CHAPTER 19

Black Thunder
Part II

"No victory ever comes without a cost."

Ordo Eris, 14 BBY

Haxion Brood Lair

"And who are you?" the voice of Cal Kestis came through the speaker inside Tormo's private lounge overlooking the arena. Effa could only watch with slight interest, drowning herself in the boss' overly extravagant announcing.

"Who am I?" Tormo asked, his voice projected into the arena while the better's cheered from their observation areas. "Sorc Tormo baby! I'm the boss of this operation! You have Greezy four-arms to thank for this!"

"I will!" Cal replied, and Effa spotted the woman beside him, not a part of Tormo's description. "As soon as we get out of here!"

Three still had his eyes on her, and Effa only winked his way every now and then, just to get him to shake his head and move his attention elsewhere. Truthfully, her patience was beginning to run thin with Tormo, who had taken most of her time running in circles with their negotiations, when she knew it was only a matter of time until she took the Jedi for herself. Part of her preferred the ladder…since it would result in her pleasure of killing the man in the most creative way she could think of.

"Ma'am," Not-Commander asked, to which she backed up and leaned her ear in. "How are we supposed to get the Jedi if he dies in there? And what about the pale one? She kind of looks like a Jedi."

Effa sighed while Tormo continued his fanfare. "That, my sweet friend, is a nightsister," she explained, cupping the side of his helmet in her grip. "And don't you worry about our little Jedi," she patted him on the shoulder, to which he flinched. "I'm sure someone out there will be coming to the rescue."

Commander cleared his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, ma'am, but who would that be?"

Effa placed her hands on her hips. "How many Jedi did our masked asthma-attack say he had?"

"Three…"

"And how many do you see out there?"

Not Commander looked over her shoulder, before facing her again. "One and a half."

"One, dipshit," she bopped him on the head like a guilty child. "Which means there are two more…but of course this dumbass doesn't know he really only has one Jedi."

"I don't uh…catch your meaning…ma'am," Commander noted.

All she gave them was a devious smile that would freeze even the most immune to fear in their tracks and turned back to Tormo.

"…maybe someone get him his toy?" he mocked, giving the signal for Cal's hilt to be returned to him from the stands. Feeling proud of himself, he adjusted his trench coat only to have his smile wiped from his face when his eyes fell upon Effa, standing eerily still before him.

"Tormo, baby, if the Jedi dies…I won't be able to pay you," she explained, her brow arched. "And the Empire…wants him rather badly."

Tormo tried to look sure of himself, but Effa's sinister behavior was getting to him. "Well, Third Sister, you see…"

She held her finger up to his lips. "Well, Tormo, you see if we can't come to an agreement…I'll have to talk to my boss…and when he knows you won't give us the Jedi…" she shrugged, letting him fill in the rest. "Also with the fact that you're holding two fugitives the Empire is very interested in…he may not like what I have to say about you."

"That'd better not be a threat, honey tits," Three warned, his arms crossed, and other bounty hunters situated around the room shifted, preparing to move. Effa and her troopers were outnumbered at least 4 to 1 in here, and she never liked overwhelming odds.

She cocked her head and smirked, backing away. "Not a threat," she assured, tapping a control swiftly and quietly on her wrist, fast enough for no one to notice. "Just…making sure everyone is aware of the stakes."

Everyone settled back in as she took her position back with her troopers, and Tormo smiled. "Illustrious Sister, I assure you…everyone will get what they want today."


This wasn't the first time Merrin had seen an arena. The dathomiri nightbrothers used them for sport and rites of passages, and sometimes for even more archaic purposes. She herself was never one for watching people beat each other to death over pride, but a part of her saw the entertainment value, certainly.

This was the first time she had been in one.

It felt as if the crowd's roars themselves were threatening to crush her beneath its bellow, and the area felt much vaster than it probably was. What these pirates had in store for her was really beyond her knowledge…but she could guess. The stench of previous combatants was enough, barely cleaned from the last bout…smells of rotted and charred flesh, as well as uncleaned feces.

Cal's useless hilt fell into his hand from above, tossed from an overlook with the intention of his use, and he only looked at it with regret. He flipped the on switch, just on the off chance that it was still useable, but to no avail.

"I'm sorry, Cal," Merrin gripped his shoulder, and he only sighed, clipping it to his belt. "But it looks like we'll have to find alternative ways to protect ourselves."

"Yeah," Cal grimaced. "Trust only the Force, right?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"Thing my master used to say," he explained, and two central platforms raised, revealing small animals and large bugs he had encountered before. "We'll just have to make do."

Merrin smirked. "Right behind you."

Cal centered himself and looked back up to the observation tower. "You want a show? We'll give you a show!"

The nightsister narrowed her eyes. "I do not know what a…show is."

Cal groaned in embarrassment.


Trilla growled in annoyance as she gripped the piping above, vaulting herself up the long maintenance shaft. Looking down, there was about a hundred-foot drop to their previous level, but the increased height wasn't what was bothering her. Usually in a structure full of living beings, she could hear various hums of ailments, and now just the presence of life force. It must've slipped past her sight during her tumultuous time finding herself again, but…

That normal chorus had been silenced.

Maybe she had just become better at focusing it, but even when she was focused, she could still hear something. Even as the Second Sister, every wound had been gagged, and its annoyance had grown over time, but it was still there. The nightsister's mild but certainly present cut on her forehead had emitted nothing but silence…which worried her.

Just focus on getting your weapon back. One thing at a time.

Not to mention the fact that Effa was here…and certainly not alone.

Grunting as she reached the next grip, using the Force to replenish her strained arms, she spoke up to Xur, who was making his own climb above. "Do you reckon the Empire knows about me?"

Xur didn't answer right away, sighing as he took a break. "I don't know. If I had to bet, I'd say yes."

Trilla snorted. "Such faith you have."

"Just being realistic, hun," he continued his climb. "You say the Emperor named you? Yeah, they definitely know…or he does, at least. Whether or not he's told them is really up in the air."

"You fooled everyone," she reminded him. "You fooled me, and I could've smelled you anywhere."

"Pfft. Is that right? Is that why you never found me even when I wasn't posing?"

Trilla shut her eyes, placating her annoyance. "Would you please save your sarcasm for a later time?"

Xur reached the end of his room, not finding another hand hold above. Looking to the parallel wall, he jumped to the other side and grabbed ahold, kicking up loose dirt to fall down the shaft.

"If you say so," he grunted, recommencing his climb. "I had a lot of toys to keep me hidden, and not all of them were strictly speaking tested or safe."

Trilla cocked her head in thought, reaching his same position and preparing herself to make the leap. "Well…I guess that would explain a lot. You still never told me why you did it."

Xur stayed silent as he focused on the climb, and Trilla couldn't see more than a few decades of feet left to climb. That question had been ailing her much more than she would admit to him…simply because she knew it wasn't because he knew about her. Trilla liked to believe it was, and perhaps it would be better for her solace for that to remain, but ignorance wouldn't do her any good in the long run.

"After I killed Kaidan, I…" he trailed off in between breaths and heaves. "I was angry. Suddenly all those inquisitors I'd killed…it hit me that there were people under those masks, and one of them was my friend. I didn't know why they had turned, or what the Empire had done to them, but all I knew was that I could stop it, and I felt like my life depended on it.

"I was just going to go in, spend a few weeks, gather some intel, then blow the whole thing up. Of course, that all went to shit when I saw your face…"

Trilla grimaced to herself. The duel where she gave him that scar across his back.

"I couldn't just leave anymore. I told myself a million times to just go through with the plan and be done with it…but every time I saw you caught up in that explosion…and I'd never be able to live with that. To kill you, well…would almost be like killing myself in the process. You know, what's the point of victory if no one's around to see it?"

She had no words for him. She just let him continue.

"For a time it was…I don't want to say easy, but it was manageable," he continued. "You really weren't the problem. I could deal with you being a sadist to me…it was just the others part that got to me. I'm sure you remember all the times I grabbed your wrist before you killed someone."

"Not worth the trouble, you said," she recalled. "You were good at your reasoning, that was for sure."

"I felt like part of you knew it was me, deep down…you just didn't want it to be true," he surmised, reaching the top of the shaft and pulling himself up with a heave. "I uh…took advantage of that."

Trilla's eyes paced downwards as she halted her climb in thought. Part of her was sure something hadn't been right, but she wouldn't have gone as far as to say it was him.

"If you were softer, I probably would've acted on it," she admitted, accepting his hand as he pulled her over the side. She never let him go as she reclaimed her footing, pulling him in for a sudden kiss, to which he obliged. It was meaningful, intending to instill her gratitude within him for his sacrifice, as well as her affection. "I'm glad I didn't."

"Yeah, me too," he nodded, squeezing her shoulder as he walked down the horizontal maintenance hall. "You'd be dead."

Trilla scoffed, remaining behind him in the enclosed space. "Oh? So sure, are you?"

"Pretty sure."

She didn't have claustrophobia, but Trilla wasn't a fan of the prospect of sliding through the vermin filled cluster of pipes and structural support. Having a skinny frame helped her slip through, but her height wasn't doing her any favors…looking at Xur, however, she could definitely have it worse. His somewhat girthier build hugged the durasteel enclosed around him, and he really had to make do with the metal pressing against his bones.

Loud music began to funnel into her ears.

"What is that?" she asked, hearing the muffled drums and lyrics barely come through the panel Xur was approaching. "Not exactly a pleasing tune."

The zabrak grunted as he pushed past a tight fit, finally reaching the panel. She could sense a large amount of excitement outside, which at least meant it didn't lead to the cold vacuum of space.

"Are you a…slow-paced kind of music consumer?" he asked.

"I'd prefer to say I enjoy beauty in flow," as she explained, she realized she had not heard a pleasing tune in many years…much less engaged in something she used to love to do as a Padawan.

Something she was never able to share with Xur…something she was always too nervous to present to him. Now, it was something she was too nervous to present herself.

"Ah, I see," Xur merely said, feeling the panel with his gloved hands while Trilla reached the open pocket and knelt beside him. "Ever danced before?"

Trilla blinked once, feeling her head jerk backwards. That was a very interesting and sudden question to be sure, and it took her a moment to actually give him an answer.

"No, not really."

"Me neither," he answered, searching for a hinge, or some way to remove the panel and gain access to the other side. "The Jedi were really a bunch of statues, weren't they?"

Now she was moderately concerned. "What's ailing you? Spill it out, Eon. That's what girlfriends are for."

He smirked. "Girlfriend huh?"

"Xur…"

"Alright, alright," he piped down, dropping his hands from durasteel. "Sometimes I look back at it all and ask myself: Do I really miss anything? I mean, everyone around me was basically a robot…except for you, of course."

Trilla was intrigued by that. "Didn't you call inquisitors robots too? You don't mean to tell me you think-."

"I called them drones," Xur corrected. "Important difference. Robots have a chance at free will, drones do not. Drones do what they're told and don't ask any questions. Robots sometimes do what their told, but in the case of Rava, for instance, they can become individual."

Trilla didn't have anything to refute. In hindsight…she really was just a drone back then, taking her orders and fulfilling them, rinse and repeat. If she had no orders, she remained at home base, waiting for new ones. She grimaced, fighting through the trauma that came with revisiting that time, as well as the glossy-eyed flashbacks that came.

Xur's brow arched as he noticed. "Sorry…I didn't mean to-."

"It's fine," Trilla waved it off, squeezing his shoulder in assurance. "The only way to heal it is to face it."

The zabrak nodded, blowing air through his nose as he moved back to the panel. "Couldn't agree more."

With a heave, he pushed it free, landing in a loud heap and stunning the occupants of the viewing suite they happened to barge into. Of various races, and only some of them armed, they seemed to be mostly gamblers, and Xur nodded in greeting as he stepped out.

"Evening, chaps," he smirked. "How's your winnings so far?"

"Who the fuck are you?" one of them asked. "How'd you…"

"Oh this?" he asked, jerking his thumb back as Trilla rose to her full height beside him. "Well we were just uh…" he scratched his head, unsure why he was really dragging this on. "We uh…"

"We were trapped in the refresher," Trilla explained, grabbing his upper arm and wearing an innocent face. "So we crawled up the ducts to get out. My boyfriend here almost suffocated in there."

None of them knew what to say, and Trilla sensed vague hostility, hands twitching towards blasters. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, noticing the windows were ray shielded. With no weapons of their own, however, it could be tricky. She counted eight total against the two of them, perhaps five armed.

"Doesn't that shaft lead to the cell block?" one of them noticed, and the others were really ready to fight now.

Xur sighed. "Well, shit."

Instinct kicked in, and once Trilla and Xur were in the flow…only half a minute passed before there were eight dead gamblers sprawled out onto the floor.

Trilla heaved breaths of refreshment as she pulled her hair from her eyes, wiping blood from her lips after sustaining one punch to her jaw. That man ended up in the ray shield, his skin charred and burned until he finally died. Xur had more blood on his face than she, but he looked much less exhausted.

She smiled blissfully. She hadn't killed someone in quite some time, and she had forgotten the rush it gave her. "Now we have this suite all to ourselves. Maybe we could-."

"Fuck me," Xur groaned, prompting Trilla to face him, seeing his eyes fixed on the arena through the ray shield. Looking on her own, what she saw eventually resulted in her own hysterical laughter.


Wind roared past Cal's ears as he tumbled through the air, screaming as he did so. "MERRIN!" he cried, echoing through the arena. A cushion of energy stopped his fall before he impacted the rocky surface, but the roar of the charging jotaz gave him no comfort. "Shit, shit, shit!" he protested, rolling under the beast's powerful and certainly lethal swings.

"Just keep moving, Cal!" Merrin's voice echoed as she was immersed in her magic, finishing off the last of the giant bugs that had emerged from the ground. Chants in speech he couldn't understand persisted from her, while he continued to helplessly distract the giant creature fully intent on killing him.

"Oh, trust me, you don't have to say it…" he ducked under another swing. "twice!"

Not having his lightsaber was a serious problem, and while the smaller creatures could be dispatched with force attacks, the jotaz was proving quite immune to his influence. Merrin was having more success, but her mastery of her magik was certainly beyond his comparative mastery of the Force.

The mocking laughter from the crowd wasn't helping his mood either.

The jotaz bellowed and charged, kicking its legs forward while Cal used the force to enhance his speed, managing to almost faze out of the way, only to be clipped in the leg and knocked to the ground.

"Cal!" Merrin shouted in vain.

"I'm alright!" Cal assured, scrambling back to his feet while BD complained about the current situation. "Just hang on, buddy."

Merrin's chants became lower pitched, and with fierce intensity, she managed to lift the jotaz and hurl it across the arena, smacking into the ray shield and burning its hide. It shrieked in pain but was quickly back on its feet with an enraged snarl.

"Uh…nice, but I think we just pissed it off!"

In between chants, she mustered, "What does that even mean?"

Cal groaned as the jotaz charged again. "I'll tell you later!"

As he continued to run in circles with BD barely clinging to him, Merrin upped the ante, delving into her more forbidden craft to defeat a creature of such size and strength.

The intercom sounded. "Why hasn't he used his lightsaber? Jedi! You think you're too good to show it off?!"

The red-haired Jedi sprinted at full speed, his exhaustion becoming apparent. "It's broken!"

"Broken?! Ha!" Tormo joked, and the crowd burst into laughter. "Some Jedi you are!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Cal mumbled, dodging more swings.

He kept it up as best he could, and for a moment, it seemed to be working. Merrin tried trapping it in the ground, only to see it dig itself out, hold it down, only to break free, and there was only one last tactic she could think of. Cal couldn't run around forever.

Bringing her fists together, she pulled at the air molecules around the jotaz's head, depriving it of air for as long as she could. It kept up its attack, but eventually it faltered, slowing down as it began to suffocate. Merrin smirked as she felt she had finally discovered a way to save him…until its frantic eyes looked upon her.

The massive beast went into a full and desperate run straight towards her, and Cal watched in horror as she was forced to drop her motion and quickly summon a barrier, only to see it shatter and its feet plow into her chest. She felt a crack in her ribs as she skidded along the ground, her robes tearing against the abrasive surface as pain came with her scream that followed. Her assailant roared as air returned to its lungs, advancing upon her downed body with its fists raised to crush her body without a second thought.

"MERRIN!" Cal shouted.

With a desperate heave, she conjured a barrier that blocked the first barrage, but her pain was so immense that only one more attack would break it. Cal outstretched both hands and unleashed a howling push, grabbing the attention of the jotaz long enough for Merrin to teleport away, only to land in an exhausted heap a short distance away. In the moment, Cal was backhanded like a stray bug and knocked to the ground, the jotaz ready to crush him.

The wall of the arena blew itself open, an explosive charge detonating that deafened Cal and frightened the jotaz long enough for a green blade to ignite. He saw blaster bolts rip through the creature before the green blade severed its arm and stabbed through its abdomen, ending its life.

"What is this?!" Tormo gasped while the crowd had a similar reaction.

Cal's vision cleared, and he was greeted to the figure of Cere Junda, her green blade ignited and in hand. "Cere?" he asked. "How'd you get here?"

She smirked, holstering her blaster and offering a hand. "Encrypted transmissions. What'd you think?"

Cal took it, rising to his feet. "Thanks," he said, until realizing that Merrin was still lying out cold. "Dammit, Merrin!" he ran through Cere and across the arena, falling to one knee under the guise of the booing crowd as the music was shut down. She was battered, her skin torn where her robes had shredded. Her body trembled, and Cal could sense her pain blistering in the Force. "Merrin…Merrin, can you hear me?"

All she could do was nod, her face stricken with anguish.

"She's hurt," Cere noted, deactivating her blade and taking a knee. "Looks bad."

Doooo.

"It's alright," he eased, his attention still on the nightsister. "We're going to fix you up. BD?"

She waved her hand in denial, revealing the stim he had given her before, and wheezed, "Thank…you," before injecting it into herself, and a pleasurable groan of relief followed.

Cal smiled. "No problem. Just…stay here, okay?"

Cere grasped his shoulder. "Cal, we need to get out of here, now."

"I know," Cal nodded, as if it was obvious. "I had no plans on staying."

"No, you don't get it," Cere urged his attention, but then noticed something wrong with his hilt. "Your master's lightsaber…"

He waved it off. "Too long of a story, and we don't have time. Xur and Trilla-,"

"Trilla?!" Cere gasped. "She's here?"

"Yes, but I have no idea where they are," Cal bit back. "Details. Where's the Mantis? How do we get out of here?"

"Cal, the inquisitors are here," Cere insisted, just as Merrin was managing to rise.

His eyes widened and felt that pit in his stomach return. "Why? For me?"

"I don't know, but they're coming in force," she insisted. "We need to leave, now."


"No, no, no!" Tormo protested. "What is this?! How did she get past our guards?!"

Effa huffed, watching Cere Junda and Cal Kestis help the nightsister to her feet, feeling the frustration of the unforeseen event rise. Her plan had covered all her bases…even the very likely event that Tormo left her out to dry, but not a completely unseen player on the board. To see Cere alive and well ignited a passionate anger within her that she couldn't describe or manage; the one woman who managed to escape the clutches of the Empire, and still have herself to take with her.

Why was she so special?

She grimaced, fighting off the secondary voice. After intensive treatment, and no shortage of medication, her dissociative identity had finally placated itself, but she knew if she let her own mind echo, her consciousness would follow.

The inquisitor engaged her hunter instincts, sharpening her focus and tightening her sadist bravado. Anakin…Darth Vader would not be pleased if she let Cal escape once again, and she'd be damned if she ever let herself fail as horribly as Trilla had.

"What a sad state of affairs, Tormo," she sneered, and the crime boss only bared his teeth through his mask. "It looks like one of us isn't getting what they want."

"Is that so?" he asked, flicking his wrist, and every bounty hunter raised their blaster. "And just who are you referring to?"

Effa sighed, rolling her neck out before trading her smile for a fierce, horrid expression. "Why you, of course."

Snap-hiss.

Blaster bolts ripped through the air as he crimson blades spun around her, the mechanism screaming at full power as she twirled it around herself, reaching out and lifting two of them by the neck before closing her fist, their necks snapping in a sickening crack. Both of her escorts knew what to do, engaging with extreme prejudice as they took cover behind furniture. Effa maintained her defense, batting away and bisecting one fool who charged her, advancing towards Tormo who merely backed up against the corner of his lounge.

Her purge troopers were far superior to the bounty hunters protecting him, and as more of them were gunned down, others decided it may be in their interest to flee, instead of throwing their lives away against an enemy they could never beat. Effa ended the spin as the last one fled, pulling him into a choke hold at her leisure. Slowly closing her fist, she relished in his gasping breaths, turning his body to see the fear in his eyes as he knew his life was about to end. She instilled that helplessness with a tighter grip, pulling him towards her and impaling his chest with her blade.

The smoldering hole festered in his chest as he flopped onto the floor, Effa keeping her blade ignited as she approached Tormo, her two troopers at each side.

Tormo shivered. "Sister…th-there's no need for this…I can just…disappear."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," she growled, her upper lip twitching as she watched Cere and Cal approach the hole she had created, only to see them be halted by Imperial reinforcements that rained down from the stands, pouring into the arena. "You tried to barter traitors to the Empire. We do not negotiate for those."

He looked through the window as Effa directed him to. Cal and Cere backed off, guarding the nightsister in the center of the arena as purge troopers and three inquisitors surrounded them, leaving behind nothing but dead audience in their wake.

"Do you see this?" she pushed him up against the window frame, his helmet almost grazing the ray shield. "This is the price of treason, Tormo, and know in your dying moments that you dared to defy us…and you lost."

He swallowed. "Azulia…"

"DO NOT. CALL ME. THAT!" she shouted, igniting her blade straight through his head, and pushing his limp body to the floor.

Only one could ever use her name again.

Infuriated, she growled. "Get down there and bring me those fucking Jedi."

"Yes ma'am," Commander confirmed, and left her alone with the other.

Effa couldn't place why she had suddenly snapped, but she could only deactivate her blade and hold her head steady, trying to refocus her mind. She hadn't heard her real name spoken to her since…since…

Trilla.

The door opened as her purge troopers reached it, "Second Sister…!"

Effa's eyes widened.


Cal's back hit Cere's as they ran out of room, the sounds of clicking blasters deafening as plenty of purge troopers to deal with them enclosed…not to mention three inquisitors. Merrin was hunched over, holding herself up as the stim continuously healed her, staring daggers into the Imperials that threatened each of their lives.

Oooo. Oooooooo.

"Just follow my lead, BD," he insisted, trying to instill false confidence in his droid companion, when even he himself had none. Even with a lightsaber…this was far too much for them to handle.

"Cal Kestis and Cere Junda," the masked female enunciated, her blade ignited. "You've crawled out of hiding…at last."

Cal grimaced. "Well…got any bright ideas?"

Cere didn't look too thrilled, but not entirely surprised by the turn of events either. Reaching into her back pouch, she revealed a durasteel hilt and handed it to Cal. "This'll have to do for now. Take it."

He looked upon it with bewilderment, but took it with haste as their enemies closed in. Instantly he was hit with intense images of the past via his psychometry, but learning from the last time, he forced them away…but not fast enough to witness the original owner of the blade in his hand.

"This was…" he trailed off, igniting the blade and revealing its brilliant yellow blaze, feeling the memories of a once benevolent guardian of the Republic. He felt no words come next, only action, and he held that blade with honor and pride, ready to fight until the bitter end against the forces that had ruined that guardian. Now, there wasn't just survival…there was justice.

"Yes," Cere nodded, holding her blade forward as the three inquisitors approached, and Merrin closed her fists into a fighting stance.

"Surrender now, and we may spare the nightsister," the same inquisitor offered. "She looks to be in pain…"

"I'll show you pain," Merrin growled. "Imperial skank."

"Go to hell," Cere responded with the same tenacity. "I'll send you all there myself."

Beep! Preeeeeeet!

Cal smirked at BD's intense response, pointing the golden blade as the Imperials stood firm. "What's the matter? You've got the numbers. Let's go!"

They didn't move, and he chuckled to himself. "Oh…you need me alive," he mocked, and then shrugged. "Well that's too bad for you, I guess."

Every purge trooper shifted, tightening their aim, and the three of them backed up again, out of room. All three inquisitors had their blades drawn, and Cal quieted his mind, listening for that first spark of conflict to set the arena ablaze.

It was but a shift of a toe, and the rolling of dust.


Effa's two purge troopers dropped dead as their severed heads cracked against the floor, Trilla's terrifying crimson blade cutting through the air like a reaper's scythe. Against her better judgment, Effa did not advance, instead waited, looking upon the face of the woman she had known since she was a child.

"Trilla," she greeted, managing to smile, despite the raging and unexpected rising swell of emotions within her. "You made it."

"Effa," she merely replied, not stowing her blade.

Her counterpart did not have that consuming cape, nor the mask she had always worn, and Effa's memory of what happened after Zeffo was shoddy at best. Not only did Trilla look different, she felt different. There was no probing sinister sneer that guided her expression, nor the intense hatred burning her eyes yellow. Everything about her was…wrong.

She was not the one who was permitted to use her name, and her voice projecting the syllables dug up memories that she hadn't necessarily buried but would prefer not to experience them now. Anger spiked within her, but she needed answers…answers as to why Vader wanted Trilla to be eliminated.

Against the wishes of his master.

"Been through hell?" Effa probed, but she knew Trilla was masterful at the strategy she was currently attempting…and her reaction proved that theory.

"Always."

The hum of her blade persisted, and Effa felt her own fist clench, the longer her eyes looked upon her, the angrier she became. "Tell me something."

Trilla stood, her eyes fixed.

"How could you betray me again?"

She merely snorted, rolling her eyes, and Effa's annoyance bristled. "Wake up from your fairy tale, Azulia. We haven't been allies for years."

"No?" Effa's head cocked. "Live together, fall together, die together," she listed off on her fingers. "You remember what I told you…the day you cracked."

Trilla's grip tightened on her blade. "You're the one who died without me."

The inquisitor's smile exploded until she erupted into laughter in a fit of madness. "Oh…you should've seen your face. I hadn't seen that expression since your drugs wore off and your face was plastered against a durasteel grate."

Now Trilla's anger was blistering along with hers, stirring up the traumatic memories she had only recently tried to hide away, and Effa pressed the issue. "You remember what you asked me…right?"

Trilla growled, her hand shaking.

"You begged…" Effa continued, and then emulated Trilla's voice at the time. "Help me."

She had no time to react, and not even a grace of double vision came in time to stop Trilla from fazing forward and pinning Effa against the control, her free hand wrapped around her neck. The inquisitor gagged as Trilla kept her blade crossed, her expression boiling with hatred as she slowly lowered it, letting the superheated beam burn away at the blonde's shoulder.

As Effa screamed, it was Trilla's turn for mockery. "Trilla, why don't you love me anymore," she recited, gritting her teeth as she pushed her blade further into her shoulder. "Beg! Beg me to stop, because I won't!"

The inquisitor embraced the pain Trilla inflicted upon her, welcoming it as an old friend, and felt her resolve solidify. Using the exact arm that she cut into, Effa ignited her blade and pushed off, allowing them to clash in a cross guard.

"I'm going to kill you, Trilla," Effa declared, her expression fierce and numb to the excruciating pain that ravaged her arm. "Traitor!"

"You won't even land a mark!" she retorted and broke the lock, engaging in masterful Form II cuts in the tight space. Effa guarded and slid her blade off Trilla's more powerful swings, kicking of Trilla's chest and began her devastating use of Form VI Djem So. They were near equals in skill with their respectful mastery of their forms, but Trilla's connection to the Force would be the deciding factor, a fact that came into play during many of their training duels.

Not today…not after what Effa had been through. Not even death fields would stop her from exacting her revenge, no matter how small it may be.

Trilla's footwork was too impressive to grant Effa an opening, and it resulted in her opponent reaching out and planting her back against the console behind. The brunette roared and slashed downwards, Effa rolling out of the way to watch her blade cut into the controls, rendering them useless as the ray shields were shut down. Using the spin mechanism to force it out quickly, Trilla was able to defend Effa's retaliatory swings, but her bout of rage unbalanced her guard enough for Effa to knock her blade aside and expose her arm, to which she marked her skin.

Unfazed by the hit, Trilla reached out with an intense scream, and her hand sparked with an ill purple…before fading away completely.

"What?!" Trilla gasped, barely blocking in time as Effa forced another saber lock.

Effa laughed. "Something wrong, Emperor's Wrath?"

There was a glint in Trilla's eye…a glint of horror…of traumatic realization as her power had failed to conjure.

Something was wrong.

"Without your power…you're not match for me now!" Effa sneered.

Trilla's teeth grit, and the entire room reverberated with Force energy.


"Fire!"

Blue stun rings fired from the blasters of every purge trooper, and Merrin's roar was followed by the green bubble that surrounded and protected them from the first wave. Her chants were coarse, but determined, maintaining the defense despite the condition of her body. The inquisitors slowly advanced, each of them plunging their blade into the energy…pushing it back.

Merrin groaned, falling to one knee as she tried to keep it strong, but the strain was growing exponentially as more blasts persisted. Cere and Cal felt helpless against the onslaught, but held their blades, nonetheless, prepared to live out a final stand.

The ground itself shook as a shockwave erupted from the other side of the arena, knocking nearly a fourth of the troopers off their feet and into the air. Lightning followed, electrocuting and burning anything it touched alive, and Cal spotted a crimson blade cutting down whichever unfortunate soul stood in its way.

Three fireteams of purge troopers killed in the span of a few seconds.

Merrin's shield broke and she collapsed, while Cal and Cere immediately engaged while their enemies were distracted. Pushing the female inquisitor away, Cal took the chance to deflect the stun blasts and advance upon the troopers, utilizing their complacency of their numbers to cut them down without much of a fight, none of them thinking to protect themselves. Cere was just as relentless, her blaster pistol catching them off guard as her hurled saber severed them at the waist, bodies flopping over as groans of death sounded around them.

Whatever was happening behind him, it sounded like armageddon: many final words spoken as bodies hit the floor, the smell of charred flesh already finding its way into his nose, as well as the constant vibration of the ground around him.

Cal was grazed by a stun blast, and he yelled as his elbow went numb, slowing his deflection movements. Resolving with what it was, he pressed the attack, only to be shoved from behind by a powerful force. Tumbling over the ground, he was instantly surrounded, beat down by the butts of rifles as he saw only a blur. Through the chaos he spotted Cere in a similar situation, a massive inquisitor charging her at full speed.

No.

Pooling the kinetic energy of each battering hit upon him, he repulsed it back upon his assailants, sending them flying in each direction, some hitting the ray shield that protected them from the vacuum of space. Cal picked up his own broken body and snapped his fingers, to which BD granted him a stim. Injecting it and dropping the capsule to the ground, he held the yellow blade at the ready as the inquisitor approached him.

"You're weakening, Jedi," she sneered behind her mask. "This doesn't have to be painful…give up."

Cal took to chance to look behind her, spotting that it was in fact Xur Eon that appeared in the arena, bodies and bodies of purge troopers around him as he advanced upon a nigh-shivering inquisitor at the ready.

"I think I'll take my chances," Cal gripped the blade, holding it in his trademark Form III stance.

Xur was having a much easier time across the way as virtually everyone around him had been killed, aside from the lone inquisitor that had defended against his onslaught. It had been some time since he had the chance for some real action, and to unleash all the new powers he had learned from his mother against the Empire was incredibly satisfying. After all the pain he had not only experienced, but also witnessed at their hands, to slaughter their best troops only felt like repaying a debt.

"Eighth Brother," Xur approached, shaking off his escalating anger and aggression. "Sorry to say this one isn't practice."

The skinny, masked alien slowly backed off, holding his blade at the ready. "Nothing can save you, Eon, no matter how hard you fight. You can't beat us all!"

He kept approaching, watching Cere manage to free herself and disperse some of the troops, while facing the Fifth Brother. Cal was engaged with the Seventh Sister, and he did feel it necessary to intervene…but Merrin was out cold in the middle of the arena, with no one available to assist or capture her.

"I'd like to draw this out, but I'm a little short on time," Xur admitted. "So I'm going to make this quick."

Their duel was short, as the Eighth Brother was no match for his strength and didn't seem to know what to expect from him, ending up plastered into the durasteel wall after a violent throw. Whether he was dead or not was not Xur's concern. Running to Merrin, he knelt and checked for a pulse, relieved to say she was still alive, while well was another matter.

He spotted Cal holding his own with a yellow blade…Trilla's blade and felt the necessity for the switch. Breaking into a run and pushing the Seventh Sister off him, he grabbed Cal's shoulder before he could attack again. "Hey, you take care of Merrin. We need to get out of here now."

"What about Cere?" he protested, but they both witnessed her having little trouble dealing with the larger duelist.

"She's fine, go!" he pushed, and Cal did as he was told, tending to Merrin while Xur faced off against the inquisitor rising back to her feet.

"Why won't you die?!" she growled, her grip tight around her hilt.

"Was never any good at it."


Trilla's duel with Effa had taken her through the hall from the observation deck, through Tormo's lobby and into a long, dark corridor that lead to the hangar bay, lined with escape pod hatches. Neither of them had been able to land any meaningful marks, and their respective hatred for each other only grew as the continued mockery of their unfortunate situations continued. At first, she had wished to understand how Effa was still alive, but all of that ended when she dared to revisit her trauma suffered at the hands of the Empire. After those words were uttered, she only wished to see her die by her own hand, once and for all.

The duel hadn't been her concern. Trilla had always been better than Effa, even when they were Jedi, and even more so when they became inquisitors. What frightened her was the fact that her death field technique seemed to be nonexistent. She figured it was only because her hatred was not absolute…but after that spark had been snuffed out, she could not even sense it within her.

Not even the wounds of those men had sung to her. That loss had only fueled her hatred, and in the long corridor, she could feel Effa beginning to waver, her blocks becoming less assured, and her attacks pitiful and easy to counter. Sensing the end at hand, she turned it up.

With her teeth grit and intensifying her power, Trilla slashed across and nearly knocked her blade from her grip as she began to hammer down on Effa's guard. Each overhead swing buckled the inquisitor's legs ever further, until eventually one did knock her hilt from her hand, leaving Effa on her knees while Trilla held her blade to her throat.

"It's over," Trilla declared. "Give up!"

Effa heaved, visibly exhausted and beaten, not contesting Trilla's motion…only gracing her with hate-filled eyes ravaged with jealousy. "Give up? What is wrong with you?" she huffed. "Have you gone soft?"

Despite the inquisitor's increasingly worsening state of corruption, Trilla glimpsed the face of her old friend, the one who had always been there for her when she needed a shoulder. Even…in its obviously perverse way…when they had fallen, Effa had always tried to be at her side, even when she didn't want her to. Their friendship had been the only thing to truly survive the fall of the Jedi, and to kill that, would be to put an end to what she once was.

The past would die forever.

Effa snickered through breaths. "You can't do it…can you? You've gone completely soft."

Trilla growled to herself and lowered her weapon. "There is no power in the ability to take life…true power lies in the strength of will…the strength to resist our worst impulses," she did her best to paraphrase what Xur had preached to her since he had knocked off her mask in the training dojo, and hoped Effa may be able to see it. "Strength you've lost."

She wasn't listening. She was too angry, and it showed on her expression as she seethed. "Why…why do you get what you want?! Why you and not me?!"

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Effa's smile widened as her madness returned, double personality taking back its hold of her. "She doesn't know. She doesn't know," she spoke in third, leaning forward as she whispered to herself. "You should tell her…tell her the truth. Why should she have the one she loves, and you not?"

Trilla shook her head, trying to decipher what she mumbled to herself. "But Effa, Anakin is…"

Paralysis gripped Trilla as a cold breeze in the Force kissed her skin, instilling a stark realization that froze her muscles in place. Terror seized her as her chin trembled, unable to step back as distinct footsteps echoed through the corridor, and the only thing she could do was whimper, hyperventilation infecting her lungs.

Through the darkness behind Effa stepped the theme of all her nightmares, his endless breathing always in the back of her mind as his soulless gaze consumed her own. Everything she had ever suffered…everything that ever horrified her…was by his hand.

Darth Vader halted, and Trilla could not even raise her blade.

"Inquisitor…this charade ends now."


Xur pushed Cal in through the hole that Cere created, the Jedi cradling the limp Merrin in his arms as they dodged incoming fire, more purge troopers funneling from the stands as the two inquisitors still up advanced. Cere was last through, and after firing bolts of lightning to ward them off, he roared, bending metal and closing the entrance shut with the closing of his arms together.

He heaved, deactivating his crimson blade and catching up. "Cere, where are we off to?" he asked.

"This way! The Mantisand Greez are waiting," she waved, taking the lead as Cal followed, BD on his back. "We've got to go before they find us."

"You're sure they haven't already?!" Cal asked, Merrin's head bobbing as he ran.

"Only one way to find out!"

Xur looked over his shoulder for a moment, spotting orange as the inquisitors tried to cut through his patch, and he was only inspired to pick up the pace. Before he was completely lost in his effort to escape, his mind wandered…and quickly realized that Trilla was not with him.

Escaping suddenly didn't matter much to him.

"Keep going! I'll catch up!" he waved off, turning down a corridor, following her ping in the Force, and picking up the pace.

As Cal ran, holding Merrin steady, Cere looked back. "Where's he going?!"

He wasn't surprised nor disappointed. The woman he carried in his arms displayed that importance.

"To get Trilla."


Her muscles would not obey her commands, not matter how hard Trilla tried to back away, the cold sweat that sullied her skin was like ice, holding her in place as Vader approached step by step. Her eyes darted to the escape pod hatches, but nothing could convince her body to give up her fear.

"Your pathetic attempts at freedom have come to an end," he declared, his voice gripping her spine with a fierceness she could not deny. "You are nothing."

Trilla shut her eyes, desperately searching for anything to set her free, but every image in her mind displayed his unmatched power, and how easily he could end her life whenever he wished. This machine before her…he was a deity in her eyes, and all she could do was fall to her knees and watch in fear as he drew his blade.

"Do you see now, Trilla?" Effa breathed as she herself bowed, her fear of him placated by her own sheer madness. "We are never free."

Trilla could not even respond, and only one word was able to form through her mouth…the one she had uttered to him once before.

"Mercy…" she gasped.

Vader's blade ignited, the blood red shivering her body as she opened her eyes, facing the judgment at hand. Through the trembling, and the raising of his saber, she said, "Xur…if you can hear me…avenge me."

Silence followed.

Then a loud boom.

Vader was frozen momentarily, the space around him fazing in and out as the stasis field was maintained, and she heard but one, blood-curdling scream.

"SKYWALKER!"

She was yanked backwards end over end, and harsh footsteps roared past her as blades collided, and she could only witness in shock as Xur Eon crossed sabers with her worst nightmare.

Xur's hatred was palpable, burning the forest of the Force to the ground with each battering-ram swing that he threw at Vader, his screams the volume of capital ship engines at full power. When they finally split off, the space around him was bent like a singularity, the power he emitted warping reality itself.

Vader grunted, shaking off his power and cocking his head to one side. "Xur Eon. At last, you have revealed yourself to me."

"At last you've had the balls to face me yourself!" he retorted, holding his blade forward. "Or do you even have balls?"

Vader growled, its sound a deep rumble and threatening warning to all who stood before him. "Your wit masks your fear, Jedi. It will not save you before me."

"I don't need it to tear you apart!" Xur screamed. "You're going to die! You hear me?! I will be the one to finally put an end to your miserable existence!"

"Your power is no match for mine, and your anger will not earn you victory, but despair," he continued. "Just as it had for her."

"AHHHH!" he screamed, swinging forward while Vader easily deflected his insane Form VII flurry. "I hate you!"

Trilla could not believe her eyes. Whatever anger she had ever felt for anyone…it was nothing compared to this. He was a literal conduit for the Dark Side of the Force, funneling his light into the drowning depths of darkness, emerging a raging menace that was immediately thrown into battle. Effa looked on, entranced just as she was, and Trilla's mind began to piece the words together.

Why should she have the one she loves, and you not?

SKYWALKER!

She nigh collapsed in her state. Everything collided into the solution to a massive web that had been missing pieces since Xur had revealed himself. His close ally's betrayal, his intense and buried hatred for a man she could never identify…and the unquantifiable rage he had built after learning of the indignities she had suffered.

That man he hated was Anakin Skywalker, and he…was Darth Vader.

Her fear faded as the deity in her mind became a man with a face, no longer hidden by the mask he bore. The terrifying breathing became that of a dying man, and not an invincible machine, his god-like steps became broken…pathetic.

Darth Vader was no god. He was but a ruined man who had been the first to break before any of them…and she grit her teeth with that revelation.

Fear became anger…and anger became hate.

Anakin Skywalker had been the architect of all of her pain, a man she once admired…a man Effa still loved. She hated him more than any she had hated before.

Xur was finally batted away with a backhand, shattering his nose in a fit of blood as he landed on his back. He groaned, the bones in his arms screaming for him to stop as Vader's swings felt like starships colliding into his blade. His throat closed, and he was suspended in the air as Vader prepared to close his fist.

"Enough of this!" he growled. "Witness your final death!"

Trilla screamed, enhanced so much by the Force she projected Vader was forced to drop him as Xur covered his ears. Vader staggered from her attack and she leapt after him, her blade igniting and crossing against his.

"You're no god…you're just a broken man like the rest of us!"

He swung with full might, and her blade was severed at the emitter, rendering it useless and her defenseless. In desperation, she searched for his life force and reached out, but like before, she felt absolutely nothing…from anyone.

At her right elbow, his saber cut through bone and severed her forearm clean off.

Xur heard Trilla's horrible scream in pain as she held the stump where her limb once was, and only instinct followed, pulling her into his arms and unleashing a massive torrent of Force lightning, holding the dark lord back as he desperately deflected it with his blade…until it broke through and fried his systems plenty to bring him to one knee. Desperately, Xur heaved himself and Trilla over to one of the escape pod hatches, forcing it open and falling inside. Knowing he only had a precious few moments until Vader's systems rebooted, he set Trilla aside and activated the launch.

They shot through a tube until eventually hitting the stark silence of space, and Xur fell to his rear, crying as his rage dissipated. Despite her wounded state, Trilla managed to get past her receding pain and embrace him with the one full arm she had left, her tears leaking from her own eyes as well.

As his anger faded, his natural ability making it so, he turned to her, holding her severed arm and touching his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. I should've…I should've told you, and now…"

"No," she shook her head. "Don't. I couldn't have known then…now I do. It's over now. We're alive."

He sniffed. "At what cost?"

With her flesh and blood hand, she held his cheek. "The necessary one."

Xur inhaled, letting her words sink in, before opening his eyes once again, reaching for the commlink on his belt.

"Cal…we need a pickup. Follow the beacon," he called in, activating the encrypted signal and dropping the comm.

The response came through. "We read you. We're on our way, just hang on."

He linked his hand with hers, and they never planned to let go again.


Vader rose to his feet, his mechanisms finally functional again from Xur's devastating attack, left only with a missing escape pod and a mumbling, mad inquisitor. The Third Sister maintained her bow, and his coarse breathing finally returned to its normal frequency.

"You failed him," she spoke to herself. "It's time for you to die. No! He wouldn't…he couldn't! He…he…!" her face finally met his downward gaze.

"You have failed me, inquisitor," he judged, but did not ignite his blade. "But your usefulness has not yet reached its end."

She smiled with a deep sigh of relief. "I will forever serve you…I am yours…always."

"Good," he praised. "The holocron…bring it to me."

Rising to her feet in a flash, the Third Sister bowed her head. "It will be yours, or my life is forfeit."

"Indeed," he agreed, and turned with the flap of his cape, leaving the inquisitor to watch him go.

It was time for him to act.


The endgame, ladies and gentlemen…is upon us.

Thank you for being a great audience, and I hope this chapter was to your liking. This was one of immense importance, and I only wish that you have enjoyed yourself as much as I have thus far.

See y'all soon.