"I demand news."

Diomeni interrupted Jabba perhaps a second too quickly.

"And I bring it." He said, feigning frustration and worry into tapping his communicator, "I'm trying to establish communication with my ally as we speak."

Everyone in the dark chambers shuddered with bated breath. Jabba himself, though holding himself up reasonably well, now had the most dreadfully wearied Hutt eyes you'd ever see. Diomeni stood before him, staring intently into his device and pushing one strand of hair away, every so often sharing placating gestures and looks with the Hutt. His thoughts, however, were a different story entirely, but before he could contemplate such things, Asajj's form arose from his hand.

To everyone present with sharp eyes, they would see a battered-looking, exhausted bald woman with a downcast expression. She clutched her side and looked so miserable in Diomeni's eyes. There was no need to fake pity for the woman; she pulled off her bitter face quite naturally.

That's sad.

One faux relieved sigh later, Diomeni said, "Commander, what news? Jabba grows anxious, as do I."

And Asajj Ventress spoke with a tone she rarely uses, "There's no easy way to tell you this… The Republic overwhelmed us. I powered my way through their forces, but I saw Skywalker…"

She paused, dipping her head low. Diomeni knew Jabba had leaned forward with the worst thoughts swirling in his mind. Then, Ventress said with such a worn voice:

"He killed Rotta."

High, low, and silent gasps surrounded the room. Diomeni had expected Jabba to be the most vociferous, as usual. And at first, Jabba seemed inclined to deliver but fell short. The Hutt father tried to provide a crack of thunder bellow that all of Tatooine would hear.

Yet, all strength seemed to drain from the Hutt completely. Gone was the crime lord, now left a broken father. He seemed to search the room, then his arm, as if he expected to see Rotta there.

This must be a new feeling for you.

"Did you least," Diomeni genuinely hesitated, "deliver… justice to him?" Within his mouth, he scraped his tongue on his teeth for…

It's a performance. I can be forgiven for such misuse.

Ventress gathered herself, "No, he flew away on a ship. We believe he's headed to Tatooine."

At last, Jabba spoke, "My son's body! I want to see it! What he's done to Rotta, I will know so I may unleash tenfold! I will have him in my arms and see the sleemo—"

"He took the body with him. I couldn't get it now. By now, he may have jettisoned the body into the thrusters, knowing his disregard for life."

Delicious extemporization, my dear.

Diomeni let his eyes-clenched-shut sigh of relief be disguised as a grim acceptance of horrid news.

"You did your best, Commander." Diomeni said softly, "Get yourself out of there and fix yourself up. I will see you when I can."

"Thank you." Ventress nodded, then paused, "And I'm sorry."

In the split second her form faded away, Diomeni nearly discarded his mourning eyes for his true eyes. This woman, who wished to become a Sith Lady, couldn't—shouldn't— be doubted. Thankfully, Diomeni caught himself and watched as Jabba collected himself.

"Why does the Jedi come here?" He asked Diomeni, his voice slowly regaining its former power.

Diomeni, head held high, found the reason quickly, "He means to kill you. He despises your very existence, you know. To him, you are filth, undeserving of a place in this galaxy. It goes beyond mere slavery and Jedi idealism—every second you stand here as conquerors of the galaxy is like a blow to his stomach. You revile him so much that the only reason he would ever come within half a meter of your presence," he brought his voice down, "is to kill you. Here. Now. His time as a slave is but an excuse. He is the Republic's greatest weapon in their quest for democracy."

"This is what passes for civilization in the Republic?!" Jabba cried in a newfound outrage. The Hutt's huffing form sent the fight-or-flight instincts of his entourage ablaze. Worried as they were for their safety, Diomeni took pity on a few of them.

"I'm sorry about your son, Lord Jabba." He told the Hutt. A small part of Diomeni… meant it. After all, if Diomeni had sons or daughters, he should feel the same. The words seemed to shake Jabba, and he paraphrased some of the man's earlier comments.

"I want him dead. Here. Now."

"Let me, Lord Jabba, have him brought to you."

"His skull."

"Ah, yes. His skull. I will bring you his skull." Diomeni bowed, "I promise, Lord Jabba, that before daybreak, you shall see Anakin Skywalker's face a mess of confusion and horror for what he's done."

Had Jabba's wits not been downtrodden, he would have noticed the smooth yet strange emphasis Diomeni placed on his words. As it was, he didn't see or hear it. Jabba was left to appear as a feared crime lord. A crime lord who would not stop looking at his hand when he could.

Diomeni glided out of the room again. Things were moving quickly, and he loved it. As he passed the halls one last time and listened to those scraping doors rise, he practically leaped in his speeder bike. His cape and hair flowed in the air, and as he landed on his vehicle, hints of his true nature could have been glimpsed had anyone been present. Had one of his friends been there, he would have ingrained his image against the binary sunset and placed it on a mural.

The wind whistled in his ears, and his eyes were like bolts of lasers racing to their destination. With every meter he placed between himself and Jabba's palace, his imagination ran wild. With every hill he passed, his long red hair flapped with his cape. His red hair and heart pounded with anticipation just as his skin burned with the sun, yet he shivered all at once.

Stretching out his senses, he searched for those whose eagerness could not contend with his but were welcome all the same. With his eyes, he saw Poskurr and Tavian on a hill, the three new faces searching the sky. At the sound of the speeder, the Zeltron and Twi'lek turned to attention. Diomeni pulled up before them, enjoying the flourish of his cape and hair.

Disembarking, he stood as tall and fair as he felt. His two adherents followed suit.

"Lord Diomeni, he who casts out and delivers the stars," said Poskurr, kneeling on his left knee, lowering his head, and holding out his hand.

"Lord Diomeni, he who instills fear, love, and glory to conquer, capture, and become," said Tavian, bowing with his fingers digging into his heart.

The two rose once more, the three brothers in the center. Diomeni walked toward them, and it was here that the wind stopped. The oldest stares at Diomeni with a perfectly stilled expression. Diomeni approached him first.

Diomeni allows his power to prowl within his voice, "What are your names?"

"My name…is Jersha."

The other two were shocked. Whatever story they had intended to feed the tall, red-haired man had been thrown out the metaphorical window. Even Jersha, his stocky face, and bald brown head, felt a bead of sweat from a struggle once thought dead. Lying wasn't supposed to be hard!

The second brother pushed a brown bang away from his blue eye as they met the eyes of Diomeni. An expectant brow and a beat of silence later, a name fell out his mouth.

"Nizala." said the second brother. Diomeni nodded before taking slow steps to the last brother. And before Diomeni could look at his front and center, a new name was squeaked.

"Ginso, my lord."

One last deliberate step and Ginso saw the side of Diomeni's smile before the wind started again. Sweat now tickled his face with the hot wind but otherwise provided no comfort.

"And why are you here?" said Diomeni, slow and deliberate as his steps were, "And I don't mean here on this planet; I mean, why have my friends brought you here?"

Ginso's words tumbled out, "Because we are notorious criminals, and we've heard rumors of your…"

Ginso stopped when a bump on his elbow brought his eye to Jetsha's stern eyes. And Nizala's head frantically shook, and the word 'no' was being mouthed. Then they faced forward as though hiding from a drill instructor.

Diomeni chuckled, "The word you're looking for is society." Then, his tone shifted, "I've got some bad news for you, sunshine: you don't find my society, my favors, my protection. You earn it. Just today, an ordinary dancer paved her way to a higher calling.

"Though her power is small and nominal, she used it wisely. Anyone can be a part of my family and become a mythical whisper to inspire hope and fear and jealousy among the commoners. But first, they must prove it. You say notorious, but I've never heard of you. You're criminals, but history has a tendency to condemn lesser men for lesser. And you've heard rumors."

Jersha looked down as though in shame. Nizala looked slightly offended. Ginso was paying every smooth word its due. Each brother took something away from his words, for they stood out to them.

Diomeni held his hand out, "Everyone hears rumors, but the truest of souls act on them. Whether you found us by our chance or divine intervention," he paused, "I will not say. But you're here now, and temptation is vital to our society. I see that you are fighters." Nizala flinched as his cheek's scar felt a fingernail tracing it, "Good ones. And this is how you will prove yourselves. Arise."

They did so, and though it was different, surprise and confusion ran through their minds. When did they kneel?

Diomeni made a fist—a tight one, enough to make his hand bleed. The red liquid poured from his palm, and his sharp nails were stained. He dipped his left index finger in his right palm and reached for Ginso's forehead. Diomeni conveyed an unimpressed glare that stopped Ginso from flinching again. Once he finished, he gestured for them to look at each other.

The brothers saw their simple marks: Jersha had a horizontal line, Nizala had a line that tilted right, and Ginso's tilted the opposite. They all realized the sides of a triangle were marked on them. Nizala giggled, then shushed himself. But as Diomeni clapped his hands with his own laugh. Jersha and Ginso shrugged, not exactly sure what to think.

Then Diomeni said, "Humbled but not aroused, you go with my grace. Perhaps at eventide shall we see the dark fruit of your labors." He put his hands on Jersha's shoulders, "Do you understand what is at stake? Two Jedi are coming here, and they bring Jabba the Hutt's repugnant slug-ling."

Jersha's eyes widened, and he glanced at his brothers. They wanted sanctuary and were willing to steal anything to do it. They were good with thievery and raids and had heard this was a way to get the attention of these people. Ginso suggested they not go through with this; there had to be someplace better, he had said. Nizala saw the danger, as well, but felt the risk was necessary.

Now, their desperation had brought them into a situation beyond their control. But what could Jersha do? Ever since he met the Zeltron man, he couldn't get the idea out of his head. The brothers only had a few close encounters with Jedi, but nothing too severe. And now they had to fight one?

As if reading his mind, Diomeni, calm yet alight with something resembling hunger, said to him, "You can't defeat the Jedi Knight. Truthfully, you don't even need to kill his Padawan. The seeds I planted are too deep to be dug out from Jabba's mind. But to see my dark fruits of the C.I.S. are to grow, we must seal it away with the blood of the Huttlet."

"A kid?" Nizala asked disbelievingly, "We're killing a kid? I—"

Diomeni flashed a glare, "No, he said 'Huttlet.'" There was silence for an uncomfortable moment before Diomeni sighed, "They are not people. They're," He quirked a brow, "overgrown placeholders."

"But the Jedi…"

Diomeni interrupted whatever diplomatic words Jersha had, "The Jedi will know I'm here." he held out his hands, "His first priority will be his charming, little Padawan. He'll take on the storm for her so that she may pass. But I doubt he suspects you. Altogether, you can defeat the Padawan."

He grinned with finality, and he flipped his arm out to flare his cape. He moved to his speeder bike before Ginso's voice broke his thoughts.

"What are you going to do?"

Poskurr shook his head, and Tavian outright laughed derisively.

"Haven't you been listening?" Diomeni's form was held within the first sun of Tatooine. His left eye glowed a chilled blue, and his smile was a beautiful combination of power and dignity and savagery. The brothers' hearts did not sink, and perhaps they imagined the feeling of elation. But Diomeni's words were like a delicate crack of lightning, "Skywalker will take on the storm for his Padawan to pass. I'm the storm."

----------------------------------------

It wasn't only that the repulsive sand and dour heat made Anakin feel like a small child again. Upon sending Ahsoka ahead with the Huttlet, he wasn't tempted to succumb to loneliness and helplessness— two things he hadn't been in years. Anakin pushed all these feelings down as deeply as they could, and yet they spurred him forward. Beyond all of that, it was the sense that the Dark Side felt right in place. Winds that didn't tear, sounds that weren't there, and yet they made his bones ache.

Anakin wouldn't let that bring him down, though. He would bat it all away and return to his wife's arms before she knew it. That's right. I have a wife, and I'm not giving her up.

Things were changing now, and Anakin would adapt as he always did. But some things would never change. Anakin's instincts to protect were iron-clad, spurring him to act in the Republic's and his Padawan's best interests.

The unnatural chill he felt put his instincts to the test. Before darkness had completely submerged Tatooine, he and Ahsoka felt the ominous sensation of a darksider.

"You feel that, don't you?" Ahsoka had said.

"That's the dark side." He replied, and even Rotta seemed to notice the change in mood and hid within Anakin's backpack.

Anakin had felt the dark side's touch. He… remembers vividly the pain that follows. He would know Count Dooku's imperious presence from within a meter. This was not Count Dooku; Anakin was sure of that. He would still follow through with his plan even if it were one of the many traitorous Jedi who joined the Count.

Except Anakin recognized the presence.

After a moment, Anakin spoke, "Whoever they are, this is where we part ways."

"What?" Ahsoka asked incredulously as Anakin removed the backpack with Rotta, "Master, no! We can take them together."

"I'm sure we could, but we're doing this instead."

"Master, I don't need protection!" Ahsoka had insisted when he handed her the backpack.

Anakin's face hardened, the events of Jabiim making the foundation of his resolve.

"This goes beyond protection, Ahsoka. It's about the mission. We made it to Tatooine, and that slug must return to his father's arms. I'm counting on you to see it through."

Ahsoka's face dropped and didn't settle. Flowing with uncertainty, it seemed Ahsoka was once again at a loss on how to respond. Then again, Anakin hadn't been forthright during their time on Tatooine. He didn't want to talk about this dustball, but that didn't mean Ahsoka was wrong to try to connect with him.

She looked up when he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I trust you, Snips." He said, with every bit of earnestness, "You can pull off the stealth bit, while I hold this dark sider off." He hesitated, "And… I don't know what to expect. But I'm sure I can handle it."

Or so Anakin thought.

The dark, oppressive choke of the dark side was also a memory of a far-off time. Before Count Dooku had cut off his arm. Before he watched Padme fall out of the gunship, and Anakin thought that Obi-Wan convinced him she was dead and gone. Before he felt his mother die in his arms.

No, it was after Qui-Gon's death, but before he met Padme again. Sometime during the years when he and his Master challenged Omega, a name he hadn't even considered in so long. Anakin was fifteen then and still learning his way to be a Jedi. Even with his natural abilities, Anakin had Obi-Wan for support to combat a sinister conspiracy several years ago. Someone was riding toward him, and it wasn't Count Dooku.

Anakin didn't need to look up. At first, the energy he felt was foreign, far more different than what Count Dooku or the Zabrak emitted. But something else was there— something… disgustingly familiar.

A distantly familiar swoop bike stopped a few meters before him, a cowled, black figure its rider. A part of Anakin thought, and perhaps even hoped, the Zabrak that killed Qui-Gon had finally returned to finish what it started. But that was a past long buried by Obi-Wan.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The rider slowly stood and purposely, every so often backing a foot back as a predator would in fear of alerting its prey. Anakin wasn't fooled by this slow, dance-like mockery that made Anakin grip his lightsaber. Anakin cursed Obi-Wan and himself; a past chapter of their life, which they thought was gone forever, has resurfaced.

Finally, the figure, cape blowing in the wind like wings, stood on the hill with him. They said nothing. The light of Tatooine's three moons showed no sign of this man's face. Instead of some raging rant as Anakin expected, the man pointed his finger upward. Sand flew within this sudden wind, but the man's voice came through, a regal sound disguising a savage cunning.

"Chenini, Ghomrassen, and Guermessa." He said, "Those are your moons, and I love them. The best moons for the calm warrior to hang by."

He had grasped his hood back and, with it, tumbled long, crimson hair that flowed with the wind. His face and chin were long and narrowed, with the cheekbones best suited for a long and noble line. But to Anakin's eyes, the sadistic smirk he wore gave him the eyes of a monster. The smirk became a ghastly smile, almost reptilian, and those black eyes filled with delight and fire. Anakin remembered him, just as he remembered the Padawan who shattered his schemes.

Despite being slightly shorter than him, Anakin would not give that impression of backing down. He stood his ground and activated his lightsaber. The action set off a few giggles of increasing joy from this assassin, but he didn't take out a weapon.

"I'm fighting on your ground, Skywalker," He purred at the words, "You're a man, at last. This time, the terms are all yours..."

Suddenly, his face became deathly blank. "Don't disappoint me."

Faster than the eye could track, he closed the distance. It was like slow-motion: the grin returned, his talon hands outstretched, and a gleam of black and gold flew into his hand.

Lightsaber!

Anakin raised his blade to defend himself from rapid strikes and heavy swings. Anakin almost didn't spot the movements. Quickly, Anakin backed away to reorganize himself, the red-haired man approaching him with quicker slices.

As quick as they came, he stopped. The man observed every inch of him with fervent approval; it made Anakin sick.

"Nothing to say?" Diomeni flicked a hair away, and Anakin remained silent. "As you wish."

Two colors illuminated that space on that night: sapphire blue and scarlet red. But there was something wrong with the assassin's lightsaber. Anakin's blade was bright and resonant with its color, while the other sword was faint and deep and didn't shine as it should. At least, compared to Ventress or Dooku's lightsaber, his shouldn't crackle even once. Yet, when it emitted a calm hum, it could suddenly spark.

Diomeni glared into the eyes of the Jedi. He angled his lightsaber forward with one hand behind his back. He was inching forward, getting closer and closer, until red touched blue— gently prodding along to see if the man would let Diomeni cut his face.

A second later, Diomeni protected his face with a laugh. Anakin went on the offensive, his strikes broad and formidable.

Diomeni allowed himself to move back by two steps. The strikes did vibrate through the lightsaber and into his dark-clad form. But every strike made Anakin feel like he was hitting a being of water. No matter how or where he attacked, Diomeni would adapt, contorting his body in an elegant, fluid dance that thrust a tidal wave in response. Anakin pushed forward like a Reek, but Diomeni glided across the sand before he struck the Jedi with equal strength.

There was Makashi within his movements; Anakin saw the results of Count Dooku. But now, Anakin uses the form that counters Makashi: Djem So—the form designed to overwhelm and empower. Anakin was the Chosen One; if he kept up the heat, he would defeat this new adversary. And yet, he felt the same intensity he confronted long ago. Within his head, Obi-Wan's voice reminded Anakin of why he should keep his distance, but the brazen furnace that was his heart and the booming storm that was his mind reminded him he wasn't a Padawan anymore.

A hiss. Diomeni struck him with rapid and calculated blows. Anakin was being forced near the edge of a gully. Then, they stopped. A bead of sweat and hard breaths came from both Anakin and Diomeni.

Then Diomeni flew into the air, their blades crashed, and Anakin felt the ground beneath drop. It was a few seconds enough to send them falling down a gully. Where his foot stood was blasted. Calculated. Purposefully. Through the Force.

The two men tumbled down the hill and tussled. Their only sources of light were gone. Anakin tried to stab, when it seemed to slip forcefully from his hand. He tried Force-pushing, but the caped man's hands clawed into Anakin's skin. So, he pulled back his robotic limb and felt a dull yet severe crunch, much to his pleasure. Before separating, Diomeni threw something in his face. Anakin spat sand out (I hate it so much) and looked up too late.

Pain flared in his face. He flew momentarily, then hit the ground, and Diomeni stomped on his chest and ribs. Diomeni grabbed him by his hair, intending to throw him, but Anakin punched him twice, sending ringing throbs through his mechanical arm. Diomeni caught the last punch, knocked the Knight's other arm away, and headbutted Anakin.

Diomeni pressed his advantage. Anakin nearly regained his bearings before he felt two claw hands, nails digging, lifting him. He saw Diomeni smile before pain enveloped his body.

Anakin cried out as the burning, freezing sensation of Count Dooku cutting his arm off hundreds of times flooded him. Watto hit him with a power that finally got him to shed tears. Padme fell from the gunship, and he couldn't save her. His mother died in his arms again and again and again and again— Stop! Stop it! STOP IT!

Something stopped the pain. Anakin struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, it was night, surrounded by sand, and a red-haired man was laughing as he stood a few meters from him. The man returned to his feet and patted his clothes with a cruel laugh.

Anakin had pushed him away with a blast from the Force.

Anakin picked himself up, and the wind did the same. He saw something flow off of him, and his fists tightened when he saw smoke. Smoke was exuding off of himself. Anakin tried to steady his breath, but the grin on the dark man's damned face!

"Do you know what I love about Sith Lightning?" said Diomeni, licking his nails. Crunching noises followed the first steps he took. Anakin saw rocks beneath their feet and knew they had fallen into a gully.

His head throbbed, and something dripped down the sides of his head. Anakin would touch it because he knew it was blood.

"It compels old memories to torture you."

He didn't touch it because the blood within him burned. His face tightened because he was listening to his words.

"And they are strong. I know how much you hate this planet. It's the source of your misery, pain," he paused as if tasting the air, "and loss."

And that last word pushed him. With a yell, Anakin blasted a whirlwind of sand and rocks to sweep Diomeni away. Before enveloping the man, Anakin saw him smirk. The last thing again needed was for someone to know about his mother. But he tried shutting out the whispers, took his pain, and threw it back at this outsider!

"Let's see you smile now." Anakin heard himself say. He raised both his arms now and willed every rock and cloud of sand to collide with the dark figure's form. He kept pounding every gust with a reek's retaliation. His eyes never left the spot where he once stood; now, he'd see his handiwork.

The dust settled as his breath came out slowly, and his arms dropped. He expected to see the man's form slumped on the sand hill. The sand parted and rested with the current to reveal the man nowhere in sight.

Anakin's eyes widened, and he was on alert again. He stretched his senses out to find his enemy's location. Anakin felt his hair move, so he spun around at the sound of a lightsaber.

But there were two. Red and blue lightsabers, each one ready to behead him. The wind picked up, and his face morphed into a deep scowl as the man's deep red hair wafted in his smirking splendor.

His eyes were glowing in the icy blue Anakin remembered when he said, "Kindly give me the backpack, Skywalker. I still have a mission to complete, and I don't want you dead."

"Your actions tell me otherwise," said Anakin, spitting some spit or blood.

Diomeni shook his head in a way that made you forget he was one slice away from execution.

"No, no, no. I came out here to make you suffer. And suffer you shall."

The lightsabers shut off, and Diomeni tossed Anakin's weapon to him. Anakin caught it and stared for a moment. The Knight remarked on the piteous missed opportunity. If only he had held it out for Anakin, as a gentleman should, so Anakin could flip the blade with the Force and stab him there.

"Gruesome business," said Diomeni, cracking his clawed fingers, "but I must ask: how do you expect me to deliver righteous judgment on a few measly rocks?"

Anakin froze. Before he could attack again, the realization slowly dawned on him…

The man stood perfectly still, like a dark tree smiling in the wind. Anakin decided to look at him— truly analyzing the man. This was different from the beast he fought as a Padawan. No, not different, came the bitter thought. The man's smile rose further as if hearing his thoughts. How powerful is he? Does he know about Anakin's deeds? Could he hear the Tusken Raiders dying cries pervading Anakin's mind? Does he see the selfish little boy who can't be a Jedi? Can he sense the avarice, despair, and crackling fears gnawing in Anakin's mind?

Or is that your avarice, despair, and fears I sense? With that thought, Anakin pressed his doubts down and looked his opponent in the unnatural eyes.

"You failed. The Huttlet is safe with my Padawan." Anakin snarled, refusing to let him feel accomplished.

"But is your Padawan safe from my men, I wonder?"

Anakin snorted, "She's more skilled than you think."

"Would you pray for such a thing?" Diomeni asked, brows raised in faux wonder, "Go on, let me listen."

Anakin activated his weapon, but Diomeni smiled as though Anakin had proven his point. Diomeni rushed Anakin, and as the Knight swung his blade, something unexpected happened.

Somehow, Anakin felt himself flying backward through the air. He twisted his body, the sky and ground spinning in his eyes, and he landed on a sand dune.

When he looked up, he saw Diomeni standing near the gully, climbing up a small hill, the wind blowing his dark clothes, and he held his hands out as if for a hug. He took slow, purposeful, almost floating steps as his face and voice became melodramatic.

"May the Padawan be spared from a slow death." He said across the distance. Then he laughed.

"May she be spared to watch her Master fail and—"

This time, Anakin wasted no time. Instantly, he crossed the distance in meters to cut the man's head off. Diomeni's blade snapped open to block, and Anakin saw his scowl. Anakin pressed his advantage and kicked Diomeni across the jaw.

The man slid down the hill, and Anakin eyed in satisfaction as he scrambled up with a scowl. That moment passed when he started laughing, to Anakin's irritation.

Anakin slammed him into the ground with the Force. He slid down and knocked Diomeni's blade away before his robotic hand back-handed him and then seized his throat. Now, true satisfaction swelled in Anakin as blood trickled down his opponent's nose.

Anakin, with his left hand, held his blade close to Diomeni's face.

"You are beaten." Anakin growled.

Diomeni's face showed no fear, and Anakin could sense none—only primal lust and vengeance. Peering through the shadows of a dark red mane was a pair of gleaming blue eyes— subconsciously, Anakin felt he should back away but didn't.

Diomeni licked his lips, "I have much to say to you. I struck three blows against you. I need one more."

Yet, as Diomeni said this, there was little to no struggle.

"You're welcome to try. I beat you once; I'll always do it." Anakin stated with conviction.

Diomeni smiled, again, "Once, your Master was with you."

"I'm not a Padawan anymore."

"So I'm told. In fact, rumor has it," The sound of a hologram sounded next to Anakin, "you have a Padawan."

Anakin looked left and did indeed see a holographic figure.

Diomeni's head crashed into Anakin's in a headbutt. Before Anakin could collect himself, he was sent flying away again. This time, the cold, firey pain of Force lightning returned with him.

He rolled across the sand, his head pounding with pressure and his body smoking. He tried pushing himself off the ground when something light landed in front of him. He stared, wide-eyed, as he watched Ahsoka Tano, with Rotta on her back in a makeshift harness, swinging her lightsaber. Three or four figures closed in on her, and he was helpless as he listened to her grunts fade. The last sound he heard was laughter, but not from Diomeni— Ahsoka's enemies weren't droids; they were alive. So, she stood a chance.

But, if his opponent, the creature standing before Anakin, came with him…

"Ah, yes. The final blow." Anakin looked up: Diomeni was wiping his nose, "Though this is one strike too many, know that the avenged are pleased that you'll be feeling our pain."

Anakin struggled to stand, not through pain, but through the crushing realization. While Anakin was far away from Ahsoka and Rotta, they were fighting for their lives! He felt a fool for letting this freak get to him. He didn't know if he had become powerful as a Knight or was still a pathetic child. Anakin decided that enough time had been wasted.

But Dioneni said, "So suffer, Chosen One, as my men bring your Padawan to justice, and may Diomeni vindicate the Confederacy of Independent Systems."

And Anakin, scowling and grimly determined as he was, felt he couldn't let him have the final word.

"This isn't over," Anakin glared, "Anzati monster."

The Anzati blinked. He blinked again. Then he rolled his glowing blue eyes.

"I guess I am more mature than you now," He declared with a laugh, "Seeing as you put up a tremendous fight, I, Diomeni, shall provoke you no more. For the great Diomeni, I'm sure you'll find, is terrible, wrathful, and yet most gentle— most kind."

His manner now placid and tranquil, Diomeni gestured to his speeder, a few meters behind Anakin, "Take my ride. Save your Padawan. With the speed of the wind, you might make it to Jabba's palace."

Anakin knew the speeder was in the corner of his eye but kept his guard up. He sent another cloud of sand at Diomeni. But there was no chase. He simply sat where he was, as still as a sculpture. Anakin didn't think about it. He started up the speeder, ignoring how alike it was to the Zabrak that killed Qui-Gon and raced against time and his planet.

Diomeni, while in his mind as perfect as a sculpture, was not motionless as one. He stood up as Anakin Skywalker began to shrink in the distance. Idly, Diomeni looked at the tool on his left wrist.

There was a remote trigger. It could do a few things, such as call his speeder with an isolated signal. He could enter a code and have Skywalker carried back to his location and continue their battle. He could send it further away from Jabba's palace, extending his trip and getting a good dose of petty revenge.

He could detonate the bombs hidden within them.

"I told you once," Diomeni said softly, "that to think of me as nothing but an Anzati is dishonoring and demeaning my name. And that I would lay my vengeance on you, and you will know…"

He glared at Skywalker's withdrawn form, those icy blue eyes desiring nothing but to freeze him in place. Freeze him and watch as his organs fail him, his tears turn to ice, and then warm him up and heal him just to do it all over again. When he heard his growling breath, Diomeni realized his long, tentacle-like proboscis' had popped out of his sharp cheeks. He could do it. Enter the code, and let divine retribution wash over these sands in a mass of fire.

Then, Diomeni flashed his wrist in a wave, and the Force amplified his voice to carry across the expansive stretch of sand, and in Huttese, he said, "GOOD NIGHT, ANAKIN SKYWALKER!"

Anakin heard this but ignored him.

----------------------------------------

I wanted to shout to the heavens, or whatever's out there, that I had survived the battlefield. So I did.

"I SURVIVED! WHOO!"

Oh, jumping up and down and dancing felt like utter torment to my head and my body, but, consider this, I survived. This is what I deserved. Not the pain, I mean. But then again, no pain, no game.

After cringing at my aching skull, I floated back down to the soothing aching that was my current state. It took a few minutes to reach our troops, but when we arrived, we turned the tide against the droids— I was still singing and back flipping over my triumphant survival against the dark— no, we have a Dark Lady. What even is that bald witch? Easy pickings, it was, and when it was over, Obi-Wan went with Commander Cody, likely giving a headcount or trying to establish a connection with the dapper duo. That's Anakin and Padawan Tano. Well, no, 'dapper' is the wrong word. I'll work on it. The monastery, or what's left of it, and somehow I know I'll say that a lot in the future, was in utter shambles. It didn't look as though a volcano had reduced everything to a crusted wasteland, but Stars above, this battle has tested its mettle.

It tested ours as well. I had seen the number of our losses, and overall, it could have been worse.

For us.

Captain Rex, on the other hand, was part of the 'us' I alluded to. So that doesn't make much sense. My point is that I saw his form amidst the carpet of demolition. With his helmet in his hand, he stood and walked around as the ever-dutiful soldier, but I saw his eyes.

Make no mistake; his eyes told me everything. At the beginning of this excursion, there was a fire within them. It was bright, but in my moment of need, it warmed my heart and gave me hope. But now, it seemed to my eyes that Captain Rex was at a loss. Nothing was there to occupy his troubled mind, and it could very well be that he was exercising all his strength not to fall over.

In other words, Captain Rex was upset.

So, I approached him as he paused to stare at the distant jungles below.

"Doin' alright?" I began.

"Not really." He said flatly, "I'd ask you the same, but I think everyone knows."

Well, at least he's honest.

I shrugged and smiled, "Well, of course! I live to sing and dance another day."

"We're lucky you got here in time," said he in that same tone.

"Well—"

But I stopped. I had something prepared, but then I considered. I didn't want to turn around, but I knew I had to. I forced my head to stare at the numerous dead and deactivated—droids and clones, all around us.

Then, I stared at the man before me. How often had he seen his dead friends being hauled away or listed as KIA? Finally, the excitement of having survived at least two grand skirmishes finally faded out. This isn't what the Captain needed.

"I'm sorry…" I looked down, "About your Company."

"Not your fault."

But are you thinking it's your fault?

"Perhaps not. But perhaps so." And I meant it. Perhaps if we had been here sooner, there would be cheers abound, "If I get nightmares tonight, the universe disagrees with you."

Now, Captain Rex looked at me. He was searching for something. The man had gone through hell; perhaps he should find something behind—

"Why'd you apologize to Slick?"

I blinked. Okay, that's not what I expected. And perhaps more than I was bargaining for.

"He was a traitor. He nearly killed you, broke my leg, and would have had our brothers dead sooner. So, why'd you say sorry?"

His voice was steady and tired, yet I sensed something hidden that sounded desperate— like it needed hope.

The jungles were exceptional; it could be fun to explore them. Possibilities abound and around and round with sounds. But Captain Rex…

I don't know what he needed. Yet again, I didn't know.

But I wouldn't give up on him. It wouldn't be fair. What else could I do since he revealed so much without realizing it? I had to be at my sharpest, not in body, though that would help, but in mind.

So, I decided, "Can I tell you a story?"

His face didn't shift, but he didn't shake his head. So, I told him something I couldn't quite remember at the time.

"Once upon a time, there were freaks." I raised my brows, gauging his reaction. His own brows lifted, as well. I had his attention. As best as I recall, this is what I told Captain Rex.

"They liked to call themselves misfits, but everyone called them freaks. I can't remember their hardships, but I know they endured and decided they'd had enough. They did something about it, make sure it was all for something, you know? I remember something about mountains and the clouds that lay on them. They climbed these mountains to get away from the people.

"Once they did, they saw everything. They could see everyone, and they laughed for hours. There's more to why they laughed in the first place, but that's the basic gist of it. When they finally remembered themselves, they saw misfits. They couldn't stand to see brothers and sisters tortured by such cruelty, so they went back down to save them. Now, uh, there's more to the story. They meet some people, bring them to the clouds, and realize some didn't earn such kindness.

"But in the end," I paused, "it was their secret mission to find the waiting weary and give them a home, since they were so busy adding color to the skies. Um, they could do that, by the way. If no one else did, who would?"

I hesitated to look at his face. I could sense curiosity, yes, but I could also feel something that felt like a heavy heart lifting itself.

"You didn't make that up." Captain Rex did not ask.

But I laughed, "I'm doing it all the time."

Finally, I looked at him. He was tiredly trying to stop a snicker. It was a vague enough not-answer to a straightforward not-question. How much did he understand, I wonder? He and I might never be able to relate to one another fully, but he helped me. That counts for something.

He said nothing for a moment, "It's only going to get more complicated from here. We've got to fight smarter than this, or they'll roll all over us."

He wasn't just speaking to me.

"I like complicated." said I, "It gives me something to do. I could finally learn how to ride the tides. And taken at the flood, we could be heroes."

"Do you feel like a hero?"

"I don't know how I feel. Not very clever, I can tell you that. But if you think they, the armor of metal and gears, are clever, I'll be cleverer-er than them."

He scoffed, but it wasn't a harsh one. He nodded nonetheless.

"You're not forgetting what I told you?" he said, eyeing me.

"No, no, I won't." I sighed, "Thank you, by the way."

"Thank you, too."

It felt good hearing him say that.

I turned to him, "Listen, can you keep that story in the back of your head? It's a strange request, I'll admit, but—"

"No."

I did a double-take.

Then he smirked, "I'm going to wait til you remember all the details. Your tale-telling needs work. Then, we'll talk."

I laughed heartily and stared out at the landmass. Every animal on this planet probably received no winks of sleep last night. Come to think of it, when was the last time I slept? Oh, to hell with it. It's not the first time I was an insomniac, and it will certainly not be the last. Maybe… No, I'll leave that little piece of introspection for another day.

"It's not always going to be doom and gloom." I said to Rex, "After every storm, light shines through. And even then, there's nothing stopping you from sprouting wings and flying away to see the rainbow spheres that we call planets.

"It's true that this wind is more powerful than anything the galaxy's felt in decades, and many good men and women have withered away and lost themselves to its bitter chill. But hopefully, when the wind settles, a cleaner and stronger land will be left when the storm clears. After all, you can fly forever, but everyone, no matter what's the excuse, needs a home to fly toward."

"Took the words out of my mouth," He said, and to my pleasant surprise, he added, "...And maybe added a few more good ones."

He patted my shoulder, and with the grace taught to me that I would always feel proud of, I bowed, deeply and bare. This is what makes it all worth it.

He ruined it by patting my head and ruffling my hair because of course he did. Well, whatever. Not every stage must be cluttered with flowers.

Sometime after this, Commander Cody and Obi-Wan called us. Shortly after informing us that Anakin Skywalker had crashed his ship, preparations were made to travel back to Tatooine.

"Hopefully, he's fixed everything by now," I remarked.

Captain Rex said something about not being that lucky. Obi-Wan dismissed the notion of luck. Fools.

Our course was clear. To Tatooine, we go now. I risked patting the Captain and Commander on their shoulders and wished them the best.

"Call me Rex," Rex said to me.

"For the sake of time," Commander Cody said, "you can call me Cody."

I nodded at Cody and Rex and joined my Master to our Starfighters. The risk was worth it. To hell with my aching everything, I could heal myself later! I could heal the other troops later! I could do it now! Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, I'll focus on getting by, and who knows? Maybe Zakriahs Asher will be riding the eye of the storm.

Maybe...