A/N: We're back with more continuity-warping antics!

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Tarrah took a deep breath as she set down the stasis capsule next to the vacant elevator, quietly bracing herself for the worst.

From the moment she'd stepped off the basket, she'd known at once that the Shadowlands had changed for the very worse; beforehand, she'd been able to sense danger, animal hunger, a thousand unseen threats, and the distant pulse of the Dark Side around the Star Map, old and worn away by eons of neglect – all terrible in their own ways, but all of them recognized and understood by the time she'd left Kashyyyk. Now, there was something new in that nightmarish forest, something alien and monstrous, even to the horrors of the Shadowlands.

Beforehand, attacks from the wildlife had started almost as soon as she'd arrived, but now there were no signs of any of the forest's native predators anywhere nearby. Reaching out with the Force, Tarrah immediately sensed a thick haze of terror left in the wake of the beasts, coupled with a distinctive smell of blood and urine, layered upon the undergrowth like musk. Rulan had been here, alright, and he'd been careful to frighten off any of the lesser beasts that hadn't interested him. It took a lot to scare Kinrath and Katarn, but evidently, the assassin had managed it. But their terror wasn't the only emotion that had marked the surrounding area: there was more of it ahead, but this was from sentient beings. Obviously, the hunting party had fallen foul of their intended prey, as expected.

And in the distance, Tarrah sensed something else: it was of the Dark Side, no doubt, tainted and warped and amplified and empowered through its power until it practically oozed with it, but it wasn't simmering with hate and ambition like any of Sith, nor was it an uncontrollable mass of rage and desperate hunger like a terentatek. No, this was something else. There was hunger, true, but not like that of an animal; there was a mind pulsating behind the bottomless appetite, one that demanded to be fed just as insistently as the maw. If anything, this was the hunger of a hedonist, of someone who craved experiences just as much as food, or perhaps a serial killer – for nothing else could describe the malevolence that seethed at the heart of its being. And Tarrah knew at once that she could only be sensing Rulan himself… which couldn't mean anything good for her. After all, it was bad enough that a simple assassin was blessed with shapeshifting powers; to know that he was a creature of the Dark Side only made this mission even more nightmarish.

Worst of all, she could sense Rulan's presence and his nature… but she couldn't tell where he was. His malignant hunger was so powerful that it simply couldn't be pinpointed anywhere in the Shadowlands, but simply hung over it like a vast cloud just waiting to descend and choke whoever was caught under it. Right now, even with the power of the Force on her side

But Tarrah couldn't give up now. She needed to get the GenoHaradan on her side, needed to save the Republic, needed to save those who were close to her, needed to put aside those terrible niggling doubts and finish this mission. She couldn't afford to be sidetracked by all the horrors of the situation, not when she was so close to the finish line. Everyone was depending on her; all her friends were depending on her – Juhani was depending on her. If she didn't complete the mission, then the Sith might very well win, and the future of the galaxy would be a world of unending oppression crushed beneath the bootheel of the Sith, where the atrocities inflicted on Juhani's people were inflicted a thousand times over.

So, smothering her doubts once more, Tarrah forced herself onwards, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Shadowlands, telling herself again and again that it would all be worth it.

After fifteen minutes of scurrying through the underbrush and trying not to give her position away through excessive swearing, Tarrah found the first of the bodies: a Wookiee, horribly mangled and partially flensed of meat, likely half-dead and in shock long before Rulan had killed him. This was almost certainly a member of the hunting party, but there was no sign of the others… at first. However, it didn't take too long for Tarrah to pick up the trail of blood leading through the shrubbery, and with a few minutes, she'd found the next body, this one impaled against a tree with his own sword and missing most of the flesh on his limbs; a quick analysis of the contorted muscles and blood pooling suggested that this particular victim had been alive enough to struggle while Rulan had started eating. And not too far away from that, the next body in line was just a pile of shredded flesh and bone, practically minced by whatever form Rulan had taken to eliminate him.

However, not too far away, a dismembered torso lay in a ditch, its gore-soaked bandolier intact just enough for Tarrah to find a battered datapad hidden in one of the pouches, no doubt overlooked by Rulan during whatever massacre had taken place here. To Tarrah's surprise, it was still usable, and though damage had left most of its functions useless, the final entry was still accessible.

We were fools to come down here, it read, all of us. How can we hope to slay an enemy that can assume any shape, any form? We lost two the first day. Another three disappeared the day after that. Our enemy's bloodlust knows no limits. We found Grarwwaar's body last night – what was left of it. If we do not leave the Shadowlands soon, I fear we will all become victims of the Faceless One…

Tarrah shuddered, instinctively drawing her robes closer around her, as if doing so might somehow ward off the unnatural chill that had descended on the Shadowlands. Still, she continued onwards, hoping against hope that the so-called Faceless One wasn't already pursuing her.

Not for the first time, she wished that she hadn't come down here alone. Not for the first time since this insane little quest had begun, she couldn't help imagining how much easier this could have been if only she hadn't been bound by the GenoHaradan's laws of secrecy and had her friends by her side. The rambling, irreverent anecdotes of Jolee and Canderous would have shielded her from the fear of this place; Mission's bottomless spunk and Zaalbar's hunger-infused stoicism would have lifted her spirits above the darkness; 47's amoral one-liners and T3's bland practicality would have been enough to buttress her spirit. Sweet Force, even Bastila's interminable sermonizing and Carth's endless distrust would have been enough to distract her from the nightmare. And Juhani…

Juhani would…

Tarrah tried to push aside the visions of Juhani that her name seemed to conjure up, tried not to imagine the taste of Juhani's tongue in her mouth, tried not to imagine those rough, clawed hands running up the length of her body, tried not to imagine Juhani's fangs piercing her flesh ever-so-gently in aggression and affection, tried not to imagine the two of them naked in each other's arms, and tried and tried and tried not to think about what it would be like to see those golden eyes that were so often consumed with self-doubt and anger finally alive with ecstasy… but it didn't work. The harder she tried to force the vision out of her mind's eye, the more ferociously it returned until it was all she could think of.

And the more she thought about it, the more Tarrah found herself remembering how desperately lonely she'd been since she'd taken up this insane quest, how she hadn't ventured out in company for more than what seemed like a few short minutes at a time, how all moments of friendship seemed to have become limited to a few precious moments aboard the Ebon Hawk before that terrible need for secrecy had reasserted itself, how desperately she wanted to tell anyone, everyone her secret just so she wouldn't be burdened for a moment longer with the loneliness of preserving the GenoHaradan's masquerade.

In the end, the only thing that could get her moving again was the one thought that had subconsciously kidnapped her mind ever since she'd begun her slow descent into the gloom of the Shadowlands: soon, the need for secrecy would be over; soon, she'd never need to lie again, and she could be a friend to her companions again and it would be just like it was at the start of her quest. Mission wouldn't be heartbroken by Griff's betrayal, Zaalbar wouldn't be forced to kill Chuundar, Bastila wouldn't have been burdened by so much doubt and self-loathing, Jolee wouldn't have had to see his friend fall from grace, and Juhani wouldn't have needed to struggle with so much anger and grief. Everyone would be well again – but only if she could finish the mission.

So, on she went.

Perhaps half an hour later, she saw a figure looming out of the darkness just ahead of her, and she almost readied her lightsabre before she looked closer and realized that it was just a Wookiee silently patrolling the area, sword in hand and ready for anything. As soon as he saw her, his brow immediately furrowed with anger, and while he didn't raise the sword to strike, Tarrah could see his hand tightening around the hilt.

"Why do you intrude upon the Shadowlands, human?" he demanded. "I come to this place to be free of your kind."

Tarrah blinked in astonishment, not sure if she should believe her own eyes. This could be a Wookiee on a completely unrelated hunt… or it could be her target in disguise. Either one was possible, so she couldn't take the risk of striking just yet, not while there was still a chance that this stranger was an innocent sentient being.

"I'm just looking for someone," she said, hesitantly. "A Wookiee hunting party from Rwookrrorro went missing a few days ago, and Freyyr's getting a little bit anxious about it, so I decided to do him a favour and look for them myself."

The hunter scoffed. "A likely story. Younger hunters have been taken in by the same excuses, let their guard down just long enough, and been captured by slavers."

"Slavers? Down here? In the Shadowlands?"

"I've seen Czerka men down here before, human. Such a thing is not outside possibility, and you know it."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"As I said, trying to avoid offworlders," grumbled the Wookiee. "Evidently, I have failed. Now, leave me alone! I must keep a watch for the beasts I came here to hunt."

Tarrah thought for a moment. "Before I go," she said at last, "what's your name?"

"Grarwwaar," said the hunter. "Does it matter?"

Tarrah was many things, not all of them good, but forgetful wasn't one of them… but then, even the most absentminded human in the galaxy would struggle to forget what they'd read in the datapad.

Instantly, her lightsabre was in her hand and active, slashing through the air with deadly force towards her target's undefended face.

But at the last moment, "Grarwwaar" darted backward with a speed and grace would have been physically impossible for a being half his size, much less a Wookiee; in that moment, he wasn't flesh, but liquid, and the beam of the lightsabre missed him by a good three metres. When he finally slid to a stop against the roots of a tree, "Grarwwaar" was now wearing a distinctly un-Wookiee-ish grin, exposing a mouthful of teeth too long and too sharp to belong even to a Wookiee, even as his eyes began to bulge and swell out of shape.

Rulan Prolik grinned triumphantly at her, his enormous eyes now a hellish orange.

"So, you've seen through my little ruse," Rulan mused aloud in Basic, his voice cold and calm and unaccented. "No doubt you learned more than I expected. No matter: this body has grown tiresome. But perhaps I can find one more to your liking… old friend."

Rulan's flesh seemed to flow like water, his frame shrinking and contracting down into the slighter frame of a human being, his fur melting down to form rough homespun robes, his enormous Wookiee sword briefly fusing with his hand to form a spear-like length of bone erupting from his arm, before shifting into a light longsword of gleaming metal. The transformation took less than five seconds flat, and when it was over, Tarrah found herself staring at a worryingly familiar face.

"Got something on your mind, do you?" said Jolee Bindo, smugly.

But of course, it wasn't him, but the realization that the shapeshifter had been here to see her travelling alongside the real Jolee was almost as shocking.

Recovering quickly, Tarrah lunged forward with her lightsabre raised to strike, but Rulan simply raised his sword and parried with terrifying ease. It shouldn't have been possible – after all, the sword was a part of him, had been just a length of bone a few seconds ago: the lightsabre should have sheared clean through it… but instead, it simply clashed harmlessly against it like any other Cortosis-weave blade.

Rulan smirked. "Yes," he purred in Jolee's voice. "It took a lot of effort to learn how to mimic the alloy, but it paid off."

Tarrah aimed a kick at Rulan's face, forcing him to duck out of the way, before bringing her lightsabre around for another slice at his unprotected legs, but once again, Rulan easily parried the blow – this time with a blade conjured from his left hand. Tarrah lashed out with a deadly underhanded swing that should have sliced through the shapeshifter's face before he could move to block her, but even though she moved quicker than the blink of eye, Rulan's blades were ready for her – two more of them.

In the split-second that it had taken Tarrah to bring her lightsabre up, the shapeshifter had grown two more arms, both holding swords, both crossed protectively in front of him, easily catching the lightsabre in a pincer. And the other two swords were still in motion, scissoring towards Tarrah – and only an instinctive flex of the Force was enough to catch the blades in mid-swing, holding them at bay just centimetres from her face through sheer willpower.

"And I bet you're wondering how many arms I can grow," said Rulan, smugly. "A good magician never reveals his secrets, I'm afraid."

Tarrah ignored him; she needed to focus on forcing the first set of blades away from her and get her lightsabre out of the pincer grip… and she needed to be careful about it, because Rulan knew how to fight Jedi; if he sensed she was about to push him away, he'd skewer her on the spot. She just needed enough strength to push away the blades, to knock him flat and leave him open for a coup de grace…

"I was hoping you'd be a little more impressed," the shapeshifter continued. "What with all the effort I went into mimicking Cortosis weave; you were the one who told me I needed to learn that trick, remember?"

"What?"

And that moment of confusion was all Rulan needed: rearing back on one improbably flexible leg, he lashed out with a piston-like kick to her stomach, and distracted as she was, Tarrah was caught completely off-guard. The kick hammered into her belly with meteoric force, sending her tumbling backwards, to land flat on her back against the roots of yet another tree. Hissing in pain, she flung herself upright, lightsabre at the ready…

…only to find that Rulan was gone.

"Then again, if hopes would come true, we'd have never meet again," he continued. "Especially given how bad our last meeting went. I admit, I'm not entirely shocked to see that you're still alive, though. You always were a resilient one."

Still doing her best to ignore him, Tarrah frantically scanned the shadows for any sign of the hidden shapeshifter creeping towards her. True, she wouldn't be able to recognize him or sense him properly with his frustrating aura of his, but movement in the dark might be the only warning she'd get.

"And I'm not surprised to find you here, trying to kill me. After all, I know too much about you, don't I?"

His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, impossible to trace by hearing alone.

More worryingly, he had long since left Jolee's rough baritone behind and was now shifting wildly through a wide variety of voices… very familiar voices.

"The one thing I don't understand, though, is your choice of companions: the Jedi brat that Malak's been scouring the galaxy for, a Jedi turned local hermit, that Cathar girl you rescued all those years ago, a neurotic Republic pilot, a Mandalorian veteran, some Twi'lek waif, the son of the local chieftain, a random astromech droid, and your favourite assassin droid. Quite eclectic by your standards, old friend. Is this a tactical measure to outfox the Sith… or were these the only allies you could find?"

At first, all Tarrah could think of was the fact that Rulan had just mimicked the voices of every single member of her crew to describe them, even shifting into Shyriiwook for Zaalbar and astromech code for T3. Then her mind caught up with the steam of invective, and even though she'd promised herself that she'd ignore Rulan's taunts, there were just too many of them to escape comment.

"First," she said icily, "what Cathar girl I rescued all those years ago? I only met Juhani a few weeks ago! Second, what do you mean 'old friend'? Third… you said I told you to learn the Cortosis-weave trick – when?! What are you talking about? I've never met you before in my life!"

There was a ripple of laughter from the shadows around her, at least two dozen separate voices from Rulan's memory suddenly united in mirth. "You don't remember, then?" the assassin cackled. "Not too surprising, considering where you ended up after that whole mess. Occupational hazard for someone in your position, as I understand it. Still… you could be lying."

"Lying about what?! And what am I supposed to remember?"

Rulan laughed again. "It doesn't matter. If you're lying, then it doesn't concern me; if you're telling the truth, you'll remember on your own and it still doesn't concern me. Whatever the case, I'm bored, I'm hungry… and you made the mistake of embarking on this little hunt on your ownsome."

There was a low, rumbling growl from somewhere behind her, and Tarrah spun around with her lightsabre raised and ready to strike – only to find herself staring blindly into the shadows, waiting for an attack that never arrived.

"Oh dear, dear me," Rulan chortled. "You really have forgotten, haven't you? You'd have never fallen for that little trick otherwise."

There was a muffled crack of twigs snapping underfoot from behind her. Tarrah only just stopped herself from spinning around to face the noise; instead, she reached out through the Force, trying to sense movement instead of life signs, but found nothing. Either Rulan was moving too quickly for her Force-powered radar to get a fix on him, or he was immune to that as well.

"I should probably explain myself before we get down to business," the assassin continued. "You see, I like to play with my food. It makes the hunt more entertaining – and the feast more satisfying. I hope you don't mind. I know it's a little bit risky when dealing with someone as powerful as you, but, well… I so rarely get to kill people I know personally, and I want to make your death as memorable as possible."

And then there was another flicker of movement from her left.

This time, Tarrah whirled around just in time to see Mission Vao darting towards her with her vibroblade at the ready, ducking under her instinctive swing of the lightsabre – and the next thing Tarrah knew, her flank erupted in white-hot pain.

Cackling, Not-Mission scurried past her, vanishing back into the darkness before Tarrah could recover.

Tarrah had just enough time to look down at the blossoming red mark on her hip before another flicker of movement from up ahead caught her attention, and this time, there was barely enough time to react before Rulan attacked – not from the font, but from the right.

Now he was T3, a screaming mechanical assembly of blades, buzz-saws, and probes clattering across the uneven ground towards her; Tarrah tried to bring her lightsabre around to counter him, but Rulan was moving too quickly to be countered and moving too low to the ground to be targeted. Once again, Tarrah's leg erupted in pain as the blades sliced through her robes and dug deep into her undefended flesh, and by the time she'd recovered enough to bring the lightsabre slashing down on the spot where Rulan had once been, the assassin was once again disappearing back into the shadows.

And no sooner had he disappeared, he appeared again from a different angle – now Carth Onasi, armed with his humble standard-issue vibrosword. This time, Tarrah was ready for him, parrying the blade and managing to deflect the blow away from anything vital, but she still wasn't moving quickly enough to actually land a hit on him: by the time she'd recovered from the impact, Rulan was already darting away again.

Then with a clatter of armour plating, he charged in again from dead ahead as HK-47, armed with a blade-tipped quarterstaff; this time, he didn't bother with hit-and-run attacks, but simply assaulted Tarrah's defences with swift, brutal sweeps of a quarterstaff, jabbing and slicing with such simple, calculated brutality that for a moment she could almost believe that this really was the assassin droid; only the organic fluidity of the movements and the lack of built-in weapons gave him away. And then, as quickly as he'd appeared, he darted back into the shadows and vanished before Tarrah could so much as land a hit on him.

For a moment or so, Tarrah found the time to get her breath back, focus on healing as much of her wounds as possible, and try to ready herself for the follow-up attack.

But then the assassin charged in from another angle, now Canderous Ordo, in full armour and brandishing a colossal Mandalorian blade; once again forgoing hit and runs, he flung himself at her, bringing the cleaver-like sword crashing down against her lightsabre with such force that Tarrah's felt her feet slide backwards across the mud as the blade thundered against her defences. For the longest five seconds she'd ever experienced, Tarrah could only keep her lightsabre at the ready, knees buckling with every impact as Not-Canderous hammered her again and again – until, at the very moment that Rulan was about to land the next blow, she lashed out with the Force, sending him flying away. But before she could go on the offensive, Rulan turned as sinuous as a worm and slithered out of reach, back into the shadows.

Next thing she knew, Rulan was Jolee again, his worn longsword clashing against her lightsabre as he glided out of the gloom, aiming another blow at her midsection; catching it just in time, she reached out with the Force, snatched up a fallen log from the forest floor and launched it at him like a torpedo, sending him cartwheeling away.

When the next attack arrived, it was from Bastila, armed with a double-bladed vibrosword as she somersaulted in from above as a maelstrom of blades, slowly forcing Tarrah backwards as she struggled to keep up with the blurring onslaught. Instead, it was her turn to dodge, parrying the blades only lightly, darting out of the way with speed conjured from the Force itself, forcing Rulan to exhaust himself until he had no choice but to slow the pace just enough to catch his breath, and in that moment, Tarrah summoned up all the willpower she could muster, seized the assassin in a telekinetic grip, and flung him as hard as she could at the nearest tree. Twisting around in mid-air, he somehow latched onto the trunk of the tree, landing so smoothly it was as if he'd meant to do so all along; then, still in Bastila's form, he skuttled upwards like an insect, back into the shadows.

Alright, Tarrah thought breathlessly. He's been half the Jedi on my team already, so all that's left is Juhani. Gotta think of her fighting style; gotta be able to remain on the defensive; gotta be ready for an opportunity to strike once she's-

And then there was another flicker of movement from behind her. Tarrah had just enough time to realize that the object hurtling towards her was a Wookiee's fist, before Not-Zaalbar dealt her a stunning blow to the crown. Dazed, seeing the world through double vision, and trying to manoeuvre away from the advancing shapeshifter, she wobbled drunkenly as she struggled to recover her senses, and only just managed to keep herself from pitching forwards like a felled tree… only for Rulan to grab her in a crushing grip, hoist her high over his head with all the strength of a real Wookiee, and throw her across the clearing. Tarrah flew for about four metres in total, hit the ground hard, rolled for a good two metres more, smacked her already-bruised head on the roots of a tree, and finally tumbled to a halt. It took a good second or two to regain full consciousness, and by then, Rulan was on the offensive again.

This time it was Juhani, assaulting her in a maddened flurry of swings and slashes; dazed from the impact, Tarrah could only just hold back the tide as she struggled to her feet again, desperately parrying every frenzied blow with all the strength she could muster, but with a massive lump on the back of her skull and a possible concussion in the works, she could barely keep pace with Rulan's wild assault. In desperation, she drew upon all the power she could and catapulted Rulan away again, but this time the bastard was ready for it: this time, he simply bounced off the tree like a rubber ball and richocheted right back at her, and only a split-second of recovery time saved her from being sheared clean in half by the assassin's riposte.

"Come on!" Rulan snarled in Juhani's voice, even as he rained down blow after blow on Tarrah's faltering defences. "What kind of spice is this to add to a feast?! Show me who you really are! Let me see if there's even an atom of the old you in there, enough to make this a challenge!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Tarrah screamed.

"Oh, you will! You will!"

Suddenly, Rulan was right in front of her, blade locked against hers, slowly forcing her backwards with terrifying strength.

"You'll show me a challenge," he hissed, his teeth too long and too jagged to belong to any Cathar, his eyes little more than fiery orange pits. "You'll make this a hunt and a banquet worth remembering, or your friends will be the next course. And that Cathar of yours will be the meal you couldn't be; she'll show me a little spice."

For a moment, Tarrah couldn't quite process what Rulan had just said. Then she felt the surge of anger coursing through her, the rage at the merest thought of someone hurting Juhani – who had already been hurt and abused enough in her life – and before she could stop herself, Tarrah found herself lashing out again. But instead of just bowling Rulan away with all her might, she seized his throat in a crushing, strangling grip, and began slowly but surely throttling the life out of him.

Rulan was surprised, shocked, his eyes bulging in pain and alarm as he struggled for breath even as the Force Choke began crushing his windpipe. Then, without warning, he grinned.

"There you are," he chuckled, his voice now issuing from a dozen new mouths blossoming across his arms and chest. "There's my favourite client. Now let's see if you remember all the old tricks."

And with that, Rulan's form dissolved into a writhing mass of tendrils, any semblance of a humanoid shape vanishing as his flesh spontaneously unfurled into hundreds of oily green creepers, each one tipped with a tiny, fanged mouth that eagerly gnashed and snapped as zeroed in on Tarrah's limbs. Suddenly finding herself targeting something with no throat to crush, Tarrah raised her lightsabre and began hacking away at the incoming barrage of tentacles, but there were simply too many of them; she'd barely amputated twenty of them before two seized her by the legs and dragged her to the ground, forcing her to her knees, even as a dozen more began winding around her middle, coiling up her arms, sliding inexorably towards her throat.

Tarrah knew what to do: she could simply grab her lightsabre with the Force and hack away the tendrils, then go on the offensive again… but instead, she found herself reaching out, not towards her weapon – which had slipped from her grasp as Rulan's unfurling mass had begun fastening around her wrists – but towards the tendrils themselves. To her astonishment, the tendrils slowly began to peel away from her body one by one, wrenching away from her limbs and into the air. How was she doing this? The Jedi Council had said that she was powerful, but this was beyond anything she'd exhibited in the last few weeks – this was beyond probability!

No sooner had she finished marvelling at this feat, a new appendage oozed from the bouquet of creepers: a scorpion stinger, long as a bullwhip, raised and ready to strike… and from here, it couldn't possibly miss. Worse still, Tarrah's willpower was focussed on holding back the tide of tendrils; she couldn't hold back this one.

But that isn't all you can do to him if you can put your mind to it, a strange voice in the back of her mind told her. You've got most of him in your grip already; why not just crush him with all your might? Come on, it'll be so easy: you've already tried to throttle him to death with the power of the Dark Side – now go one step further! He's threatened you, he's threatened your friends, he's threatened Juhani, and he's an active threat to the Republic: you know he needs to die, so stop bothering with this pretence of a fair fight and CRUSH HIM.

Tarrah could only reel in silence. This wasn't merely the Dark Side she was feeling, for though she felt the temptation of the Darkness once more and felt the urge to torture and destroy flooding her veins, it was drowned out by something much colder by far; the Dark Side didn't have a voice to corrupt others, only impulses, snares, sensations, tiny instinctive traps for the wielder to blunder into.

The thought had come from her – from the same place that had told her that joining the GenoHaradan was the best thing to do under the circumstances. It didn't matter that the technique was a glorified instrument of torture; it didn't matter that using this power would mean using the Dark Side of the Force, not out of anger, fear, and instinct, but with full knowledge of what she was doing; necessity was the only law this part of her recognized – cold, unfeeling necessity.

The stinger reared back, ready to strike.

For the briefest of moments, Tarrah considered the Dark Side.

Then, a blaster bolt caught Rulan's tail square in the stinger.


A/N: Up next, canon bites the dust a little further.