Destiny is a lie, we shape our own path through the Force - Darth Malgus

There was a shadow in the room. A tall figure stretching all the way to the ceiling, who hunched over Trilla like a vulture, delighting in her corpse-like appearance. She existed in a twilight sleep. Not quite fully resting, but freed from the distress of her weeping organs. Two pale fingers emerged out of the void, walking up her leg. An explosion rattled the flophouse's foundation, shattering the illusion of calm. Trilla's eyes fluttered open, and she ignited her lightsaber. In its cool luminescence stood the Grand Inquisitor, his gaunt face wearing an animalistic grin. A starved beast looking for its next meal.

Smelling smoke, Trilla rolled off the bed. He produced a dim red-orange lightsaber, and like a nightmare, the Grand Inquisitor glided around toward her. Intense heat was emanating from the floor below her, giving a hint to the disaster that had been unleashed. He moved to attack.

Trilla blocked his swings. Another explosion outside her room sent glass into her back and she transmuted the bloody sting into a parry which led into a piercing lunge. Caught off guard by her finesse, the Grand Inquisitor's arm was grazed, and she capitalized on her success by tackling him through the doorway into the hallway.

Splintered wood gave way to thick smoke, and a dizzying chorus of terrified screams. Trapped residents banged on their room's locked doors. The Grand Inquisitor had ensured there would be no survivors. With a judgmental gaze, he smirked at Trilla, blunting her attempt to kill him in one clean blow. He closed the Force around her, knocking her backward. Utilizing the smoke as a shroud, he blanketed himself. He vanished, appearing behind Trilla with incredible speed. His voice was barely a tickle in her ear. "Which do you prefer I break? Arm or Leg?"

The cruel choice transported her briefly back to training, where he had broken her leg and left her crawling to the medical bay. The lesson of resilience had been imparted that night. Trilla drove her elbow into his stomach. "I don't need your instruction anymore, Grand Inquisitor."

She turned, but he caught her, shoving Trilla into the wall. "Arm then for Umbara," he said, jerking her left arm at an unnatural angle. The Grand Inquisitor twisted until bone ground against bone, and a crunch ricocheted around her eardrum. A screaming waterfall of numbness flooded up into her shoulder and down into her fingers. She released a shaky moaned, glancing to see a protrusion pushing against the mesh tape encasing her arm.

He shoved Trilla into the growing flames. The heat licking at her face, she reacted quickly, using her lightsaber to cleave a path through the fire. Batting at her burning sleeve, she reached the stairs. The Grand Inquisitor lingered, letting her flee; he so loved to play with his food. Dashing down the stairs, Trilla almost tripped over a strut that fallen, but caught herself. A presence behind her tapped into a primal fear and she drove her lightsaber through Jwo's sternum. He gave a startled sigh, then crumpled into her. Trilla clicked her tongue, annoyed he would not have spoken up. She pushed the dead Ithorian off, leaving him.

Reaching the ground floor, she was confronted by a spectacle of horror. Purge Troopers had barricaded the exits, and using their incinerators had set the building alight. Those unfortunate enough to have tried to escape were blasted into ribbons by the heavy guns positioned outside. Several bodies lay over broken window seals, cut to ribbons by the glass and shot dead by the laughing soldiers outside.

There was no way out the front. Charred flesh filled the air with its sickly sweet aroma, as the dying gasps of dozens of sentient produced echoes in the Force. Damaging the fabric of its connection on the planet and, in doing so, weakening Trilla's hold on herself.

Realizing what had been designed to undo her, she moved to retreat, but the Grand Inquisitor reappeared, clearly enjoying their dance. "It is a curious thing, is it not? The Force bends to those willing to disrupt it…. But it will never forgive them."

Fire behind her, and a monster ahead of her, Trilla was cornered. "Speaking from experience, I assume?" She took aim at the stairs. If she was quick, she could slip by him.

"Pot, meet kettle," he teased, pointing his lightsaber toward her. "There is no place for the likes of us in its walled garden. When all is said and done, the Force will ensure we burn together."

"How about we save the burning for later?" Trilla rushed forward. Their sabers clashed, locking the two in a struggle for the stairs. However, she did get around him and was soon on the backfoot in retreat. The flashes of lightsabers pressed against each other, projecting cooling shades of purple into the haze of warm colors.

As she moved, Trilla found her breathing growing erratic. The smoke singed her lungs, rubbing them in its spiny grasp. Her broken arm bounced unnaturally as she ran, emphasizing the weakening of the Force sewing her together. A low rumble of the building triggered part of the ceiling to give way. Debris showered her as she cut through the blanket of fire again. There was an unsettling silence overtaking the carnage. The silence of a mass murder having reached its logical conclusion.

Back inside her room, she swiped two thermal detonators left behind by Collot. Trilla retracted her lightsaber and primed both. When the Grand Inquisitor appeared in the doorway like a ghost, the detonators clinked against his boot. He sneered down at them.

"Sixth brother sends his regards, you wretched Pau'an." Trilla slid over the broken windowseal, another blast following. A Purge Trooper saw her drop and rushed to intercept. She was greeted by a cone of fire but with a yell, threw her lightsaber. It arced forward, slicing him in half.

His halves fell apart, and she collected her weapon quickly, before darting into the nearest alley. The irony was not lost on her that plenty of padawans had run from the Second Sister in the same way.

Shortly after, the Grand Inquisitor emerged from his ghoulish masterwork. He dug a chunk of rock out of his cheek with a nail. Flicking it away, he nodded toward a Purge Trooper. "PT-954. Notify Seventh Sister, our target is heading in the direction of our snare."

"Right away, sir." PT-954 paused. "I'll inform squads four and five to move into position."

The further from the flophouse Trilla got, the more her control was restored. Stopping to catch her breath, she looked at her arm. The bone shifted, bulging against the skin and tape. Slowly, the Force dragged her broken arm back into place. A grinding snap brought a staggered gasp to her lips. Trilla bobbed; a shudder overtook her. She dug her heels into the ground, forcing herself to stay upright.

"Think," she muttered, catching her breath. Pressing her head into an open palm, Trilla repeated the command. "Stop shaking. Stop whining. Think." Physical pain brought with mental scars. Her body kept a record of each cut and so did her brain.

A lurking fear surrounded her, threatening to devour her whole. Testing her arm, Trilla found the bone remained broken; its pain a lightning bolt strafing along her entire body. However, it mobility had returned, so overall it was more an inconvenience than a problem.

Trilla trusted Collot to handle himself, forgoing using her communicator until she found cover. Her options availed themselves as forward or up. Investigating the Duros would have to wait. The goal was to vanish into one of the many nooks of Iziz or escape the city entirely. The Grand Inquisitor expected her to behave like prey. So she needed to do the exact opposite. Trilla turned around, going back the way she had come.

Fire teams had already moved to cordon off the blaze before it spread to the rest of the outskirts. Streams of water snuffed out the remaining flames, and soon the grisly task of counting the dead began.

How many had died as a direct consequence of her will to live? How many more would? These questions brought with them thoughts Trilla did not care to humor. The growing black cloud that demanded she give up and die would never have its day.

Two Purge Troopers had stayed behind to monitor the harrowing scene. The Grand Inquisitor had vanished. Able to breathe, Trilla devised a plan to utilize the troopers' radio to engage in some much needed misdirection.

A nearby sewer grate provided the perfect exit. Sticking two fingers into her mouth, Trilla gave a shrill whistle. Her targets approached, weapons at the ready. Rolling from the corner, her lightsaber cut across the center of the lead trooper, sending him to an early grave.

His comrade lit his electrostaff, unperturbed, but PT-709 did not strike. Instead, he said, "I was sorry to hear you had left us."

Trilla got the sense she knew him from somewhere. Holding her lightsaber to one side, she studied the trooper. "You were with me on Ontotho."

"Strange how quickly things can change, isn't it?" He lunged. It was never a competition. With a perfectly executed bifurcated slash, both his arms came off at the shoulder.

Knocking his leg out from under him, Trilla grabbed hold of PT-709. "No, no. You aren't getting to die yet." She dragged her victim toward the sewer. "Stop struggling. Arms are easy to replace."

Humidity greeted them. As did the repellent stench of waste. For once, Trilla was grateful that her dominant senses were dulled by the bleating of her fried nerves. Finding a hypodermic adrenal in the pouch strapped to PT-709's leg, she flicked the needle.

"This should keep you upright for a while." Jamming it into his neck, Trilla made sure it hurt enough to illicit a groan from him. "Now. Are you going to do what I say?"

"I always liked following your orders, sister." PT-709 coughed, making light of his situation.

The early series of explosion that had roused Trilla from sleep had been a product of Collot's mad escape from the Ninth Sister. She had not counted on his willingness to blow himself up. But that did not mean she was going to let him get away. Collot dashed through the winding streets, his little legs giving him a distinct disadvantage when escaping the raging bull hot on his heels.

The prospect of being taken alive did not appeal to Collot, who remained convinced he was going to be an appetizer. Oddly enough, it was the second time a Dowutin had tried to eat him. Twisting a knob on the first of his four IEDs, the device beep signaling it had been primed. He tossed it behind. The Ninth Sister jumped over the landmine, and using the Force, she hooked Collot, throwing him like an unwanted doll through the door of the closest residence.

Broken wood skewered his robe, stopping short of piercing his body thanks to the reinforced, ballistic underlay sewn into his robe. Collot chittered, trying to stand. He swooned, dazed by his sudden if brief flight. He shook his head, as the Ninth Sister burst inside. "I don't care what the Grand Inquisitor wants. I'm pulling you apart right now."

"The scary one wants, Collot? But Collot is just a humble scavenger." He drew his blaster, firing twice at her. The Ninth Sister roared, knocking the bolts away with ease. "That's not my problem." She lifted him into the air with a flick of her meaty hand.

Collot's eyes bulged as an immense weight crushed down on top of him. He cried out, flailing ineffectually in her grasp.

But then, Trilla's voice filtered through the communicator contained within his robe. "Collot! You better not be dead!"

Hearing her, the Ninth Sister stopped. "Answer it."

"Collot didn't hear anything!"

Pulling him to her open hand, the Ninth Sister cruelly jammed a thumbnail into the black void of his hood, right below his golden eyes. She pressed until warm blood ran over her hand. "We're worried, is all. Our dear sister has been causing all sorts of problems."

"Eeeeee!" He shook in her hold. "Collot won't betray Collot's tribe!"

His words came from somewhere deep within him. The Ninth Sister had actually bothered to learn the intricacies of Jawaese during a brief stent on Tatooine. She recognized a nuance in the speech pattern. "Hmm." She groped his thoughts, and was surprised to find them guarded despite his agitation.

R5 unit. Five hundred credits refurbished. KX droid. Two thousand credits plus finder's fee and reprogramming. Five thousand credits. Landspeeder. Borrowed from previous owner. Fresh coat of paint. Three thousand credits.

"You've dealt with Jedi before, haven't you, rat?" She asked, curious as to how a creature such as him could develop a powerful mental blockade.

"What's a Jedi?!"

The Ninth Sister snapped her jaw at him. "No matter. I'll test your limits later." Feeling around his robe, she found the communicator. Bringing it to her lips, she snarled, "Second Sister. I've got your pet."

There was no response from Trilla. So the Ninth Sister scowled, holding Collot up to the communicator and squeezed until an agonized, ear-splitting shriek burst forth. On the other end, Trilla did not want to humor the act. Her finger hovered over the turning off the communicator, as she weighed proceeding with her plan without Collot. Yet it was the Padawan who voiced her objection to abandoning the only sentient who had not balked at staying by their side through everything.

Realizing she would not hear the end of it, Trilla said, "Stop. I'm here."

"You are soft, sister." The Ninth Sister gave a heart chuckle. "Don't tell me you care about this thing…" Treating Collot like a chew toy, she squeezed again, causing him to release another deflating cry. "But then again, I always do love breaking your toys."

Trilla scowled. "He's not part of this."

"Hijacking an Imperial transport makes him a traitor."

"Collot is fine! Don't worry, Ink!" He shouted, trying to wriggle free again. "Shut it!" The Ninth Sister barked, spiking him straight into the floor. He cracked off the hard surface; the blow knocking him out cold.

A tense quiet settled. Enraged, Trilla spoke slowly. "If you bring Collot alive, I'll tell you my location." She then added. "But come alone."

"Not a chance."

"The Grand Inquisitor is going against Lord Vader's wishes…" Trilla growled, "If you want to earn his favor, you need drag me before him yourself."

Onderon's sewer system was as ancient as it was labyrinthine. Having existed as long as the city, planners were constantly adding newer pipes onto the old. Which created a subterranean environment that provided refuge for both the homeless and several species of rat that had adapted to the permanent darkness. So a perfect battleground for Trilla, who had made herself at home in the main overflow pipe. A massive cylinder into which all others emptied. Light streamed down from a grating above.

Resting on her knees, she listened for the sloshing of water, announcing the approach of another. Behind her, PT-709 gurgled. "Second Sister."

"It's just Trilla now. We aren't family anymore."

Despite this, his tone remained respectful of her former position. "Second Sister, whatever you're planning. When all is said and done, I'd like to continue in your service."

Trilla side-eyed him, unsure of his intentions. "Confident I'll triumph over the Ninth Sister, aren't you?" "I've watched you duel her plenty of times. Her recklessness is no match for your grace."

His assessment came from a place of genuine admiration. Trilla faced him, trying to peer beyond his helmet. "Why? My life has not exactly been glamorous since leaving the Inquisitorius."

"When has life ever been glamorous inside the Inquisitorius?" He chortled thoughtfully. "Besides, I've heard our retirement plan leaves much to be desired." PT-709 cocked his head to one side. "Though I guess you found that out already."

"What's your angle?" She asked, unconvinced.

"No angle. I just prefer your leadership to your siblings and the Grand Inquisitor." He might have shrugged had his arms remained intact. "The Second Sister knew how to relish the hunt and I'd prefer to stay by her side."

Trilla had known the clones develop affections for their Jedi leaders during the war. Given many Purge Troopers were veterans of the Clone Wars, she was not surprised those affections might extend to their inquisitors. After all, they were united in their atrocities and had to find a way to live with themselves after the fact.

There remained one point of concern. "How do I know that chip in your head won't paint a target on my back?"

"You are no Jedi, and besides, the chip only helps those with reservations. I pulled the trigger because those Jedi bastards deserved it." Seeing she still had doubts, he extended a last olive branch. "If it is a problem, I'll submit to any surgery deemed appropriate to prove my loyalty is to the Second Sister."

"It is appreciated PT." Trilla doubted they could find a surgeon capable of the procedure, but that would be a problem for later. "No hard feelings about the arms?"

"Hurts like hell." He smiled under his helmet. "To think, you once complimented my aim."

Trilla's lips curled slightly. It would be nice to have someone who was familiar with her family, in her corner. "Let's say we have an accord. Things are getting pretty hairy, is there anyway you can help us get a ship? Preferably, something… fast."

"Would the Grand Inquisitor's Scythe satisfy your needs?"

"It would." A distant sloshing signaled the arrival of the Ninth Sister, and Trilla motioned for silence.

The Ninth Sister lumbered into view, emerging from the pipe across from them. Her lightsaber adding a crimson hue to their arena. The metal platform creaked under her immense weight. A motionless Collot was being dragged along by his leg.

"He better be alive," Trilla said, standing. Her lightsaber remained in hand. "I suppose that depends on you, sister." The Ninth Sister walked over to the railing, holding Collot over the edge. "Will you submit?"

Feeling the Second Sister's guiding presence behind her, Trilla's eyes narrowed. "Where would the fun be in that?"

"Wonderful." The Ninth Sister opened her hand, and Collot plummeted into the roaring water.

"Shouldn't have done that…" Trilla ignited her lightsaber, allowing herself to float high above her body. Like a puppeteer, she directed the opening choreography of their dance. Running around the grating, she met the Ninth Sister with a flurry of short, quick slashes. The plan was to limit the Dowutin's movement, and turn her size into a disadvantage. The buzzing of lightsabers echoed off the damp cavern. The Ninth Sister loved the aggressiveness, matching it with a fury of her own. She slammed her entire body weight into Trilla, who was knocked against the railing.

Deftly, she allowed herself to fall, but caught the corner. Summoning what negligible amount of the Force she could spare, Trilla flipped into the air and slashed the Ninth Sister across the shoulder.

Who let out a bestial howl of anger as she spun, grasping Trilla's head in her hand. She slammed her against the wall. Trilla flipped her lightsaber, impaling herself to impale her attacker.

The blade's tip pierced through the Ninth Sister's stomach, who groaned, stumbling away, clutching get. "That hurt, you bitch!"

"You'll die a failure, sister." Trilla let the burning of her abdomen channel into another pattern of relentless swings. The Ninth Sister ignited the rear of her lightsaber, transforming it into a whirlwind as she sought to force back her opponent.

Hovering overhead, Trilla created an opening by overriding her self-preservation instinct. Shoving her hand forward, she allowed it to be severed at the wrist. An action that surprised the Ninth Sister, who momentarily lost focus, and granted Trilla a flood of dark power as she plunged her lightsaber through the center of the ringed hilt. While elsewhere, Cal screamed, clutching at his own hand, Trilla brought her saber upward, breaking her sister's weapon in two. Disarmed the Dowutin, tried to regain the momentum of battle, but Trilla made her kneel with another quick strike that blew apart her carapace.

"You're a damned abomination." The Ninth Sister snarled wildly, watching as Trilla's hand twitched, then was sucked back onto her gored stump by the Force. Blood congealed at the site of the cut.

Trilla flexed her fingers, relieved to find they were still willing to listen. "I'm what the Grand Inquisitor made me." She held her lightsaber beneath the Ninth Sister's chin. The Second Sister intervened, placing loving arms around Trilla's shoulders. Trilla allowed her to take over the reins. An unhinged grin crawled over her face. "It was never much of a challenge. Now, die as you lived, like a slave."

She plunged the lightsaber into the Ninth Sister's visor, boring a hole through the Dowutin's nose and out the back of her skull. Brain matter boiled beneath the heat of the plasma, and her upper lip dripped onto the grate below, as white bone gleamed in the purple glow. Unsatisfied with a clean kill, the Second Sister wriggled the weapon, making sure only a hollowed out circle remained. Coming to moments later, Trilla laid eyes upon the smoldering ring of dissolved flesh and bone.

Disgusted, she sent the Ninth Sister's remains into the oblivion of the water below. A mighty splash following. Slumping against the railing, Trilla whimpered as the adrenaline receded and was replaced by the bite of her freshly severed wrist.

"Collot doesn't want to drown!" A high-pitched squeal brought her attention to the sopping, wet gray blob of Jawa, clinging for dear life to a rusted-over lever. He was fighting to keep his head above the waterline. With renewed haste, Trilla descended the ladder and fished him out of the water. "There. Now we are square for Umbara."

"Ink didn't leave Collot!" He cried, wrapping himself around her leg, shivering.

"Hush." Trilla grabbed him by the scruff. "You were very brave, rat."

They rejoined PT-709, who was still seated. "Looks like the Grand Inquisitor is on the move again."