when all is said (and done)
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Story Notes:

Inspiration for the title comes from When All Is Said... by Painbastard

The power will be mine. Ezra will be mine. And there is nothing you can do to stop me.

—Maul

They died in the order of their call signs.

Kanan was first, led to slaughter by Maul himself, sucked out of the airlock at Vizsla Keep 09 and ejected into space. The moisture on his tongue and eyeballs boiled off almost instantly. He tumbled end over end in the weightless vacuum, shocked and disoriented, unable to sense his surroundings. Surfaces he might have grabbed hold of to stop his momentum slipped past his straining fingertips, never to be regained. Oxygen began to leach out of his blood at a rate that would render a normal man unconscious after thirty seconds. But he was a Jedi. He survived for about a minute and a half, trapped in a spinning, silent, smothering darkness, his thoughts an endless reel of no, no, this can’t be happening, not yet, it can’t end like this, not like this, Ezra—until at last his blood ceased to circulate and he succumbed to suffocation, fading into a black deeper than what his blind eyes had ever known.

Thirty-one.

Hera was next, the first victim of Maul’s mechanized execution squad. She didn’t go down without a fight, but she went down fast, fighting alongside the rest of her crew. The first laser bolt tore through her left lekku, nearly severing it from her head. Her scream of pain rang off the metal walls amidst the sounds of struggle and blasterfire. The next one planted itself in her abdomen, piercing her liver, and the third and final shot struck the femoral artery in her leg. She collapsed to the deck, gouts of blood pouring from her injuries, and retained consciousness long enough to witness Chopper erupt into smoke and flames with a direct hit to his central processor. Then her eyes took on a far-away glaze, and she was no more.

Twenty-seven.

Zeb almost made it, owing mostly to his size and strength. His body took seventeen laser blasts before his legs finally gave out. The droid he’d been smashing to pieces pulled away, circuits hissing and snapping, and the remaining one executed him with three rapid shots to the base of his skull.

Forty-two.

If anyone could have survived, Sabine might have been the one. Clad in beskar armor plates, fast and nimble on her feet, she managed to finish off the droid Zeb had been mauling before a lucky shot caught her between her L3 and L4 vertebrae, immediately paralyzing her from the waist down. She kept firing her blasters even as her legs buckled beneath her. She twisted as she fell, aiming for the last droid behind her, but it got her first. The killing blow struck Sabine Wren just above her left ear, piercing the core of her brain. She was dead before she even felt the pain, and slumped lifeless over Chopper’s charred metal chassis.

Twenty.

Maul walked among the corpses half an hour later, cutting off heads with his lightsaber to make certain they were all dead. Now he had everything he wanted, everything he had sworn to claim. The Sith holocron, the Jedi holocron, and a new apprentice—who lay tied and tethered in a drugged sleep in the rear of the Nightbrother. The boy would hate him for a while, naturally, but that was to be expected. In time, all would be forgiven. When Maul showed him what the union of the two holocrons had to offer, limitless knowledge, power beyond even the most ambitious Sith Lord or pious Jedi Knight, he too would understand. The boy would swear his fealty to his new Master and truly be his. Mind, spirit, flesh. His.

Seventeen.

Rest in peace.



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