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The interrogation room shone with an ominous orange glow, the air sterile and filled with stale gas leaking from below. The torture chair was an eerie centrepiece, highlighted on its own pedestal as if waiting for its next victim.
The heavy blast-door behind Cal sealed itself as he quickly jogged across the room, BD-1 beeping nervously on his back. He approached the terminal by the edge of the main platform, trying to find the activation to extend the bridge which would connect him to the interrogation chair. He had no other lead to follow. The Holocron had to be in here, somewhere.
Just as he had begun to work on the console did his mind shudder, his senses alerting him to a presence through the Force an instant before adrenaline rushed up his spine at the sound of a mechanically twisted roar. Cal looked up as he threw himself back from the console, and Trilla came down on one knee just where he had been stood, the crimson fire of her saber piercing the platform. As she stood, growling through that horrid mask, Cal’s hand flexed and he drew his Lightsaber from his belt with the Force. A green flash of light burst over his face as he activated his saber; the blade blocked a rising strike from Trilla just in time. In a flurry of flashes he deflected powerful blows from the spinning Inquisitor dual-blade, but only for so long before he was overwhelmed, blown head over heels by the Force as Trilla thrust her free hand forward.
Cal clenched his jaw and remained mostly silent as he bounced off the hard metal with only a grunt, rolling to a stop braced on one knee. Looking up, his eyes wide and alert, he took in the sight of Trilla standing before him, donned in black and with her face covered by that deathly mask. Her gaze was naught but a crimson light and dark metal, but somehow Cal could feel her amusement as he stood up. Wordlessly, Trilla lowered into a ready stance, both hands on her saber and both blades ignited. Cal’s own activated once again, green and pure, as he took to his own defensive art.
Neither of them bothered with words.
The only sound as they charged was the hammering of their boots and the humming of their lightsabers. It became nothing but aggravated and exerted breathing as they met, blades suddenly clashing in shrill screeches and sparks. Green and red danced through the air, the former controlled and defensive, parrying and blocking; the latter wrathful with sheer aggression, attacking non-stop in whirlwinds and spins. The powerful blows had shattered his defences before, but the last time they had fought he had been able to hold them back, instead of purely deflecting. Now, even if he felt that he could attempt to match her, it was best to parry regardless; her heavy strikes were monstrous and quick, but if he reacted in the right way, at the right time, he would throw her off.
Cal’s exertion was quiet gasps and controlled breaths, while Trilla’s effort came in the form of loud growls and rough panting. Even despite that, she seemed so in control, all of that hatred and rage focussing her mind instead of clouding it.
It was a sick feeling that made it harder to concentrate, feeling how the Force twisted around her, feeling how she wanted to use it. Strike by strike, she gave in to the Dark Side. But Cal resisted, countering that aggression with a deep zen and not letting her emotions affect him.
Trilla drew back into a smooth flip to dodge his strike, deflecting another as she rose before thrusting her palm forth to gain space to centre herself. Cal was ready this time, more than he had been in even their last encounter. He pushed back to challenge and felt a wall of energy hit his body, but he slid only inches, holding fast against the onslaught and pushing Trilla back a step. Again with breathing room, they said nothing. Trilla merely looked him in the eyes and growled. Taking two steps forward to outplay the distance she had lost, Trilla pushed again. Cal skid back further, groaning shortly as his arms crossed, blade going out; he pulled his hands back, gathered his resolve, and thrust the Force with all his might.
Trilla’s raised arm held, flexed… then buckled, and she grunted a terrible sound of anger as she was the one to be bested. She was thrown back, landing on her shoulders but twisted to thrust her hands into the ground, throwing herself high. She landed boots first on a wall and launched, landing in a dead sprint as her dual-saber flashed to life in a red heat; Cal stayed rooted to where he was, but copied her, activating his own dual-saber. Trilla’s heavy, rough breathing cut into a scream as she leapt, flipping over Cal’s head and slashing for his skull, though he turned and deflected the blow as it came, pushing into offence as Trilla landed. Her deflects were rough and strong, her parries holding a twisted kind of grace as she countered the assault. It was a back and forth already, neither of them able to truly push into offence but managing not to fall fully into defence. Trilla used the Force to speed herself up, while Cal used it to slow her down, and they constantly were at odds in their abilities.
Their blades clashed viciously, Trilla pushing hard and close, her snarl full of anger. Cal’s defence held though he was pushed back a step, suddenly twisting to let Trilla’s saber slide passed as he brought up the other end of the dual-blade. Trilla bent back to dodge the swing, her armour glowing green from how narrowly she avoided the strike. Cal followed the momentum with his body’s power and the Force, flipping halfway across their arena to get himself breathing room. He landed with heavy breaths, swallowing heavily as he caught his breath, righting himself with less grace than normal.
Trilla swiped her saber over the ground at her boots, holding it by her side as the other hand flexed menacingly, the Force swirling to her call. Cal sensed her preparing for something and readied himself, his stance and defence tight. She pulled back, power gathered around her in a hazy aura, and then swiped her saber with a snarl through the metal, sparks and light obscuring her as she hit some vital component in the floor, likely running to the console. Line of sight broken by acrid smoke for a second, Cal raised his defence in preparation and focussed all of his senses as deeply as he could.
Twirling so fast it was but a crimson circle, Trilla’s Lightsaber was thrown through the haze of sparks and smoke. Cal narrowed his eyes, a hint of confusion in his mind, though he would be a fool to ignore it despite it being only a distraction, lest it slice him in two. Waiting for just the right distance, he weaved back and struck up at once.
The Inquisitor blade gave a hellish screech as it burst, the mechanism which allowed it to spin ruptured by his strike as the blade flew aside. And then, the instant before his movements were complete, the instant his block was no longer in place, the entire room was permeated by the smell of ozone just before it turned azure.
With a cry of rage, Trilla unleashed a blast of crackling Force Lightning, the electrical embers arcing across the metal floor, walls and ceiling.
Cal’s eyes widened at the incoming wave of blue and purple energy, and he barely got his Lightsaber back in place before the Force lightning collided. His teeth clenched and through them he groaned a sound of effort and pain, sliding back under the pressure of his own defence. A second later the lightning arcing across the metal room reached his boots, sparking and prodding at his legs, burning the cloth and making his nerves jump, searing him to his very bones before blasting up through his body.
With his jaw dropping into a scream of pain, Cal’s defence broke as his nerves trembled, and the Force Lightning hit him dead on. He was thrown off his feet, twisting in the air under Trilla’s power before being slammed into the far wall, and then crumbling to the ground.
His body shook and trembled, the pain a blossoming and burning numbness from his back out to the tips of his fingers and toes; intermittingly broken by the icy agony of flesh seared black. Even his teeth ached, clenching in effort as he tried to move, little purple sparks still dancing across his scorched poncho.
“B-BD…” His groaning voice was weak as he reached out towards his Lightsaber, metres away and not reacting to his call through the Force. BD did not respond to his voice, nor did he feel the comfortable weight of his companion on his back; he wasn’t even sure a stim could begin to help this, like it had helped when he was zapped weeks ago now. Broken currents and electricity was a world of difference from rage-fuelled Sith Lightning.
His body staggering, barely holding its own weight, he managed to get almost to one knee, thrusting his hand out harder towards his Lightsaber, willing it to come to him. It twitched, shuddered…
…and then flew directly away from him, into Trilla’s outstretched hand, before she placed it leisurely on her belt. In her other hand she held her Inquisitor blade, the sickly crimson light igniting as she approached. Cal scrambled to stand, his nerves burning and unresponsive, and froze with a weak groan when Trilla outstretched a hand which grasped at the air and, through the Force, Cal’s throat. She pushed down and brought him back to his knees, her breathing growing heavy, growling and angry as she got closer, closer, and with a roar both her hands flew to her Saber, lifting it high above her shoulder and then deftly swinging in an arc.
“TRILLA, WAI- AGHH!”
Trilla remained in that post-strike motion, her body trembling with anger and hate and adrenaline… as Cal pitched back and hit the floor. And then there was nothing. No sounds but for the hum of her blade and the hiss of her mechanical breathing. Slowly, as the seconds dragged on, she stood straight, blade hanging by her side as she looked down on Cal’s still form.
Sspt – her Saber hissed as she snuffed the crimson blade, and then all that she could hear was her heart rushing in her ears. All she could feel was the tingling weight of exertion from head to toe, from using so much power, from fighting so hard. Just fatigue and…
And elation. To strike down a Jedi in a fit of true rage, in purely cold blood with nothing in your mind but want for it… The power of the Dark Side grew within her. And now… she embraced it. She allowed it to finally and fully scour any inklings of the light from her soul. She gave up on every single twisted, blackened little hope in her heart, and let rage replace all of it. Because there was now only one loose end, only one more threat to be disposed of, and she will have succeeded.
Cere was somewhere within this installation. Somewhere close. In fact, if she knew Cere as well as she thought she did…
“Oh god… Trilla, what-… what did you-…”
…Then she wouldn’t be far behind Cal and his little robot.
Trilla turned her head, then her body, looking side on to her former master. She stood at the entrance to the interrogation room, an Inquisitor Lightsaber in her hand, her eyes wide and trembling at the sight of Cal’s corpse.
Trilla similarly turned to give it a final look. And then, nodding, Trilla turned to Cere with a snarl and waved a hand; throwing Cal’s body through the air. Cere’s eyes watched it move as it passed her, but her body was all but locked still, and she flinched, trembled even, when Cal’s body made a deathly thud on the other side of the room.
Trilla ignited her Lightsaber, “Oh, I’m not done yet!” She wasted no more time with words. All of her hate, all of her anger, and all of her pain, she didn’t need words to share any of it.
Cere drew back with a deep and gnawing fear in her heart, lifting her blade just in time to block as Trilla used Force Speed to cross the room in an instant. The sparks made as Trilla pushed and their blades slammed into the wall made Cere flinch, while they rolled uselessly off of Trilla’s helmet. She pushed, and then swung aside, slicing a huge gouge in the wall as Cere flipped back on one hand, and Trilla jerked away to dodge a kick aimed for her head.
Cere came back up onto her feet and Trilla was already there. She pushed forth and with her adrenaline still burning, her anger and hate growing by the second as she looked on her old Master, Trilla quickly pushed Cere back. She stopped fighting with a final shove to buy her the second she needed, throwing herself back to gain room.
“Trilla, sto-!” She didn’t get to finish her pleading words, moving to defend against Trilla’s fast, deadly attacks. They were just a bit less focussed than when she fought Cal, her anger clouding her mind only slightly, and yet it increased her power in the Dark Side so much that her strength and speed outweighed the drop in finesse.
Back and forth across the room, she pushed unrelenting against Cere’s blocks and parries, exploiting every weakness she could see and getting closer to landing a clean strike with each one. Cere did not fight back, not as she could have, and every second when she had breathing room she tried in vain to speak. Eventually, her back hitting the still-hot wall, Cere gritted her teeth.
Her eyes looked into Trilla’s as if that midnight visor wasn’t there. Wide, haunted and narrowing with a fearful realisation even now.
She had killed Cal. Struck him down in cold-blooded anger as she had so many others.
Was there any good left in her at all? Or… was she lost to the Dark Side?
Trilla tilted her head, growled a mocking sound, and slashed, her blade blocked by Cere’s; though pushing closer steadily. The crimson energy cut into the wall as it pushed slowly towards Cere’s throat, and with a wall at her back she couldn’t just keep dodging away. Her eyes flicked to the incoming red, to Trilla’s helmet, back to the blade… and then she twisted down, Saber switching off as she did. Trilla, captivated by the sight of her old Master’s imminent demise, gave a startled sound as her blade sliced across the wall through mostly empty space, gaze shooting down to Cere as she reignited her blade and swiped.
However, instead of cutting through her thighs, she cut through Trilla’s cape as she suddenly flipped back. Her head tilted up to see Cere throwing her hands out just as she was going parallel to the ground, and Trilla braced herself as she crossed her arms. The Force hit her dead on, her resistance a token thing which slowed her down, stopped her from being sent across the entire room. Even as her forearms pulsed in pain, her boots dug in and brought her to a screeching stop. She quickly lowered her arms, turned her Lightsaber back on in a burst of malevolent light, and crouched into her stance, ready to fight yet again.
Cere stood, both blades on her own Saber lit. Her expression was a twisted thing, halfway between agony and determination. She shook her head slowly and slightly, taking her Saber in both hands, “I’ll do what I have to, Trilla...” She said quietly, voice strained from the sheer ache in her heart. “I’m so sorry…”
Tilting her head slowly like a mocking, curious predator, Trilla quietly growled, “It’s much too late for sorry. If you really want to apologise…” Lightning crackled around her duelling hand, arcing up and down her Lightsaber, “…then don’t move!”
She launched forth again, twisted to build her momentum in a burst of speed, and heavily swung her Lightsaber with a roar. Cere thrust out a hand, blocking with a wall of the Force as a wave of lightning-infused pressure slammed into her. Her shield buckled but held, pain shooting up her arm to the shoulder, and she pulled it back with a cry of effort and pain to then blast Trilla back. Though she barely moved, sharply looking away and raising a forearm to block, then swinging that same arm forward yet again, blue and purple energy erupting into a veritable geyser of Force lightning.
No matter the fatigue, no matter the aching protests of her bones, her anger would not allow her to use anything less than her full and complete strength.
Cere set her Lightsaber spinning, holding it out defensively while the other hand backed it, a wall of Light and Force blocking that flood of crackling electricity. Trilla did not let up. Her other fist clenched so tightly, so much rage running through her veins, that her already-damaged Saber sparked, sputtered, and then shut off. She didn’t even look as she heard it, just threw the hilt aside and pulled that arm back, drawing every ounce of power into it as she could.
“If you really want to apologise…!” She all but screamed, matching her lightning with as strong of a Force Push as she could muster, “…Then just die, Cere!”
Her powers combined and the lightning collected in her hand a second before her Push sent a wall of near-solid energy rushing over Cere’s defences, like a condensed shockwave made of lightning. The combination of such a mix of powers on top of Cere’s Force-based defence resulted in an unstable clash; which led, then, to a boom.
It was mostly sheer kinetic energy, a pressurized wave which sent Trilla sliding backwards and stumbling to a stop, growling at the burn across her body even through her armour. A lot of that had been sent back over her, purple sparks dancing over her from head to toe, but she bared the burn and clenched her fists, looking up at the hum of energy.
“Ghaghh!” She screamed, her voice a pained yet wrathful sound, as Cere’s Lightsaber cut into her helmet even as she bent back. It cleaved a large portion of the mask away, leaving half of Trilla’s face visible, and a half-burned scar was over her clenched shut eye.
Her arm shot up to grab Cere’s duelling-hand before she could recover from her own attack, despite the pain which made her head swim. When Cere’s jaw clenched and she tried to pull away, a measure of clarity came over Trilla, enough for her other hand to launch forward, fist clenching as it moved, and crack Cere’s nose. She flinched back, though her concentration and adrenaline let her stay focussed enough to keep struggling, even as Trilla’s hand came back and clamped around her throat. Cere’s free hand grabbed Trilla’s wrist, attempting to peel her hand away from its painful, restricting clench.
They were locked together in a far more physical struggle than a duel, a battle of brute power instead of finesse, speed or skill. Cere’s eyes were narrow, teeth bared as she all but sputtered through them, breathing difficult from Trilla’s choking grasp.
For a moment, that was all their struggle was, a struggle. Neither made ground, neither hurt the other much, be it through squeezing a neck or a wrist. But then, slowly, it became less of an even match, as Trilla opened her now-scarred eye.
Cere gasped in shock, perhaps even fear.
Once a deep, focussed blue-green shade, Trilla’s eyes were now a deep, hateful gold, a burning red hue around the yellow pupils. Her breathing was a growling, heavy thing through her mask, and her expression, with half of her face visible, twisted into a furious glare. Her raised hand tightened, a renewed fury filling her veins with fire more than blood; Cere’s saber-hand crunched and shifted quietly, her expression split with pain. Trilla begun to force her hand down, keeping the Lightsaber lit.
Cere was powerful for what she was; a Jedi who had severed her connection to the force and not used her powers for years. But such strength did not last, and she was much older than her young, angry, strong apprentice.
The glow of the crimson blade came over Cere’s face as her arm was forced down, her determined face twisting into a grimace as she sputtered through her clenched teeth. It was all she could do to not scream as the bones in her hand were slowly broken by Trilla’s grip; she wouldn’t even be able to scream. She could scarcely breathe through the iron grip Trilla had around her neck.
And those eyes… As Cere looked into them, she slowly realised that Trilla was gone.
Bending back in a slow and painful manner, Cere was brought down to her knees, at first moving as if to gain some measure of distance from the incoming saber. But now, it was clear that it was the Second Sister’s hold on her throat which moved her, not her own will, and she coughed a weak sound as she realised, through her fading adrenaline, that she was lightheaded.
Her vision was softly blurred, and yet the Second Sister’s face was in sharp contrast, outlined in a crimson hue which reflected off of her half-destroyed mask, and seemed to make her one visible eye glow. The red and gold twisted into an evil kind of joy and relief. And then again, into hate and effort, as the Second Sister growled and screamed, Cere’s hand popped as the bones finally shattered under her opponent’s iron-grip, and then her resistance faded.
BZZZTTT!
Cere collapsed to the ground, limp and gone before she could even scream, as the Second Sister forced the saber through her neck, then ripped it up into the air. Cere’s head rolled gently away from the force of impact, and then stilled, and everything went utterly silent.
She felt herself shaking in the high of adrenaline, the relief of years of hatred ending climactically in blood, and by her own hands. Her old, wretched failure of a master and the abandoned little padawan that was her replacement. Both of them, corpses in this very room. She almost didn’t know what to do with herself.
She heard something. A bang, high in the room, like something massively falling to the ground. Alert and still energised, she whipped towards it and lifted her saber. She watched the gas at the top of the room sharply, waiting as she heard approaching footsteps, each breath a ready growl… but then also heard something so familiar, so intimidating, that it cut right through her rage and exuberance.
The raspy, mechanical in… out… in… and out… of the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader.
He was approaching, and in mere seconds she would see him. Sharply and hurriedly, she turned off her saber, hitching it on her belt. She dragged Cal and Cere’s corpses to a pile nearby so they were easy to spot, and she stood straight at attention. She had succeeded, she knew she had… but her breathing was getting uneven. Her blood ran cold when he crested the metal frames above the interrogation chair.
The Second Sister and Darth Vader met each other’s helmeted gaze.
He stepped off the platform above and fell to her level with a startling crash which made her flinch. He stood easily, rising with dignity as he stared her down. He spared maybe a glance at the Jedi corpses nearby; one even a master. He approached her, and each footfall made her heart pound. He stopped just outside of arm’s reach and she didn’t wait to be told. She reached back to her belt with both hands; in one, she held out the Holocron, in the other she held out Cal’s lightsaber.
She did not say anything. She just did her best to keep calm, to stay unflinching and attentive. Back straight, breathing smooth, and it was everything she could do to stop her hands from shaking as he just stared at her. She had no idea why he hadn’t reacted yet, no idea what he was looking at, but the scar on her eye burned and it was agony to keep it open. But then, maybe a second or an hour later, Darth Vader finally lifted a hand and the Holocron flew to him as she let go of it immediately. He didn’t even look at Cal’s lightsaber.
He looked at the Holocron, then lowered his arm by his side, and said exactly what she hoped to hear. “You have succeeded, Inquisitor. Good. Perhaps there is use for you yet.”
She bowed her head to him, her voice subdued as she forced out, “Yes, my Lord.” despite the terror she felt from being close to the Dark Lord. He moved, stomping heavily passed her, and she didn’t dare move until he was gone.
Gone… just like that. She had succeeded, he had acknowledged it, and now she was left to her devices to fix all the problems Cal and Cere caused on their way here. She waited moments more, before finally… she was sure he was gone.
The Empire would be unstoppable now, all thanks to her victory here. And so, quietly at first, the sound of laughter was mechanical and glitching through her damaged helmet. The Second Sister begun to truly laugh, overjoyed by her triumph, and the smell of burning wounds on dead Jedi made her golden-red eyes burn hotter.