that no man should have two Star Destroyers. Tarkin's in for a rude awakening. This situation calls for what I do best, I'm going to take that kriffing ship out of the sky..." Obi-Wan growled as he ran his hand through his hair. "If they manage to get Kanan there, he will be truly lost to us. There is no escape from Mustafar."
"I've never heard of it," Ezra said quietly. "Have you been there, Obi-Wan?"
"Been there?" The Sith Lord scoffed and dismissively flicked his hand in the air. "Mustafar is...was home. I built the palace there."
"So you know it!" Zeb growled excitedly. "That's great! If we already know the layout-"
"You misunderstand..." Obi-Wan said, holding up a hand to silence him. "I built my palace during the Clone Wars specifically to hold Jedi." He shook his head. "I kept a lot of prisoners there, and not one ever escaped. I can only imagine what they did to the place after they took it from me. I doubt it's good."
"Kanan spoke of that place before..." Hera whispered, the group looking at her attentively, the woman having been terribly silent since Kenobi had entered. "He said it's where Jedi go to die."
"...there's a reason they say that," Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes darting between the Spectres. "You, he growled, pointing to Zeb, then Sabine, then Ezra, his hand sweeping before him. "Leave us."
"Leave you?" Ezra said skeptically, his eyes on Hera as the woman bit her lip and shivered, her hands balling into the fabric of her flight pants. He didn't like the feral, savage look in the Sith Lord's eyes. The glowing gold was one thing, but the red made it look as if he craved blood, like the Dark Side itself were controlling him. "We aren't going to leave Hera alone, Kenobi, we-"
"Do as I say, apprentice!" the Sith snarled viciously, and Ezra didn't dare disobey him. Flashing a small, uncertain smile at Hera, Ezra followed Sabine and Zeb as the filed out of the room to prepare for the mission. When they had left, Obi-Wan ran his fingers over the controls, the door sliding closed and sealing as it tightly locked. Hera said nothing, her eyes fixed on the ground as she blinked back tears, her bottom lip caught between her teeth to keep it from quivering.
"Hera," Obi-Wan said, his tone soft and soothing, and she looked up her eyes locking with pure, glowing gold, softer than she had ever seen the Sith's gaze. "Let go. There's nobody here you need to be strong for."
The Twi-lek looked at the man for a long while in silence, the young face made even younger without his beard, the unnatural eyes that no human should ever possess, the armor he wore dirty with carbon scoring, blood and filth and in need of a good scrubbing. Despite his physical youth, despite the cruelty she knew he was capable of, despite the savagery of a predator he possessed as he hunted his enemies, despite the fact his unhinged rage could be turned as easily on his allies as it could upon his enemies as she saw today, Obi-Wan was wise. Strong. A leader that could take them far, if only they allowed him to. Maybe he was not loyal in the way she was used to loyalty, but Obi-Wan was fiercely protective of the little family she had made, and his considerable wrath was merely a byproduct of concern for Kanan. In his own way, he didn't want to lose him either.
With a desperate gasp, Hera finally cracked, the pressure of it all too much, and she threw her arms around the Sith Lord, shivering when he wrapped her in a tight embrace, and she finally allowed herself to cry.
A peel of manic laughter filled the room, the hollow sound through the com only serving to make it sound more sinister, and the Grand Inquisitor couldn't help but shiver, his sharp teeth clenched as he watched the hologram pace before him, back and forth like a lithe, feral beast. Though he was not actually in the room with him, the Inquisitor dare not move, dare not speak out of turn for fear of what could be done to him. Fear was at the heart of everything he was, the hook on which the Dark Side hung him, his avenue to power lined with the phantoms of terror and dread.
It had not always been this way. Once, there was peace and serenity. Once, before his eyes were opened, when he still lived in the ignorance of the Jedi. Once, before Obi-Wan Kenobi returned from Naboo to herald the return of the Sith, before the prodigious Jedi Knight turned traitor and welcomed the Dark Side within him. It had been unthinkable to him once, that a Jedi would abandon the warmth of the Jedi family for a life of pain and darkness. Then the war came, and everything changed. The Inquisitor was young at the start of the war, only newly knighted and assigned to be a Guardian of the Temple. He took part in no battles, saw no combat. His job was to keep the peace of the Temple, to ensure the safety of the younglings, to make certain that war did not change their lives.
But he could still feel it. The loneliness of a sparsely populated Temple once filled with Jedi, the fear of hearing about friends, Masters Knights he knew meeting their end on a battlefield, the dread he felt looking at the younglings and knowing they would inherit this endless conflict. And then came Order 66 and Operation Nightfall and with them, the Jedi died. All of them. He remembered watching Anakin Skywalker stride purposefully through the halls of the Temple, a lightsaber in hand as he slaughtered the Temple Guards, the younglings, the old Masters, anyone that stood before him. At the time, the Inquisitor stood in defense of the Temple, in a defensive wall with his brothers and sisters. He watched them fall, he watched them die, and he ran.
He was found, of course. Not killed but captured, along with several others who were blessed by the cruel mercy of the Sith. He was locked away and he was forced to know pain and darkness, and in time, fear was all he knew. Fear of his Masters kept him safe, kept him strong, kept the Dark Side returning to him to feed on him and turn his fear to hatred and rage. The Jedi were fools, ignorant of the power that came from the Dark Side, blind to the truth the Sith provided, and for their short-sightedness, they had died.
He wasn't sure if fear ran rampant within the Sith as it did within him and his brothers and sisters of the Inquisitorious. He wasn't certain if fear enslaved him even as it empowered him, if fear put a limit on the powers the Dark Side promised him, if a lack of fear is what made the Sith so powerful. But even if that was it, even if fear was a chain that bound him, the Inquisitor could not free himself, would not free himself. This was the truth he knew, and without his fear, the Inquisitor didn't know how to bring the Dark Side to him. All his anger and hate was based in fear, and without that fear...he had nothing.
He looked again at the hologram that paced before him and wondered if he was fearless. If he was once fearless before Darth Lumis got his hands upon him. He wasn't sure, and really, he wasn't certain he wanted to know.
"Do you feel it?" Maul finally asked, still restlessly pacing, those feral eyes never leaving the form of the kneeling Inquisitor.
"...feel what, Master?" the Inquisitor asked cautiously, and he was rewarded with a savage snarl torn from the Zabrak's throat, the lithe creature ceasing his pacing and glaring down upon the man.
"Blind, useless fool!" Maul hissed, looking down at the man with disgust, and the Inquisitor winced. Despite his fear and against all sense of reason and self-preservation, the Pau'an had hoped that he would now be answering to Lord Vader instead of Lord Maul. "Feel the Dark Side, feel it!"
"I feel, Master," the Inquisitor said in his hushed tone, "the pain and suffering of a Jedi that I captured, as is my purpose. As was my mission. You should be pleased."
"You dare presume to tell me how I should view you?!" Maul snapped, stepping closer and looming over the man, no less intimidating than if he had actually been there. "You have failed. The death of a single Jedi will not save you from the storm that has yet to come! No! Worse than that, the fact that you have even touched this Jedi is what caused the storm! Was losing your fingers not enough for you?!"
"Master, he was on the other side of the city when I captured the Jedi, how could he possibly-"
"He knows, Inquisitor..." Maul snapped, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. "He always knows. Can't you feel it?" Maul sighed heavily, his chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths, the expression on his face almost rapturous, and the Inquisitor felt the cold touch of fear grip him in its hands, that familiar chill that seemed so strange, so foreign to him now.
"Master," the Pau'an quietly explained. "I have taken special care to avoid Lord Lumis. I know what he can do, I've felt what he can do!"
"And yet you don't feel it now..." Maul said calmly. "You do not see because you sit on the surface of the Force, and the waters are always calm in the eye of a storm. But beneath..." Maul laughed, deep and sinister and manic, his eyes opening and looking wild and unhinged. "Just below the surface, it is chaos. Riptides and vortexes strong enough to tear a man apart, predators waiting to feast on the blood of those foolish enough to fall in, the pressure strong enough to crush lungs and force you to drown, and in the center of all of this is Darth Lumis," Maul snarled, drawing so close that the Inquisitor fell back just to get away from him. "Kenobi..."
He reached out, his holographic finger passing into the Inquisitor's high forehead, and he couldn't help but shiver from the sudden feel of the Force, dark and bitter and raging, just as Maul had said. The Zebrak smiled, a frightful, sinister thing. "And he is looking for you, Inquisitor, he knows what you have done, and there is nothing that will stop him, nothing that can be put between you and him that he will not destroy in order to get his hands on you..."
"W-what do I do?" the Inquisitor asked, the fear that gripped him failing to transform into hate and anger as it so usually did. Instead, the Dark Side didn't touch it allowed it to sit heavy and raw within him, and despite his best efforts to grab the Dark Side and bend it to his will, command it to fill him with the furious rage of the Sith, the Dark Side simply sat, watching his struggle, ignoring his call, his mind echoing with the distant chant of Master as he looked at his fingerless hand. "M-master..." the Inquisitor whispered, swallowing hard as he looked up at the Zabrak. "Master...what do I do?" A small, cruel smirk touched Maul's lips as he leaned in close to the Inquisitor.
"Kill yourself..." Maul whispered, the Pau'an's yellow eyes widening, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints as the entirety of his attention focused on the Sith apprentice. "There are things in this galaxy worse than death, terrors in the depths of the Force beyond your imagining..." He chuckled, a high pitched, strained thing that sounded close to the brink of madness, like he had gazed into the fathomless abyss and what he had seen there had driven him insane. "One of them is hunting you now. Steel yourself, Inquisitor. Be like the Sith! Banish your fear and end it all."
Before the trembling Inquisitor had a chance to respond, the doors of the conference room slid open and Bo-Katan strode into the room, her body wrapped in a white robe and her wet hair dark red and adhering to the curve of her neck and shoulders, each long, furious stride leaving a splattering of water and wet footprints from her bare feet. Following behind her was Grand Moff Tarkin, the man speaking to her in a harsh, commanding tone that almost hid the fact that he was pleading with the woman. Both Maul and the Inquisitor drew up tall as they entered, glaring as a look of distaste crossed the Grand Moff's face when he saw them, a silent, bitter admission to the awkwardness of the chain of command that existed between them.
"Six hours, Moff Kryze," Tarkin emphasized, the woman glaring at him when she slammed the bundle of her armor she carried under her arm upon the table at the far end of the room. "The medics said six hours for treatment. You barely did one!"
"I told you I didn't need any," she snapped, hissing in irritation as she picked up her helmet and looked at the scrapes and dents upon it. "Tch, look at this, Wilhuff! Look what this brute did to my armor."
"It's nearly as bad as the state you left the medbay in," Tarkin said with a roll of his eyes. "I understand your frustration, my dear, but that's no reason to take it out on the bacta tank. We're going to have to replace the entire room."
"The price for trying to contain me," the Mandalorian casually stated as she began scrubbing the helmet. "You'll cover the cost, won't you, Wilhuff?"
"Am I to bear the cost of your destructive habits?" Tarkin scoffed, his arms crossed over his chest. "This is your mess, I will not bear the responsibility for your actions, Moff Kryze, if you think-" The Mandalorian undid the tie of the robe and dropped it to the ground, the nearly naked Mandalorian clad in only in her undergarments and the three men in the room all leaned over to look at her as she stepped into her tight, black flight suit. "O-on reflection," Tarkin said as he cleared his throat, "I believe the damages may be covered under the Empire's natural disaster policy...we may be able to write you off as a force of nature..."
"And don't you forget it, dear..." she said, drawing her fingers along the man's clenched jaw, a smirk on her lips as she fastened the flight suit and sat in the chair to tend to her armor. When the Grand Moff moved to stand beside her, his hands on the table as the woman cleaned the scruffs off the breast plate, the Inquisitor bid farewell to Maul with a respectful bow and cut the com on the Sith apprentice just as the man began to maniacally laugh, and he turned to leave the room to seek meditation elsewhere. He was out of place among the Moffs, not part of the Imperial command, but resting just outside it, which led to confusion and distrust among the ranks, and he had a lot to think about in any case. It was best to leave them be.
"Not so fast," Tarkin called, his sharp accent terse and commanding, the man not even looking at the Inquisitor when he spoke to him. "We have business to discuss, Inquisitor. Please, have a seat." The Inquisitor drew up, his features impassive as he slowly walked around to the other side of the table, ran his hands over the backs of the chairs, and refused to sit. He would listen to the Moff, of course, but obeying him was another matter entirely. If Tarkin took offense at the obvious show of defiance, he didn't show it.
"We have begun questioning the Jedi, but so far, our methods have proven ineffective," Tarkin reported. "He truly does have the resistance of a Jedi of old, so we are transferring him to Mustafar for...special attention." Tarkin stood up straighter, his hands clasped behind his back. "In the meantime, I shall leave him to your expertise. Perhaps you can break him before we even arrive."
"I shall do what I can, Governor," the Inquisitor said softly. "A Jedi still feels pain, and given enough, even he will tell us anything we need to know just to make it stop."
"Very good. You will see yourself to the Sovereign immediately," Tarkin ordered. "We leave with all due haste. I don't want to give Kenobi the opportunity to regroup and attempt a rescue."
"What, you think Obi-Wan is going to rescue this Jedi filth?" Bo-Katan scoffed, standing as she strapped armor on her leg. "Don't be absurd, he wouldn't put himself in the line of fire for a Jedi of all things."
"You don't think so?" Tarkin asked, the hard tone in his voice indicating that he didn't believe such at all. "Kenobi has a long history of rushing to the aid of his allies, even in the face of impossible odds. Now is no different."
"Sure," Bo-Katan said with a roll of her eyes. "Maybe Obi-Wan would do that, but that thing is not Obi–Wan. Not anymore."
"He is linked to these rebels, Moff Kryze," the Inquisitor hissed. "He said as much to me the last time he came for them."
"Are you talking about your failure on that asteroid?" the Mandalorian snapped, a cruel smile coming to her face when the Inquisitor's jaw clenched, his fingerless hand flexing with irritation. "Coming to rescue his toys and beating up the bully that took them from him on some barren rock is very different from infiltrating a Star Destroyer on high alert for some castoff of the Jedi Order." She held her hands up when the Inquisitor made to argue. "Now, I confess that is something Obi-Wan would have done. Obi-Wan had friends and allies, people he loved that he would do anything to protect." She slammed her hand on the table, her green eyes bright and angry as she met the Inquisitor's gaze. "Obi-Wan died with my sister and their child. That...thing that walks in his skin is a soulless creature of death and destruction, and nothing more."
"By his own admission, he is linked to these rebels!" the Inquisitor growled, his voice raised in his frustration, and he was answered with a short, derisive bark of laughter.
"Oh, I've no doubt he is," Bo-Katan drawled. "Obi-Wan always did like his toys. But that's the thing, isn't it? They are objects, things to be used and discarded. He won't risk his life for a toy when he can just as easily get another one."
"You are underestimating him, Moff," the Inquisitor firmly stated, and the Mandalorian shot him a glare vicious enough to send a weaker man running.
"Am I," she said evenly, cold and impassive, the calm of a predator ready to attack. "Last night, while you were too afraid to face him again, I fought him on top of the Senate building! I was there when he burned Ord Mantell, I knew who he was and I saw what he had become! He has no friends, no family, no allies, no people, and when my usefulness was over, when he no longer had the need of the Mandalorians, he threw me away like I was nothing! Me! The sister of the woman he loved!" She glared at the stunned Pau'an, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath, and she had to look away from the man in an attempt to calm her racing heart. "He died with Satine," she whispered. "His soul is with her. Sixteen years since the end of the war, he has been alone. Why should that change now..."
"Your stance has been noted, Bo-Katan," Tarkin said quietly. "As always, Inquisitor, we shall prepare for the worst case scenario. The Sovereign will have four Star Destroyer escorts to take her to Mustafar. Bo-Katan, you will accompany me-"
"I will not," the woman interrupted, and the Grand Moff drew back, a perturbed look on his face. She met his irritated gaze with her own annoyance. "Wilhuff, we are lucky Kenobi retreated when he did, or we would have had a real problem on our hands. My people follow the rule of the strong, and he defeated me. Looking weak next to him would have seen millions of Mandalorians flocking to serve under that fancy new banner of his, which, by the way, isn't helping things." She furiously picked up the chest piece of her armor and began strapping it to her. "The symbol of the Mandalorian Crusaders is integrated in its design, and for those of you ignorant of my culture, my people worship the Crusaders." She scoffed. "So much that my palace is covered in art depicting them."
"A powerful message, then," Tarkin said, his hand to his chin as he thought. "No doubt a carefully calculated choice. Tell me, why don't we have a problem on Mandalore?"
"Because he ran," the woman sneered in disgust. "Like some coward." She spit on the ground as if to rid her mouth of a vile taste, and Tarkin sighed and shook his head in resignation. Yet another distasteful mess to clean up, courtesy of Bo-Katan Kryze. "Mando'ade vaabir nayc viinir. Mando'ade cuyir nayc hut'uun. A man who runs from battle is not worth following. A man like that cannot be Mand'alor."
"Do all see it that way?" the Inquisitor asked. "Or will a faction of your people focus instead on your defeat at his hands?"
"That is the question, Inquisitor, thank you," she said, an I-told-you-so look on her face as she gazed at the Grand Moff. "That is why I am returning to Mandalore. To be certain that they understand what happened."
"Admiral Thrawn suggested that I keep you close, Bo-Katan," Tarkin said, his tone sharper than usual, the woman rolling her eyes like this was a conversation they had many times before, one that she always won. "He believes Kenobi will come for you."
"All the more reason for me to be away," she said in a bored voice. "If he's following me, he won't be attacking your ships. Besides," she said with a shrug, "I heard you managed to severely damage his ship. He won't be going anywhere for a while."
"There are other ships in the galaxy, and Kenobi has a nasty habit of stealing ships."
"Fine," she said with a roll of her eyes. "If you're so worried, after I make certain Mandalore is secured, I'll go after him." She was undeterred by the look Tarkin gave her. "Wilhuff, we were evenly matched until the end! My people have been fighting against people with the Force for thousands of years. If I'm not alone, I will win the next time we meet."
"It's too big of a risk," Tarkin said as he shook his head and he froze when she laid a hand on the man's gaunt cheek.
"I'll bring my second with me. Boba Fett's father was one of the finest Jedi killers Mandalore ever produced, and he taught his son a great deal. We know how to combat the Force, and we will. You just have to trust me." Tarkin sighed and shook his head.
"Clearly I cannot stop you," he said bitterly. "A force of nature indeed." Tarkin sighed heavily, his hands upon the table. "Very well. Do not hesitate to call for help if you are in need of it."
"I won't, thank you." She flashed the men a cunning smile as she sauntered away. "Good luck with the Jedi, boys! I'll see you after I kill the Shadow King." She scoffed softly as she turned away from them. "Ne'tra'alor, meg a nuhun..."
With a heavy sigh, Tarkin dropped into one of the chairs, his hand to his forehead as he wearily closed his eyes. "Begin on the Jedi as soon as you arrive on the Sovereign," Tarkin quietly commanded. "I expect your best work. I'm in need of news that doesn't vex me."
Everything was a hazy blur. Everything. He couldn't remember, didn't try to remember, didn't want to remember what had happened, what he was subject to, what he endured. The harder he tried to think about it, the more thick his thoughts became, the slower they moved through his mind, the more his consciousness threatened to slip away from him again. The Force, once a strong pulse within him, an unobstructed river that flowed clear and pure through his being, was a mere trickle, a thing his drug-addled brain wouldn't have noticed had its absence not been so profound. There was a way, a technique the Jedi used to purge their systems of poisons and toxins, a thing his Master had taught him long ago. He had never perfected it, but if he could...if he could just...
His chin fell to his chest, the man groaning deeply, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to keep his eyes open, his slack jaw hanging partially open as his chest slicked with drool. He couldn't remember how it was done, couldn't remember anything, and the more he tried to grasp at the Force for aid, the deeper the void felt, the more profound the emptiness, and before long, the pain of it all made him turn his gaze away from the Force, made him reluctant and hesitant to touch it, just as he had been so many years ago before he met Hera. Just as he had been after Order 66.
He could hear a muffled, distant sound, though he couldn't tell what it was, could hear voices, barely audible, could see the movement of shadows through bleary eyes he could barely keep open. He was...disconnected, and instead of attempting to make sense of the mess around him, Kanan dove into himself, wrapped himself in the drug-induced haze of his mind, felt the aching stiffness of his joints and muscles, was made keenly aware of how dry his mouth was, how thick his tongue felt. He shifted slightly in an attempt to ease the strained ache of his shoulders, only to feel cold, sharp metal biting into his wrists, his arms held fast at his sides by thick, powerful restraints. Which he quietly found amusing. There was no need to restrain him.
Even if they released him, he doubted he could go anywhere, not with how abused his body felt and how hazy his mind was. He didn't think he was capable of more than just laying on the ground and riding out the effects of the drugs like some degenerate spice addict. In all his years of drinking to forget, of waking up staring at the ceiling of some filthy tavern, of being so drunk he couldn't stand, couldn't speak, couldn't remember, he had never felt so helpless as he did now.
Kanan was jolted into awareness when a rough hand grabbed his chin, the feel of the bare fingers on his skin burning and painful, and while his senses may have been dulled far past the point of absurdity, it seemed his sensitivity to pain had been increased tenfold, his body compensating for the loss of his senses by greatly enhancing the one still remaining to him. His dilated, hazy eyes flew open, and he struggled to focus on the pale, sinister figure of the Grand Inquisitor, the man's brow furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed in a thin line, his unnatural yellow eyes slowly raking over him. The gravity of the situation didn't seem to register to Kanan as his gaze fell away from his next torturer, and slowly, slowly his memories of the past few hours came back to him.
Questions, so many questions, none of which he answered, which was followed by pain. Interrogation droids and needles and electricity, Imperial soldiers and hard punches and cruel tools, Tarkin and that cold, merciless stare as he watched the Jedi scream in anguish. Still, he answered no questions, held fast and strong when it came to the family he loved, the student he protected, the warrior he fought beside, the artist he admired, the grumpy rust bucket he trusted, the Sith he respected, the pilot he adored. There were other questions as well, questions he couldn't answer even if he wanted to, questions about a greater rebellion, about the agent known as Fulcrum, about so many other things he had never heard of. He kept his silence, first out of love, and then because the drugs had rendered him incapable of speech at all.
There was pain, more than he ever thought possible, and when he thought it couldn't get worse, the needle was slipped inside his vein and the syringe filled his blood with a drug that set his nerves on fire, that made even the slightest touch feel as though his skin was slowly being peeled off his body, the harder touches even worse than that. There were no questions then. Only screaming. Only torture. Only pain. Only involuntary sobs and the nagging thought that the pain was killing him, the feeling that he was dying, the hope that he would soon be dead, and still it never ended. This pain served no purpose. This was pain inflicted just to make him hurt.
There were more drugs after that. Drugs that were said to make him tell the truth, drugs to muddle his mind enough to repress his ability to feel the Force, drugs to confuse his senses, drugs to make him yearning and desperate, so many drugs, all rushing through his blood to different effects, all made to alter his mind, and with so much at work, the drugs' intent was lost, the sinister cocktail overloading his nervous system and shutting the Jedi down completely, the monitors built into his restraints beeping incessantly as his vital signs plummeted, interrogation droids exchanged for medical droids as the Imperial torturers scrambled to save this important prisoner.
And still Kanan did not speak.
"It seems as though the drugs were too strong..." the Inquisitor muttered, forcing the Jedi's head up and taking in the distant, hazy eyes black from dilated pupils, his slack, vacant expression, the line of saliva that ran from the corner of his mouth down his chin. "Or they were simply improperly administered..." He slammed the Jedi's head back against the vertical table he was restrained to, the man groaning softly in pain from the impact. "No wonder they were unsuccessful in getting anything out of you, you're so lost you can barely speak..." The Pau'an held his hand out toward the Jedi, a sinister smile on his face that went unnoticed by the unsuspecting, unaware Kanan. "But I will be successful...I don't need you to speak to learn everything I need, and a mind that has been reduced to slush such as yours has no ability to resist, no matter how strong your will may be..."
Kanan's eyes flew open when he felt the Force, dark and cold and twisted, press into his mind, a savage grip that sunk claws deep within his being. He knew this feeling, had felt it many, many times before, though not with a hand so large, so clumsy as this, but with long, gentle, coaxing fingers. With snaking tendrils of darkness that wormed and slithered deep into the heart of him, the frigid touch soothing and seductive, a lover's caress that left him burning and wanting in its wake, left him craving more, left him begging for domination and chains in his unconditional surrender. And after touching everything, after lathering every corner of his mind with ice, it would leave, his mind touched but not disturbed, observed but not altered, and when the chill had left, when the desire had faded, that sinister, familiar hand would do it again. Over and over, easing him into the feel of intrusion, soothing away the raw panic of violation, teaching him focus in the most intimate of tortures.
He remembered it now. His mind remembered, knew instinctively what to do, and when the Force opened his mind, it had unstopped the blockage of his own connection, the effects of the drugs on his mind washing away in the torrent of the Force that flowed within him and Kanan found himself again. The hand within him was brutish and rough, a hard, savage pounding next to the gentle caresses he was used to, a rape, not a seduction, and as he felt the claws raking at the edge of his mind, Kanan couldn't help the sly, knowing grin that spread across his face. He was used to the touch of a Master. This pale imitation had no business within him.
Pain rushed through the Inquisitor, sudden and intense as his grasp on the Jedi's mind suddenly ran hot, searing the icy touch from within him and sending burning waves back into him, thawing the ice of the Dark Side and leaving him scorched. With a shuddering gasp of shock, the Inquisitor quickly withdrew, only to find himself stuck, linked together with the Jedi for a fleeting moment when Kanan's mental defenses slammed around him, trapping the Inquisitor's grasp within him.
For a moment, they saw the same thing. Early childhood in the Temple on Coruscant, lightsaber training with Master Yoda, running through the crystal caves of Ilum in search of the stone that called to them. The panic of Order 66. The darkness that fell when the Jedi died. And after that, all the Inquisitor could see was the cold, hard, unyielding face of the imprisoned Jedi, their linked experience giving him understanding where there had been none, while the Inquisitor gained nothing he didn't already know. He pulled back as hard as he was able, and stumbled backwards when the connection was severed, his eyes wild and furious as his fear immediately converted to fury.
"Did you really think you could break me?" Kanan asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the Inquisitor.
"Your resistance is impressive, Jedi, but pain can break anyone," the Pau'an snarled, his hand extended once again as he commanded the Force to bring pain racing through the imprisoned man. The Jedi tensed, his teeth clenched tightly together and his eyes narrowed in focus as he felt the clawing against him, sharp, thick, unrefined talons trying to dig their way inside, filling him with pain, but the walls of his defenses remained unscratched under the assault. Clawing became hard, relentless pounding, his head filling with pain as the uncompromising force slammed against him, but Kanan would not yield. Whatever calm the Inquisitor was feeling vanished in an instant, and with a push of the Force, he slammed Kanan hard against the restraining table.
"I sense you getting more and more frustrated," the Jedi drawled, a smirk on his face despite the pain. "Give up. You won't get anything out of me."
"Anyone can break!" the Inquisitor hissed, the hubris of the Jedi only serving to fuel his anger. "Given time, you will succumb, I will break you!"
"No, you won't," Kanan said strongly, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon his enemy. "I may not be much, but I was trained to resist mind probing by Obi-Wan Kenobi himself." Kanan scoffed as he watched those yellow eyes widen with the unmistakable look of fear. "Who the hell are you next to him?"
"You would be wise to give me what I want, Jedi," the Inquisitor quietly warned. "Where we're taking you, your interrogators will be far less kind than I am." He drew closer to the Jedi, gazing straight into those bold teal eyes. "Sith Lords..." he hissed, a small smirk of satisfaction on his lips when he saw Kanan's eyes widen slightly. "My cruel Masters, strong in the Force, unchallenged in their power, ones who care nothing for you like Lord Lumis does..."
"Like how Lumis cares nothing for you?" Kanan asked, his gaze drifting to the Inquisitor's fingerless hand, the Pau'an hissing in fury. "My friends won't come for me," Kanan said softly, a smile on his face despite the direness of the situation. "At least, I hope they won't. They're smart enough not to. But Kenobi..." The Jedi whistled as he shook his head in mock dismay. "Kenobi will. Kenobi doesn't have an ounce of sense in that head of his. He's all raw emotion and instinct, and he will come for me."
"For a Jedi, you put a great deal of faith in a Lord of the Sith!"
"For a servant of the Dark Side, you have a shocking lack of awareness about what it means to stand in opposition to a Sith Master." Kanan took a deep breath and allowed his body to relax, lowering his rapidly beating heart as he tried to distance himself from the fears he felt, knowing full well the creature before him could sense them and use them against him if his guard slipped for even a moment. "You may torture me, Inquisitor. You may hurt me, you my break my body, but you will never break my mind." He chuckled softly, his eyes closing as a faint smile played on his lips. "You may even kill me. I was ready to die...I have been ready to die for a long time now. But you...regardless of what happens to me, your fate is sealed. Kenobi is coming, and he's coming for you, and there isn't anything in that galaxy that can protect you from him."
"We shall see what my Masters have to say about that!" the Inquisitor snarled as he grasped the obstinate Jedi's bearded chin. "A fate worse than death awaits you, Jedi. My Masters will take everything you are and tear it from you. They will shape you in the image that they wish, and when Lumis does come..." The Inquisitor laughed, deep and cold and hollow, enough to send a shiver up Kanan's spine. "Perhaps they will send you against him. Just another broken Jedi. Just another slave to the Dark Side."
"That's never going to happen," Kanan whispered, his resolve strengthening as he met those yellow eyes. "I'm not weak like you were, fallen Jedi."
"No?" the Inquisitor asked, the cold chill returned to his steady, even voice as his hand waved before him, activating the arms at the sides of the restraining table, their long, sharp needle points pointed at Kanan's bare chest. "Let's test your strength then, shall we?"
The device activated, and purple lightning shot from the conductors, striking the Jedi in the chest and running rampant through his body, the Inquisitor casually leaning against the wall and observing Kanan as he screamed, the tortured cries echoing far throughout the ship. He raised his fingerless hand, the palm flexing as he moved the muscles that would once have wiggled his fingers, and the Inquisitor was left in the room to contemplate his loss to the litany of the Jedi's agony and couldn't help but wonder the cost of tearing such anguish out of Darth Lumis' Jedi student.