SW Mafia: Going down fighting (Lynch #2)
Kashaal stalked back and forth in his small room, alternating between growling curses at the planet and curses at those too blind to see that he wasn't the one they were looking for.
He knew they were coming, he could feel them through the Force before they had even decided to leave the cafeteria, their place of delegation.
"I am not waiting for my death like a caged animal!" he hafl roared, half shouted. He picked up his cloak, a simple brown cloak that had become almost as symbolic of the Jedi as the lightsaber. Or Vader.
As he walked slowly towards his imminent demise, his mind was elsewhere, outwards; away from Kessel, away from the deathtrap they had all led themselves into. Distantly, the sound of turbolaser batteries recharging reminded him how trapped they really were.
He thought back to the Purge. Remembered the pain on his Master's face. He remembered the pain in his own soul when they got word that it was Anakin Skywalker himself who had attacked the Temple.
He entered the room and looked up, a vacant expression in his eyes. His once proud gait seemed now little more then a slow shuffle. The same shuffle a prisoner makes when being led to the execution of his death sentence.
His unexpected appearance startled nearly all in attendance, and many rose, drawing blaster pistols. It looked as though one or two even unclipped lightsabers from their belts.
Kashaal narrowed his feline eyes, looking more and more like a predator each moment and croutched low.
"Those sabers were not meant for the deaths of the innocent," he said accompanied by a low rumble in his chest, "and I will not fall without a fight."
His lightsaber thrummed on, its activation noise putting weight behind his words.
"It is that saber," said one of those in attendence, "that will no longer fight on the side of Vader. So eager to fight, even now, at the end."
If there had been any misgivings before, now they had been wiped away.
Kashaal pounced, landing ontop of the table preparing to bound over those in the back to catch them from behind. Even with all his force training, he wasn't fast enough. As his feet lifted from the surface a second time, a blaster bolt caught him in the shoulder. Another flashed through his powerful legs. By the time his body hit the ground again, he was dead, scores of burns in his cloak, still smoking.