INTERLUDE IV

TARGET ZERO

Belsavis, 16 BBY

Imperial Prison

The wall blew apart, the blast tossing bodies, debris and solid duracrete hundreds of feet into the air as the explosion tore through open space, the alarms that already blared silenced by the intense blast. Stormtroopers raised bloodied hands with torn gloves, their fingers slipping through holes before their hands dropped, giving their last breath. Many followed his example, and some weren't even granted the pleasure to die with that knowledge. Some had been vaporized entirely, their skin, bones and armor scattered in various directions as their perception was met with an immediate black oblivion.

What followed was a wave of yells, battle cries and screams as a mob of prison-dressed captives of a plethora of races poured from the hole they had just created, freeing themselves back onto Belsavis' geothermal surface. Those bodies were trampled upon, some having their blasters taken as the mob opened fire upon the survivors of their vicious attack. Numbers won out easily for now, and in only a few moments was the entire Imperial front line wiped out.

Making Captain Fullam's day even worse.

The men under his command had to have been the very last to graduate from the Imperial Academy, scraped from the barrel and shipped to the most remote planet in Imperial space. Belsavis wasn't short on beautiful views and scenery but serving as the Empire's largest prison encampment made it the premiere destination for the worst failures in the Imperial military. If someone didn't cut it, send them to a planet to be forgotten, and where they were more likely to be killed by an inmate than produce a solid career.

Idiots…the lot of them. How does one allow an explosive of that size to be strapped to a maximum-security prison wall?

The worst part was that his superiors wouldn't care about the ineptitude of his constituents, only that it happened, and under his watch. He almost found his chances of survival be more preferable if he merely jumped into the charging mob and let them tear him to pieces.

No. He was going to fix this. Only problem was, he'd already called for help, and so far he had only seen one lone TIE interceptor fly overhead five minutes ago, and two or three gunships three minutes before that. He wasn't sure if the Empire were just laughing at him at this point, but he imagined such a prison break couldn't be left alone, certainly with how badly outnumbered he currently was.

Surely someone felt bad for him.

"Captain…"

Fullam wiped the dirt from his eyes and adjusted his helmet, turning to his stormtrooper second in command crouching in the trench beside him. "What now?"

All he granted him was a jerking of his helmeted head behind him, and Fullam turned, seeing a fully outfitted squad of what looked to be special forces stormtroopers, lead by a woman dressed in black, her face concealed by a terrifying black helmet.

His sigh tore from his lungs, rising to his feet. "Reinforcements? Emperor's glory…I can't express—"

"I care little for your relief at our presence, Captain Fullam," the woman responded, her voice like a mechanical horror as it was projected through the helmet. "Explain to me the current status of your containment."

Fullam blinked, and he figured that was his first mistake, as his hesitation drew on. They certainly looked like special forces, but they were lead by a woman, and he'd been warned about impostors back during his academy days, how they could implant themselves anywhere…impersonate anyone.

Back when he was listed 249th out of 250 students in his class.

"On whose authority do you dare to presume to give me commands?" he pointed, and he could've sworn he caught one of the special forces troops slouching his head in a here we go again fashion. His observation skills weren't good enough for him to pick it out, but the woman merely rolled out her gloved wrist.

"I'm going to ask one last time, Captain Fullam," she said, ignoring the current situation. "Explain to me the current status of your containment."

Something about her voice froze him in place, and he felt sweat drip down his face as he looked over to his fellow stormtroopers, who seemed perfectly content with remaining out of this current affair. Her right hand was inching towards an object on her left hip, and he swallowed as he recognized the familiar weapon of the mystic forces he had heard rumors about.

Then it all made sense.

"If you're here about the Jedi, you've wasted your time. She was spotted killed four days ago just outside the perimeter gate."

The woman let her hand swing back to her right hip, cracking each knuckle as her crimson gaze probed the destroyed wall. "Yes, I have heard that story. I have also heard that the section of this perimeter gate that has been blown to oblivion was where her body was found, and that within a few hours, her corpse disappeared without a trace."

Fullam shrugged. "We confirmed it was dragged off by a beast of some sort."

"The Kintan Crusher or perhaps a swamp lurker," the woman filled in for him. "Native to this section of Belsavis. However, both have been famously known for not taking an interest in the corpses of sentient species, especially the suspected species of our Jedi."

He felt his annoyance bristle as the woman rambled on, and he found himself without any meaningful words. "Perhaps," he said.

She looked up, watching the chaos continue as multiple troopers and prisoners continued to be shot dead. "Clear this area," she directed to her men, and the one to her right nodded in acknowledgement, having the rest of the special forces troops leap across the trench and towards the fight.

"Thank you," he huffed. "I will have my men supp—"

"You will tell your men that they follow my orders from now on," the woman cut him off. "And that they will refer to me as Inquisitor."


Belsavis, 16 BBY

Ancient Vault

The eye was perhaps the most gullible patron in an audience, willing to cling to its first sight, and then retain that perception until no perceptions remained. This fact could hide key clues to various mysteries in plain sight as the obvious was projected, and the less so brought in behind. It was a trick perhaps as old as deception itself, but the key was in its delivery. Absolute deception required studying the subjects one by one, and exposing their preconceptions bare before their eyes.

Prison guardsmen were easy. Have a prisoner escape a supermax prison and have them found dead a few days later. They were never expected to make it far, and to reinforce that belief made it even easier to hook itself into her target. Every guardsman now was convinced that their zabrak Jedi prisoner was dead.

Zahira had never been afraid of death, as there was only the Force anyhow, but there was a sickening feeling when she emulated it. All life was precious to her, even those that were terrifying, and she could never imagine harming anything on the sole basis of fear.

There was much fear in this galaxy, nowadays, and not even she could confidently say she was free of it.

"They've found me," she said, her accented voice that of an inconsistent mix of a hard-Imperial core-ward dialect and a steady stream of a mid-rim native of the Pentastar multi-sector. Spending most of her life on Dantooine, Zahira was a healer in the absolute sense, her powers derived from the alleviation of suffering, and the cleansing of darkness itself. As a Jedi, it had been her duty to protect and nurture those who desperately needed her.

Now, she merely had the time to protect and nurture herself.

"Persistent, the enemy is," said the Force-induced image of Master Yoda, his cane in hand as he regarded Zahira from his distant view on a distant planet. "This dark presence, feel it you must…understand them, observe them."

Zahira closed her eyes from her meditative position, reaching out to the mass chaos that had been created by her distraction…as well as no shortage of egging on to the prisoners. The new presence she felt…they were fierce…dogmatic…and yet…sad. This person existed in a constant state of painful resignation, but most of those thoughts had been dismissed and buried. The darkness reigned supreme from this one figure, corrupting all who they touched…and infecting all who they spoke to with terror. She'd experienced this presence before, an undeniable mark of an ever-present foe.

"An inquisitor," Zahira answered, keeping her eyes shut. "They've come for me."

Yoda emitted a deep grumble as his stare became distant, and his eyes closed. "Flee, you cannot," he replied grimly. "The Force…reveals a future, uncertain. Sense that this hunter possesses a deep connection to you, I do."

Zahira frowned, although not losing herself to the Master Jedi's rather incredulous idea. "If I do not flee, then what must I do, Master?" she asked. "I am only one against what are sure to be many."

Yoda chuckled. "One, you are, yes…but many, you can become," he suggested, pointing his cane. "Deception, not the way of the Jedi…but the aversion of evil…"

"Can save many if wielded properly," Zahira finished for him, already sprouting ideas in her mind. "I remember, Master."

There was somewhat of a sad look on Yoda's face, which made her confidence fall, but Zahira waited before asking why he looked such a way. "Help you, I cannot," he admitted. "But with your teachings, need me, you will not."

She hesitated. "Master…"

"Remember, Padawan…the shroud of the Dark Side clouds all…even those who wield it…" he left her with those final words, before disappearing, and leaving her alone in the vault where she had taken refuge.

She sighed to herself, reserved to the predictability of her old master's behavior. While it was never formal, Yoda had taken a strong liking to her training on Dantooine every time he would visit, and even to the point where they had a special holocomm frequency to privately communicate. Zahira always loved his quirkiness, and they got along rather well, despite Yoda's odd training methods.

It was a shame the Jedi had come to this…hiding in caves and vaults, hoping to never catch the scent of the Empire and its enforcers. While Zahira had never feared them, she truly had no intention of drawing herself out…but it appeared she was long past the point of no return.

All she could do now was get to work.


Belsavis, 16 BBY

Imperial Prison

When the last prisoner finally fell, it was almost a shame, even for one who didn't have much of a craving for a fight as many were led to believe. The only idiots who went out and searched for heads to bash were in fact the ones who had their heads bashed in first…just as soon as the fighting began. Patience for those should be reserved from minimum to absolute zero in the eyes of a competent commander, and yet so many of the stormtroopers around Commander Vogel Brutis had fallen prey to that exact disease.

Wiping off the bodily fluids from his electrohammer, Brutis slung it over his shoulder and left it holstered, stepping over the bodies in his wake as the flames around the quelled prison riot were quenched. His HUD was already mucked up and difficult to see through, and not even the internal clearing systems were working properly…not to mention the blaster shot and knife he took to the hip. His armor had taken the brunt of the damage, and while it had really only pissed him off, it still hurt.

He roughly grasped ahold of a stormtrooper's arm as he passed, towering over the shorter man.

"If any one of your fucking stray shots come near me again, I'll cut out your intestines and hang you with them," he growled.

"Y-Yes sir!" he stammered, just as Brutis shoved him away.

"Useless prick," he grumbled, making his way back to where the rest of the squad was assembled.

Almost on cue, he started hearing bitching. "Who would've thought we'd be resigned to putting down prison riots?"

Brutis spotted two purge units conversing with each other, one who had popped up his helmet to take a swig from his flask. That behavior was absolutely unacceptable, but Brutis never cracked down on it.

Because he did it himself.

"I don't know what she's thinking now," the other kept his tone low, but not low enough for Brutis to miss his complaint. "First its relic hunting, now Belsavis? Everyone knows you can't hide here."

Brutis took his seat on a log. "Are you two done bitching?"

The one with the perked-up helmet slapped it back over his head. "Commander! Sorry sir…" he apologized, to which Brutis could care less. "You want some rum?" he offered his flask, almost to seal the apology.

"Don't like that shit," Brutis shook his head. "It's too sweet."

The other scoffed. "What do you drink? Rancor's Gut?"

"It's going to be your cranial fluids if you don't shut your fucking mouth."

They both stiffened. "Right…o-of course, sir."

Even purge troopers could be scared into pissing their armor. All it took was the right words from the right people, and they revealed they were nothing more than cowards like the rest. Brutis wasn't a talker, and he made sure everyone in his unit knew to keep their opinions to themselves.

Especially around the inquisitor.

As for her, she was pacing around the blasted hole in the prison wall, letting her crimson slit in her helmet scan the destruction, her red blade sheathed for now. Her quiet observation sometimes aggravated her squad, but they'd learned long ago to keep their complaints to a minimum. While the Second Sister had no patience for incompetence, she was willing to suffer mild objections, if they had merit…but they hardly ever did in her eyes. She was certainly smart, Brutis would give her that, but her dogma slowed her down, sometimes making her too narrow-minded.

Not like he cared much at all about that. She did her job, and he did his. Simple.

Once she finally turned away and paced back to where they were assembled, Brutis rose back to his towering full height, his head peaking over all others as her unit acknowledged her presence.

"The Jedi was here," she concluded, her stance straight, yet relaxed. "But there are no tracks where she fled…no residue of her escape, and yet her presence remains."

"Perhaps she used a vehicle," another unit suggested, Commander Archer, the clone in which Brutis was forced to share command with. "Hover speeders don't leave tracks behind."

"They leave fuel residue," the Second Sister countered, pointing her finger. "But with the explosion, it is possible it was all burned up. Perhaps the Jedi knew this and utilized the explosion as cover…"

"Someone would've seen her take off," another pointed out. "Or at least have footage."

"You put too much faith in this band of sorry shit-cunts," Brutis glowered, his arms crossed. "Your first mistake was thinking anyone running this prison was competent."

"Agreed," the Second Sister nodded, turning to the unit. "From now on, keep your thoughts to yourself."

He shivered for a moment, but tipped his head, remaining silent. If Brutis had learned anything, you had to earn the right to speak in this unit.

"We're on our own," the Second Sister reiterated. "We cannot trust any other's data other than our own findings. I want a full scouting report of this area, as well as any nearby refuge. Archer, you are to mobilize the Imperial forces to undertake this endeavor. All findings are to be reported to me, and me alone. We cannot trust that every Imperial is not a traitor. Brutis, you will follow me as I conduct my own investigation, as well as a contingent of three other units."

Once her orders were given, there were no objections. Everyone simply got to work, and Brutis stifled his grumble.

Tailing the Inquisitor…again.


Nothing…there was literally nothing.

Trilla Suduri could pick out a ruse from a star system away, as it was a skill the Second Sister had granted her, and yet here on Belsavis she was beginning to find herself stumped. There was no trace to be followed, no trail to pick up on…not even any fear to smell. It was starting to infuriate her, but she didn't dare let that sink in and cloud her reality. Keeping her focus forward was going to be key for unraveling this rather concerning mystery before her. She'd observed camera footage, but everything had been flashed and wiped…which suggested either an inside traitor, or that their Jedi was a covert specialist, aware of the internal security the Empire boasted.

The former was the most likely, but something was telling her that this hunt was either a wild bantha chase or for a Jedi that could be out of their league. No Jedi was beyond her…but her squad was another matter. While she had competent leadership like Commander Archer, as well as an unstoppable hammer like Brutis, all others had the mental consistency of a donut, and the awareness of a blind rodian. She compensated for this weakness by keeping her teams small, and the rest away from her workspace, taking care of trivial tasks, but it only worked in so many areas. Small teams tested their bandwidth to extremes.

All trivial thoughts…bringing her no closer to her prey.

Trilla rested her left hand on her hip as she looked over Belsavis' plains that eventually gave way to the towering ice walls, her cape ruffling in the cold wind. The insulation her suit provided warded off any chill, and she had never been susceptible to the cold much anyhow.

She had suffered far worse discomforts.

"Inquisitor…"

Trilla turned her helmeted head, greeted to the red glowing visor of one of her squad members, his rifle held over his chest. "What is it?" she asked, not giving him her full gaze.

"We were scanning the area when we stumbled across this torn robing…" he held out a maroon colored cloth, obviously ripped from clothing, and at first glance it was the same material the Jedi used to fashion their robing. "We think it might've been lost during the Jedi's escape from the prison wall."

That was the obvious theory, which meant it could be true, but likely wasn't. They were dealing with a Jedi who moved with intent, as it seemed, and did nothing without reason. Slip-ups were possible, and she certainly didn't rule it out…but again, not likely.

"Let me see," she accepted the cloth, and paced away, giving it a look. Its make was refined, almost beautiful, even with only a piece of it to relish the design. She noticed signs of embroidery, and areas where it had been removed. Whoever this Jedi was, they had a good sense of fashion, and perhaps took pride in how they looked.

Insecurity…

Perhaps they were hiding because they had already assumed they could not win, and were desperately searching for a means of escape…but for one to cover their tracks so heavily…they couldn't be incompetent. This Jedi had intelligence, and whether it rivaled her own was another matter to be discovered.

Her list of rivals in that category was staggeringly short, and it was reduced heavily when the deceased were removed.

A vibration had Trilla's hand wrap around her hilt and draw it at the ready but did not ignite it. The Force pulsated in the distance…a wave of life all connected, barreling towards them. Trilla initially shrugged the warning off as merely a collection of insects as usual, but the rumbling only became louder as she waited.

"Bloody hell," Brutis grumbled, not far from her. "What is that?"

It wasn't an earthquake, couldn't be. Not much could vibrate the earth as much, unless it was a heavy tank moving into their position, but Trilla had all military operations suspended for now.

Her commlink blinked.

Activating it quickly, she brought her wrist upwards. "What is it?"

"Sorry Inquisitor," the voice apologized, Captain Fullam's. "But, it appears you have a phenomenon headed your way."

Trilla growled. "Speak plainly. Explain."

Fullam hesitated, seemingly conversing with someone else, before turning his head back. "A massive herd of animals just trampled one of our squads…and…"

Trilla's gaze looked up as the ground shook more violently, and over a distant hill she watched as the plants and dirt were kicked up with each massive fist that pounded along, the bipedal creatures charging on their feet and knuckles. She felt their anger in the Force, and it only seemed to feed her own.

Kintan Crushers.

"Fuck me," Brutis cursed, pulling out his electrohammer, while the other two drew their blasters.

"Inquisitor…?" they asked.

Trilla scowled under her helmet, letting her crimson blade snap and hiss to life as she waited. She counted ten…twenty…over forty crushers about to trample them, and by then she had already abandoned her squad.

They were on their own.

Running the opposite direction was pointless, even with her incredible speed, as four feet were always faster than two, so she spared herself the pointless flailing attempt to do so. Utilizing the Force, she propelled herself into the air, rocketing upwards with her crimson blade trailing behind in her wake. Her cape fluttered, and as gravity began to take hold, the wind rushed past her audio receptors before landing boots-first atop one of the crushers. It roared as she used force stick to keep her boots fazed to its hide, turning her gaze to the front. Brutis swung his hammer at the first, but even his raw strength was not enough to stop the all-muscle of the towering creatures.

She took a moment to consider whether or not she should let him die. He'd certainly put up a fight, but he would not be fast and nimble enough to avoid the stampede that was already crushing the others in a bloody mess.

Wasteful.

No. She needed him.

Reaching out, the Force rumbled and heaved as he was lifted into the air, flailing for a moment with the sudden movement. Trilla grunted as she pulled and tossed him over the final crusher in the herd, avoiding the onslaught.

Her ride bucked, and this time it was enough to break her hold as her feet slipped, tossing her onto the grass. Thinking and reacting within seconds of the occurrence, Trilla landed on both feet and backflipped through the air, just before the crusher behind her made use of its name.

Landing just in front of Brutis, she ignited her second blade, and watched as the crushers came back around.

Someone was influencing this. Crushers would not pursue them as prey, as they did not have enough meat to compensate them for the effort it would take to kill them. It was common nature philosophy.1

Yet they were hell bent on killing just the two of them.

"Beast control," she muttered aloud, just as Brutis grunted, holding his hammer at the ready.

"I don't know what the fuck that is, but if you're doing this, I'd say stopping would be a good idea," he spat.

Trilla just snarled as they came back around, engaging the spin of her blade. "Get behind me."

One Jedi could not influence all of these crushers…no Jedi alive anyway. There had to be a singular incision point that webbed all the others together…but what?

She watched how the herd moved and noticed a momentary break in formation as they turned towards their direction. Many were confused…almost rattled, until one of the largest snarled the loudest, its eyes fixated on Trilla with lethal precision.

There.

"Thermal detonator," she held out her hand, ending the spin of her blade.

Brutis growled, slapping one into her grip. "You're a bloody madwoman."

"So they say," she remarked, and then armed the explosive, hearing it prime and then beep its countdown. Timing her throw, she observed the crusher's roars with its gaping mouth as the others caught on, joining it its fury. Keeping her mental clock, she waited…and hurled.

BOOM!

Landing directly on its massive tongue, the thermal detonator exploded on impact, charring flesh and spewing organic insides in multiple directions. The blast itself instantly killed the target, as well as a few surrounding the massive crusher, while the others ran in terror from the loud shockwave. Trilla almost smirked as the web was torn asunder…until five of the crushers didn't take the hint.

Her crimson beam slithered through the air as she brought it across and zipped forward, dismembering one crusher and deftly backflipping over the other just behind. Dodging each swing before they were even thrown, Trilla weaved in between massive flailing arms and desperate kicks, her cape spinning in a cyclone with her movements. Reaching out with precision, she drove her blade through one's chest, ending its life and ducking under another swing, using the back blade to intercept the arm at the elbow. Twisting, she landed the killing blow with a spin and her blade parallel to the ground and was granted to the view of Brutis sliding across the dirt from a solid backhand.

Whether he was dead or not didn't much matter.

Trilla slashed diagonally at her next attacker, thinning the herd to one final adversary…but an influx in the Force reverberated, and the final crusher gained a burst of speed she never expected.

Its thick hide and tense muscles slammed into her, knocking out her hearing and dazing her momentarily. Without her helmet, she may have snapped her neck, and her hilt was far away from her hand by now. The pain that scorched her body from the intense assault was ravaging, but her instincts kicked in, fight or flight allowing her to move just fast enough to roll away from the overhead slamming of the crusher's fists into the ground.

Now she was pissed.

Flipping onto her feet, she unleashed a howling force push behind a pained scream, knocking her crazed attacker off balance long enough for her saber to reach her hand. Illuminating the night, the crimson met with blood as she fazed forward, cutting the beast down with a clean stroke.

The body crashed.

Trilla breathed…and fell to her knees. Her bones felt like they had been pricked by a thousand needles and breathing itself was painful. This show of weakness was detrimental to her hunt of this Jedi…who she knew was watching, but she couldn't care less.

She felt like death.

Brutis groaned and rolled over, pulling a stim from his belt and administering it, letting out a relieving groan as the pain fleeted. Trilla had not been so prepared…never expecting to actually be hurt during a hunt and found herself shivering as she forced herself to stand, desperately trying to ignore the pain altogether.

Pain made her hate…and hate made her powerful.

Her fist clenched as her instincts took root, and on the hilltop beside her, she spotted a woman…alien and horned, looking down from above.

There you are.

Trilla's grip tightened around her hilt. "Interesting…but your deception will not save you…Jedi," she snarled, projecting her voice plenty loud enough to be heard. "There is no escape."

The Jedi said nothing, merely turning away and disappearing over the lip of the hill.

"Never seen a Jedi do this before," Brutis remarked, slinging his hammer over his shoulder, and standing close enough to Trilla to accurately display their height difference. "Fuck me."

Trilla ignored him, instinctually reaching down to her commlink to call for backup, but soon discovered it was broken beyond repair.

Not enough time.

"Move," she directed, and began to ascend the hill, fighting through every step that brought her closer and closer to vengeance…and no shortage of anguished screams.


The Jedi was long gone by the time they had reached the top of that hill, and after an hour of trail tracing, reaching out into the Force and going through every trick of the trade Trilla had under her belt, her prey was gone without a trace. No footprints even remained, no disturbance of the flora or landscape…not even the tall grasses that would surely leave a trail of whoever stalked through them.

All they found was a stray escaped prisoner who had absolutely nothing to tell, other than remain on his knees before Brutis, shouting curses while Trilla knelt, running her gloves through the dirt.

"Fuck you!" the prisoner exclaimed, earning a mocking scoff from the helmeted purge trooper.

"Those are your last words…fuck you?" he asked, looking down upon him. "Come on, you can do better."

He stammered, his eyes wide and flashing away for a moment, before returning. "C-cunt!"

Brutis almost snickered. "You're shit at dying, you know that?"

Trilla growled, swiping up dirt and tossing it aside as she rose to her feet. "If you're going to kill him, get on with it."

She heard a neck snap after she passed by, frustratingly looking over the landscape with crossed arms. The Jedi was still out there, she was sure of it…but there was nothing to follow but her fleeting instincts. Part of her envied the Seventh Sister's ability to track effortlessly, but she didn't have near the bladework prowess she did, nor the sense that she was being watched or followed.

"It's my fucking luck I get stuck out here with you…chasing a bloody ghost," Brutis grumbled as he came up beside her, waiting for her next move. "No offense, of course."

Trilla shook her head. "It's not the worst thing you've ever said to me."

It was pretty close…but that was because Brutis hardly said anything to her, and she was perfectly fine with that.

"We should head back."

"We are not heading back," Trilla almost snarled. "Not when I'm this close."

Brutis knew to trust her senses, but she could sense his distaste in how the effort had thus far transpired. "Those shit-for-brains back at the prison will never find us out here…and even if they did, it wouldn't be until after the fucking sun was back over our heads. We lost half our men from one attack, leaving just the two of us, and like it or not, you've always had a squad behind you when you take on your Jedi."

She clenched her fist at his audacity. "Not once have they contributed to their deaths, and you best recall that it has always been I who hunts, finds and kills all of our targets…as well as what I do to those who defy my will."

Her threat lingered, but Brutis was smart enough to know it was empty…she would never in sound mind throw away her best asset…but that didn't mean she wouldn't hurt him.

"So far your will has lead us to this current outlook…quite fucking bare if you ask me," he presented with his hands. "Thanks to you, I'm a walking meat lure to whatever monstrosity lurks in these caves."

Trilla's teeth grit behind her helmet. "Consider your safety…Commander."

"There's no safety you dumb bi—"

The Inquisitor's danger sense electrified her spinal column, and her outreach into the Force saved both of their lives, propelling them in opposite directions as a massive boulder slammed into the dirt. Cartwheeling to her feet, Trilla ignited her blade…and locked eyes on her prey.

A red skinned zabrak…her facial bone structure so similar to one she had seen before that she almost tasted blood, holding back an animalistic snarl as she soon realized that that occurrence was impossible.

But her deep blue eyes…

"I believe you are lost, Inquisitor…" the Jedi said, one Trilla still did not have the name of. No record of her existed within the Jedi Archives, a most peculiar situation…

Like it would matter.

"A hunter is never lost, if they have found their prey," the Inquisitor retorted, pacing forward with her blade at her side. Her eyes darted to Brutis, but he had not returned to his feet…in fact he wasn't even breathing.

Worthless.

"You should have listened to your friend," the Jedi warned, her tone calm, understanding with a hint of compassion. "I may be a Jedi, but I will defend myself with extreme prejudice."

Trilla knew she had gone about this confrontation all wrong. She had no support assets, no element of surprise…not even a shred of an idea of what this Jedi was capable of. These were all things she had done previously…but not this time.

This time, she would have to think on the fly.

"You're outmatched, Inquisitor," the zabrak pointed. "Turn back, while you still can."

Trilla let out a deep giggle. "You hide your fear well, Jedi. So…unfortunate. Beast control is such an enamoring power. Who taught you such a technique?"

The Jedi leaned forward. "I won't warn you again."

"Noted," Trilla sneered, and then zipped forward with a mere twitch of her toe, her blade cutting through the air as she barreled towards the Jedi with incredible speed. Her quarry spun and ducked, avoiding the attack entirely, leaving Trilla to skid to a halt and turn back, watching as the Jedi merely stood still, waiting for her next move.

A game then…very well.

Most of her prey were slippery to catch, but this was a different approach. The Jedi did not seem terrified or…anything

In fact, Trilla couldn't sense any emotion from the Jedi…and even her presence was faint, almost distant. She'd heard of Force users being able to hide their presence and masking one's signature was a complex yet common practice…but she'd never experienced it at this level before.

No matter.

The Inquisitor attacked again, only to be hit with the same result and no retaliation, merely a stare back in her direction. She chuckled to herself, "You've certainly mastered the art of empty threats and fleeing for your life."

Her Jedi adversary said nothing…just staring…waiting.

Before Trilla attacked once more with her growing frustration, her eyes picked out a disturbance…or lack thereof among the tall grass surrounding the Jedi's boots. She was standing before her, nearly absent within the Force, not leaving a trace or indent among the nature she stepped over…a plethora of events that didn't seem viable together.

Perhaps because they weren't.

Trilla tested her theory, slowly walking towards the Jedi, making no movement to attack. "You're rather confident for a woman with nowhere left to run."

The crimson skinned zabrak cocked her head. "The Dark Side blinds you…nothing could be further from the truth."

Trilla spat with a genuine level of distaste. "Tired, beaten Jedi rhetoric. Your order…is gone. They lacked the insight to change, and now they're dead…all of them."

"And yet here we are," the Jedi countered. "The Light and Dark Sides of the Force are not unlike our current confrontation…two ideals caught in an endless dance with no visible signs of victory for either side. One, the light, maintains composure…keeps their defenses raised…and their vision unclouded."

The Inquisitor suffered her words, pointing her blade as she approached. "And the Dark?"

"The Dark…" the Jedi answered, letting her brow slant. "Fumbles in the night…chasing unattainable power…"

Trilla roared as she suddenly lunged, hitting pay dirt as her blade sunk into the Jedi…but she felt hollow…empty.

Realization struck as her blade was stuck in nothing more than a projection.

"…and phantoms they will never reach."

The Jedi lowered her head, and the projection disappeared, leaving Trilla alone to lower her hilt and extinguish the beam.

She was never there.

Oddly enough, Trilla was more impressed and intrigued than angry, knowing there were many positive notes to take from this encounter. Not only did she now have a facial imprint and an idea of who she was after, she was far better off than she was a few minutes ago. Force Projection was a power that was used by Jedi skilled in stealth and deception, but it also required an intense amount of focus to make one talk and move life-like. Simulating events took even more…and if Trilla could accurately guess the zabrak's age, she couldn't be much younger than herself at this point. Her skill and focus could only stretch so far.

Meaning the Jedi had to be nearby.

She paced over to Brutis, who was finally stirring, rising to his feet.

"Next time just tell me to jump," he pointed, still stumbling slightly.

"Get back to the prison. Call for support at these coordinates," Trilla demanded, and then turned on her heel, beginning her search.

Brutis grumbled. "If you're eaten alive, I'm not speaking at your funeral."

"Go," she reiterated, leaving him behind, and returning to work.

Not like anyone would give her a funeral.


TIE Interceptor, 16 BBY

Entering Belsavis

It was too soon.

She had revealed herself too soon.

The First Sister's anger could never be felt by another inquisitor, as her mastery of the Force made her peers seem like utter mockeries of their craft. Serving as a former Sith Assassin had afforded her teachings the others could never dream of, certainly not with how expendable they were perceived to be.

Valeria Eon never cared about the Inquisitorious or its mission…and even as a user of the Dark Side of the Force, she never cared much for the extermination of the Jedi. They were certainly flawed with their narrow and dogmatic view of the Force, but they merely required redirection…not extermination. Such waste of potential power was pointless, and while the Inquisitorious was a good first step, their methods left little to be desired with their product. Mindless, brainwashed shells could not think for themselves…could not learn or improve upon the teachings they were given.

A master was meant to train their student to surpass them…not remain subservient and utterly soulless…something her former master couldn't possibly understand.

Darth Sidious was a blight upon the glory of the Sith…a man trapped in the ancient and outdated ways that desperately needed change. The Force was not to be suppressed…it was to be embraced, commanded, guided by its practitioners. Sith do not hide in the shadows, they relish in the spotlight, letting the galaxy know their true nature, true colors, and let it be the judge of one's worth.

One man could not craft his own.

For now, however, her issues were slightly simpler in relative terms, but as a mother, they were far more complicated than she was prepared for.

Today she may have to murder the Second Sister…but losing her could mean unhinging her son's passion, which desperately needed a focal point now more than ever. Xur Eon had drawn far too much attention to himself, and her continuing efforts to protect him were becoming more and more strenuous, especially with the mounting pressure of Darth Vader himself to procure results. They'd lost so many inquisitors to his blade that the disappointment was beginning to show with his training sessions, and while Valeria could certainly handle an angrier Sith Lord, the others could not.

The Second Sister suffered most for this failure…as if the Sith knew she retained some connection to the zabrak fugitive…

An interesting thought for another time.

It faded as soon as her interceptor hit the dirt, and she projected her raw power with an effortless float from within the cockpit and to the surface. Purge units were already prepared for her arrival, and characteristically, she did not even grace them with her gaze.

"Inquisitor…this is an unexpected pleasure," Commander Archer greeted, his name she managed to recall.

"You can do away with your frivolous pleasantries, Commander," Valeria retorted, continuing to pace towards the prison. "I am here about the other Inquisitor."

"Right, of course, ma'am. The Second Sister left with a small squad a few hours ago. One of the survivors returned requesting back up at specific coordinates," he reported, keeping in stride with her. "We were just about to head out."

Reinforcements…no…she needed to be alone for this.

"You will belay that request," she countermanded. "I will assist her alone. I believe this prison riot requires more of your immediate attention."

Archer hesitated, which made her growl in annoyance. "Inquisitor…with all due—"

"My decision is final, Commander," she almost snarled. "You will remain here."

His last bit of hesitation was minimal, but long enough to have her consider cutting him down, only to stay her blade once he responded. "As you wish, First Sister."

"Good, now leave me," she waved off, prodding him to return to his men, to which he complied quickly.

It was time to find the daughter she never knew…the twin sister her son had never seen.

Zahira Eon.


Belsavis, 16 BBY

Ancient Rakata Vault Entrance

Trial and error proved fruitful.

Trilla's boots echoed through the chamber as her HUD scanned the area, her crimson blade ignited and humming beside her. Her instincts had lead her here and tracing the projection's origin through the Force had lead her straight to an open vault not far from where she had been ambushed…the perfect location to find her Jedi skulking in the dark like the rat she was.

She could already taste the blood of her prey. This kill would be hers.

Still, she was wary. This Jedi had proven crafty and adept in the Force, meaning she could be here entirely by her own design, and the inquisitor was now only walking into her trap. Her pace was slow, calculated and attentive, watching every inch of the advanced technology that attested to the glory days of the Rakata Infinite Empire…a study for another time.

After passing through a few winding corridors, she entered a large chamber, whose lighting was minimal via light-blue glows from above.

There.

A presence in the Force…distant yet close.

"Your tricks are impressive, Jedi…I am beginning to wonder if sparing you would be in our best interest…"

No response came in the immediate…but soon an echo reverberated around her in the voice of the Jedi.

"And your skills also impress me, inquisitor…" the Jedi said, Trilla desperately trying to cling to it, trace it to the source. "But they are wasted serving a master who has no respect for your own life…or appreciation for you as an individual."

Trilla let her mocking laugh be heard throughout the chamber as she continued to walk. "Do you intend to…save me, my dear?" she giggled. "Very well. Allow me to lay out what I am here for."

Her words slithered from her mouth and through her vocabulator, letting her terrifying voice tarnish the chamber with its venom. "When I find you, I not going to kill you…I'm going to start with your fingers…then your knuckles, then your wrists. I am going to make you suffer, Jedi…I am going to make you cry…make you beg, and even after you beg me to end your suffering, I will continue with your elbows…your shoulders, your knees. Only when your will has been eroded to its most finite level will I release you from your pain…and by then…you will be mine.

"I'll have you fetching me calf…and calling me mistress…" she giggled with incredible sadistic pleasure.

The Jedi said nothing in response, and that's when Trilla knew she had finally gained the upper hand.

"Come Jedi…face your tormentor…face your annihilation."

Her presence faded…disappearing. Trilla stopped, holding her blade at the ready and expecting the Jedi to finally reveal herself.

Nothing…again.

Then…Trilla heard a bone-chilling howl…multiple bone-chilling howls. The deep growl…the whistle between the massive front under-fang, and the yellow, glowing eyes.

Anoobas.

Trilla activated her second blade and spun the hilt, trying to get her senses behind her hands…but there was no focus. She had let in too much rage, too much sadistic urge to have her calm, precise demeanor.

She would have to hate these beasts to death.

Dipping fully into the Dark Side, she projected her presence as threatening as possible, but with the Jedi's beast control holding them in place, they would not falter in fear. Their snarls continued against the continuous whirr of her blades, and she did her best to listen…to feel the one stalking her…

Claws scraped against the floor.

Trilla whirled around and force pushed the first one away, while a precise roll avoided the leap of another anooba, its teeth snarling past her vocal receptors. Utilizing her speed, she zipped around, taking a chance to absorb her surroundings.

She counted four…no…six anoobas stalking her, and their hunger in the Force was so potent it almost sent shivers down her spine. As far as predators go…they had similarities to her that were nearly uncanny. Not so much in appearance, but certainly in effect.

The inquisitor took a mental note of this encounter.

Grinding to a stop, she ended the spin of her blade, now far enough to see the small pack in its entirety. The lead anooba snarled and leapt towards her with its powerful legs, but a mere sidestep had it severed right down the middle while it collided into her superheated blade. Another missed, as she flicked her wrist upward, ending its life, until she felt a tug against her cape, making her stumble.

For the first time as an inquisitor…she was startled.

A fourth anooba took advantage of her distraction and latched its teeth onto her leg, sinking through the fabric and digging into her skin. Without her dense protection, it would've been far worse, but that did not mean it was painless. Anyone else would've screamed in pain, but not Trilla…not the Second Sister, who had certainly suffered far worse.

Annoyed more than distressed, she shook her leg, but it only clamped down harder, making her wince behind her helmet. Another had a grip on her cape, and with two others still prowling, she had to act fast.

Unhinging her cape with her free hand, she regained her balance and bisected the creature on her leg, finally free of it all. She grunted as she put weight on the injured leg, and before long she was tackled, losing her hilt as she hit the ground, and the last thing her HUD saw was the anooba's jaws clamping down on her helmet.

Now she was pissed.

Headbutting with the broken armor, she tore it off and pushed off the anooba, using it as a shield. Clean air rushed across her face as her hilt was back in her hand, and a quick faze had her avoid the next attack, cutting down a fourth anooba, before tossing her blade to kill the fifth, and a grabbed ahold of the sixth beast with an outstretched hand. The cool air kissed her skin as she closed her fist, snapping its neck, and catching her returning hilt.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blinding yellow light, before pure agony tore through her essence. Lightning scorched her body before the attack ceased, and Trilla collapsed, her breathing so hoarse anyone untrained in the medical field would think she was on the verge of death. With grit teeth, she fought her spasming muscles and looked up…her Jedi quarry's hand still sparking with gold energy as she lowered it.

Electric Judgment.

That…that was a power Jedi had been forbidden to use, and yet her limbs were still numb from its power.

Who ARE you?!

Trilla slowly clambered to her feet as the Jedi watched her with patient caution, her saber hilt held unlit in her right hand. The inquisitor was far from finished, but her body was far behind her mind by now, still reawakening from the Jedi's scorching attack.

She needed time, and this Jedi was foolish enough to grant it to her.

"Who…" Trilla almost fainted but kept her vision straight. "Who taught you this…Jedi?"

The Jedi let her brow slant once more but made no move to attack her. "Someone far beyond even your master's power."

You know nothing…girl.

"This fight is over, Inquisitor," she declared. "Lay down your lightsaber. There is no need for you to die today."

Trilla growled, angrier that the woman wouldn't just kill her already.

Then, her numbness faded, at last, and her grip tightened around her hilt.

Crimson flashed.

Yellow followed.

"I think not," Trilla sneered, her strength replenished by the Dark Side of the Force, before she fazed forward, and their blades clashed in the middle. Immediately Trilla knew she had the upper hand, her adversary's saber movements slow…refined…but not fast enough to keep up with her precise cuts and slashes. Quickly, Trilla forced her off balance, sweeping her legs out from under her, landing on her back with a yelp. Aiming for her shoulder, and not the killing blow, Trilla plunged her blade into the ground as the Jedi rolled away, but the inquisitor predicted this, dragging her blade to nick her knee just enough.

Her shrill in agony made Trilla smile.

"Not very impressive with that blade, are you?" she giggled with snark contempt. "You can't win…accept it."

Despite the injury, the Jedi cartwheeled back to her feet, but her stance was lopsided, favoring her one good knee over the bad one. Her posture was pitiful, and adjustments not even proper for a Padawan.

A realization hit.

"Dantooine…" Trilla said, which struck a cord in the Jedi, startling her expression at last. "You were trained on Dantooine. You're a healer…not a fighter."

It explained all the smoke and mirrors instead of the raw combat. This Jedi had no intention of facing her, because she knew she would be no match if it came down to bladework.

Trilla engaged again, and through their exchange, the Jedi suffered a shoulder mark, almost making her scream from how deep it had dug in, and the inquisitor took her chance to reach out and slam her body against the nearby pillar. Pinned, she lost her blade from the impact, and looked upon Trilla with all the fear she could ever want.

She could not wait to begin on her.

Why wait?

Trilla slowly marched forward, holding her blade straight out as she kept the Jedi pinned, letting its hum of anticipation pull sweat from her victim's face. She shivered in terror, waiting for the crimson to sear her skin…to burn away at her insides.

"This is only a taste of what's to come…Jedi," Trilla promised, her eyes savage as she drank in the woman's fear. It was so potent…so plentiful…so…

Superficial.

By then, it was too late.

Trilla felt her intestines sever and burn away as a yellow beam protruded from her body, leaving her gasping in silence against the terrible pain that ravaged her fatal wound. The Jedi dropped to her knees, as did her hilt as it deactivated, rattling against the floor after being levitated behind her. Trilla collapsed onto the floor, the black oblivion already consuming her vision…before a wave of healing relief cleansed her wound…and the oblivion took her.


When Trilla's eyes reopened, she wondered if this was where her soul had been taken to suffer for eternity, but to her genuine surprise, she had awoken exactly where she had remembered remaining…exactly where she was certain her life had finally been snuffed out.

And she was not alone.

On instinct, she reached for her hilt and felt it rattle and tear through the air to her hand, but it suddenly changed direction and clapped into another standing above her. Stunned, she looked up, and spotted the two round, crimson optics of the lean First Sister, leaving Trilla with an expression of raw distain on her face.

"Where is the Jedi?!" she demanded, vaulting to her feet, only to be shoved back onto her rear with a mere wave of her counterpart's hand.

"Far from your reach," she promised, now kneeling to her level. "You failed."

Trilla shook her head, groaning as other injuries made themselves known, especially to her leg where the anooba latched its jaws onto her. "A hunt never ends with the first encounter. I will find her again…and I will—"
"You will never touch her again," the First Sister assured. "You won't even remember she exists."

The Second Sister blinked. "What?"

Her counterpart stared for a moment, before pulling over her hood and removing her mask, revealing the face of a tattooed zabrak female, middle-aged with blue-yellow eyes…almost an exact resemblance of the Jedi she had just fought…

No…not just her.

Him.

Valeria Eon smiled. "Yes…you were always a clever girl, but your vision was always far too clouded for you to see the truth."

Trilla's chin shivered. "I will find him. He will die…and I'll make you watch."

"I will watch nothing but your blissful ignorance as you flounder in the dark. You are lucky. My daughter was far too kind-hearted to leave you to die, so she preserved your life just before leaving here, escaping to a place far out of the Empire's reach. She is safe from you…and you needn't worry about my son," she confirmed, without consideration of denial. "You will not find him.

"He will find you."

Trilla's rage blossomed as she moved to rise again, but Valeria's hand shot out, engulfing her mind in a sinister cloud, and purging memories she would never regain.

And yet…one name remained locked away…waiting for the right moment.

Zahira.


12 BBY – Teth

Trilla's head swayed with exhaustion behind her helmet. She had Rava had covered so many miles by now, she had lost count, and her emotional toll was beginning to wear her down. Pursuing Katara would never let her stop…her mind anyway, but after a 24-hour march, it was beginning to prove too much.

She hit the dirt in a heap, her muscles refusing to obey her commands, and her eyes already forcing themselves shut on cue. Rava exclaimed in worry, falling to one knee, but no bacta could cure her desperate need for sleep.

"Trilla…oh my…your exhaustion levels are far too high," Rava relayed, and Trilla would've called that out as obvious if she could still speak. "You need to rest."

Trilla couldn't muster any other word than a desperate cry from a grieving mother. "Katara…"

She missed her so much…and she was beginning to think she would never get her back.

As she began to fade into a state of sleep, there was an exchange beside her, a slight shuffle and confirmation that most likely took much longer than she was able to perceive…and before long, she awoke without her helmet, and to the face of a female zabrak who looked all to familiar to the man she married.

"Who…?" Trilla asked, still struggling, and the woman gently held her down.

"You're going to be alright, Trilla, I promise," she said, her accented voice so gentle, she was almost jealous.

"My name is Zahira…and I'm here to help."


Long wait, I know. Been busy. I've got no excuse. Hopefully, you enjoyed this one! No promises, but I think the next one will come in soon. Trying to get back on track with this one…

Let me know what you think! Reviews are always a joy to see. They truly make my day. Thanks for reading!