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This fanfic isn't solely dedicated to Fett (I lack the skill so far to write such a piece according to my own expectations) but there are a lot of good writers on this site and any constructive criticism would be extremely welcome. Who knows, maybe you'll have as mush fun reading it as my friends and I have had from writing it.
Summary: To everyone who thought it was over: It’s not. The prophecy must be fulfilled…
"This is where the fun begins. "
Prologue: Wait… What just happened?
Discalimer: We don't own Star Wars. Sure, maybe we wish we did, but as it is... we got nothin'.
A/N: Hey, all! This story is a collaboration put forth by he Insanity Awareness Bureau - JediSkye, KhaosFrost, and Mrs. Spock. We hope you enjoy reading it was much as we enjoy writing it!
Annnd... studies have shown a direct correlation between the amount of reviews and the frequency of updates...
***
The Son of the Suns
“…And in the time of greatest despair,
there shall come a savior,
and he shall be known as:
The SON OF THE SUNS.”
- Journal of the Whills 3:127
“You were the Chosen One! It was said you would destroy the Sith, not join them! Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!”
- Obi-Wan Kenobi to Anakin Skywalker
“Unlooked for, unhoped for,
the Sith’ari will come.
Through his power,
we are purged and gain strength.
Through his being,
the darkness will devour the light.”
- Naga Sadow, Dark Lord of the Sith
***
Prologue
“Let me tell you,” Han Solo said wearily as he looked over at his companion sitting next to him. “Nothing’s been the same since an old fossil and a hotshot kid come up to me in a cantina in Mos Eisley.”
An almost empty glass of Corellian Ale clanked loudly down on the scarred tabletop as it was set down heavily. The remains of the amber drink sloshed violently in the bottom of the garishly colored glass.
“You should stay out of cantinas,” Lando Calrissian suggested half-jokingly in his smooth voice. “Drink less,” he elaborated.
“Or more,” Han pointed out with a half laugh. Lando smiled and shook his head before taking a long drink from his own half-full glass. Han sighed and sat back in his chair, glaring about the room as though he could incinerate it with a glance.
It had to be Nal Hutta.
The Lowrider Cantina was a small establishment not far from the docking bays in Bilbousa, Nal Hutta’s main city. It was a worn but popular cantina that specialized in drinks, gambling, and bar fights, as evidenced by the numerous scorch marks that had been only half scrubbed from the walls.
An uproarious cheer sounded from the other end of the room, where one of the many patrons had just won a generous sum of money. The other gamblers spread around the many tables at that end of the room glared at the winner and went back to their cards.
The long, bright, colorful screens at the opposite side of the room were clearly the newest items in the establishment, and they attracted a small crowd that bet zealously on their favorite racers and arena fighters.
The cheap wear of the patrons – spice addicts, grimy street gangsters – coupled with the neon lighting that seeped halfheartedly through the thick, hazy air caused the cantina to give off the dark, sleazy atmosphere so common among low-class cantinas.
Eight long, long days ago, Han Solo had punched a pre-calculated hyperspace jump in a panicked frenzy – a skill which the ex-smuggler had thought he had lost. A week in hyperspace riding on a damaged hyperdrive had not been pleasant, especially considering the company aboard the Millennium Falcon.
Although he was, as hard as it was to tell from appearances, lucky to be alive.
Staring at the distorted image of himself in the glass, Han slowly looked up and across the dulled metallic table and glared at the person sitting opposite him.
“What are you lookin’ at?” he snapped.
Boba Fett did not seem as though Han’s irritated outburst merited a reply. The armored bounty hunter simply continued to stare silently though the shadowed glare of the T-shaped visor across the face of his helmet.
The violent, thundering entry through the cantina doors across the room was like a herd of dewbacks suddenly jumping on stage and opening a song and dance number.
The loud music came to a sudden halt. Han was glad of that – he hadn’t realized until that moment that it had been giving him a pounding headache – and the cantina’s patrons stared with high-strung tension as a well-armed and disreputable looking band marched through the doors.
The leader was the notoriously cruel Trandoshan bounty hunter Bossk, his reptilian eyes and feral grin gleaming with the promise of vengeance. Four large, heavily-armored thugs lumbered after him, carrying arsenals of heavy blasters and ugly looking vibroblades. They shoved their way through the crowd, tossing aside gaming tables and causing several feminine shrieks, looking for someone.
“Friends of yours?” Han asked Fett.
The bounty hunter did not answer.
“Well, well, well,” Bossk growled viciously as he came up behind the other bounty hunter. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Fett looked the other way, completely devoid of interest.
The arrogant Trandoshan sat down in the empty seat next to the armored bounty hunter as his buddies fanned out around the table, blasters trained almost exclusively on Fett. A large, vile looking blue-skinned humanoid with red eyes even went so far as to lazily lift his rifle up to rest against Fett’s helmet. The patrons of the cantina looked on with alarmed interest.
“So glad you aren’t dead,” Bossk continued, wicked fangs gleaming as he grinned.
Han sat back uneasily, instinctively grabbing for the blaster at his side. Lando was more subtle, and leaning forward slightly, he asked conversationally, “Hey, Friend, is there something we can do for you boys?”
“Shut it!” Bossk’s show of mocking sincerity vanished, leaving behind only hate and malicious intent. He leaned in close to the other bounty hunter and hissed, voice dripping with venom: “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
Fett finally saw fit to reply. “Have you?” the cold, darkly artificial voice rasped as he angled his helmet mockingly.
Bossk exploded to his feet, the chair crashing behind him as he shouted “Listen up!” It was a rather unnecessary gesture, seeing as the confrontation already had the complete and full attention of the entire cantina. He waved his blaster over his head as he addressed his audience in an attempt to showcase his power and authority over the situation.
“I, Bossk,” the bloodthirsty Trandoshan glared at Fett before turning back to his audience. “Am going to kill Boba Fett, the greatest bounty hunter who ever died!” he announced, snickering at his own joke.
The darkened visor only stared, devoid of all emotion. Bossk snarled with absolute frustration, and raised his heavy repeater again, this time to fire.
He never got the shot off.
The cantina erupted in screams and shouts as a patron in a long brown robe who had been standing at the bar whirled around. A sudden snap-hiss rent the air and a sapphire blade of light swept downwards and completely severed the arm holding the blaster.
The Trandoshan threw himself on the floor with a pain-stricken roar, holding what was left of his right arm. Above him stepped a tall, authoritative man with a scarred face, whose expression told Bossk he had picked the wrong day to even consider walking into the cantina.
No one moved, and wide eyes watched the lightsaber fly, faster than the eye could trace, downward to halt abruptly mere centimeters from Bossk’s neck.
There was a sudden noise of rifles being armed, and Anakin Skywalker’s saber was suddenly a brilliant display of light as he deflected the incoming blaster fire with quick, practiced movements.
“No blasters!” yelled the hapless bartender, who had finally mustered the courage to give the customary warning. A stray shot that screamed right over his head quickly silenced him, and he ducked below the counter.
Boba Fett lunged out of his seat, wrenched away the disruptor rifle from the thug behind him with one gloved hand, and threw his heavy gauntlet against the blue-skinned humanoid’s unarmored stomach. The ugly Chiss stumbled backward with a grunt, and was promptly fired upon by his own rifle.
The shot strayed slightly from its intended mark and the alien fell to the ground in agony. Fett cringed in excruciating pain, his heavily bandaged right arm shaking uncontrollably. Angry at his weakness, the bounty hunter fired again and finished the job before abandoning the large rifle completely.
The rifle clattered to the ground as the last of Anakin’s deflected shots shattered one of the expensive screens across the room and screams rent the air. Then, suddenly, the cantina fell into complete, tense silence as all eyes stared at the two men.
It HAD to be Nal Hutta, Han thought grimly as he slowly pulled his blaster out of its holster. Any experienced bar hopper knew what was coming next.
“JEDI SCUM!” The shout came from a dark corner of the room and was followed by a red blast of laser fire that hurtled towards Anakin.
The shot ricocheted off Anakin’s blade, and in an amazing feat, shattered a glass of expensive liquor in the hand of an extremely large, hairy alien whose species was not immediately identifiable. With a roar of rage, the alien surged to his feet, knocking over his table and throwing nearby patrons to the side as he charged Anakin.
And with that, the standoff in the cantina suddenly became a massive free-for-all.
Tables were suddenly overturned, cards flying everywhere as people suddenly tackled their neighbors, and there was a shattering of glass as anything and everything suddenly became a perfectly legitimate weapon. Laser fire was suddenly thick in the air as a scattered amount of people with less courage than their peers made a beeline for the exit.
Lando shot defensively from his chair, shooting at one of Bossk’s lowlife friends as Han jumped up to cover his back, whirling to find several patrons at the other end of the room aiming at him and Lando. Han’s eyes widened and he raised his firearm uselessly against the mean looking gang members, but a haze of blue suddenly came between him and the laser fire.
Han blinked in abject shock as Anakin dashed back across the room without so much as a glance, leaving behind several debilitated gang members. A blaster bolt whined past Han’s head and reminded him why he had taken his blaster out. He turned and fired, but his eye was suddenly caught by the last of Bossk’s goons, who had taken cover behind a table and was taking careful aim. Han followed the thug’s line of sight and found Boba Fett at the end, fighting left-handed now with his dart launcher, unable to use heavier weaponry while his injured arm hung limply at his side.
Han grit his teeth and shot the sniper.
I can’t believe I just did that.
The chaotic scene only got worse as some girl on the second level, fed up with her date, suddenly turned on him and knocked him over the railing. There was a chorus of ragged yells, and several more people went hurtling over the railing or tumbling down the stairs.
Han turned and dodged beneath several wild shots, and suddenly found himself facing the hairy alien who had charged across the room. The huge creature had hefted a table over his head and was aiming at Anakin.
“Look –”
Before the warning had even left Han’s mouth, Anakin had whirled to face the alien, and as the makeshift projectile flew towards him, he simply lifted his hand and the table stopped, suspended in midair. The alien sputtered something unintelligible in rage, and the table suddenly boomeranged back to hit him square in the stomach.
The alien pushed it off with a roar, and charged angrily at Han. Suddenly wishing he hadn’t left Chewbacca to guard the ship, he took cover behind an overturned table and frantically fired again and again and again until the alien toppled over with a thud.
Lando suddenly ducked behind the table next to him, shooting at anyone who came too close. Anakin suddenly appeared by Han’s side as well, standing upright in the boiling chaos, saber only a humming blur of electric blue. “I talked to the bartender,” he announced over the roar of the crowd. “My credit account doesn’t work anymore.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t work?” Han asked incredulously as he took a few more shots across the room.
Anakin raised an eyebrow and stated clearly: “It doesn’t work.”
“Well,” offered Lando, “At least we don’t have to worry about paying for the drinks.” He surveyed the room with a wry grin as Han took aim and knocked the feet out from under some ugly little shrieking thing that had come charging at them.
Fett was suddenly at their side as well, saying to Anakin as he passed: “You should have killed him.”
Han rolled his eyes and watched Fett go stalking across the room in search of Bossk, who had escaped into the confusion but could still be heard yelling over the din.
Anakin and Han suddenly threw themselves to the ground, narrowly avoiding being landed on by a cursing Rodian who had been tossed over the railing directly above.
Anakin was back on his feet in a moment as the Rodian quickly righted himself and raised his blaster to fire. Anakin’s lightsaber cleanly slashed the gun in half, and the Rodian only stared for one shocked second before he ran screaming and cursing for his insignificant life.
Anakin whirled his saber back up into a practiced ready position and deflected a few more shots. He spoke absentmindedly to himself, shaking his head in absolute disbelief. “How did I get here?”
“I don’t know, Your Lordship,” Han answered sarcastically from his position on the floor as he fired at a Bothan coming up behind Lando. “You tell me.”
