The Chosen One's Sister

I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Star Wars. They belong to Joss Whedon and George Lucas...

Chapter I: Right Key, Wrong Chosen One…

The Most Holy Order of Dagon was in grave peril. It had been less then a week since Glorificus the Hellgoddess had discovered that the Key resided with them. The Monks chanted in eerie unison as they began to use their abilities to grant the Key a mortal form. A mortal form, while more vulnerable, was infinitely easier to conceal. After they had managed their task, then the Order would insert the newly created person into the life of a protector, hopefully to keep it forever from Glory's greedy hands.

Brother Isaiah stood outside the circle with Brother Melchior. Together they would make the decision of whom to name as the new protector of the Key. The remaining brothers were needed to give the Key her form and to provide the power to send her on her way.

A loud bang echoed through the hall as Glorificus attempted to force the door. It would not be long now. Isaiah sighed. "Perhaps the ensouled vampire?"

Melchior offered a disgusted look in reply. "The vampire is a fell beast, regardless of any soul he may have now. It is an abomination."

Isaiah nodded in reluctant agreement. "The Chosen One, then?"

Melchior nodded sagely. "She will be the best that we can offer to protect the Key. Goodness knows that our Order is nearing its end."

Another bang echoed through the hall, followed quickly by the sound of the doors slamming open. It was too early. They had to be swift. Just as the chanting monks reached the crescendo of their chant, one of them was impaled on Glory's arm, her face baleful in her hatred of the Order of Dagon. Isaiah noted that, because of Glory's presence in the circle, the Key was ready for transport. It was more then ready, really. Glory's presence had overpowered the circle beyond all prediction. Isaiah had no way of knowing what would happen to the Key anymore. He found that he didn't care. He was meant to protect the Key. This would have to do. "Poslat ji do vyvolená"

The glowing girl in the centre of the circle vanished, most of the monks that had surrounded her fell to the floor as if their strings had been cut. Isaiah felt for a pulse from Brother Elijah and was saddened to find it absent, rightly concluding that it would be absent from all of his brothers who had been contributing power.

A gasp caught Isaiah's attention, drawing him briefly from his grief. There was an unfamiliar man on the floor, seemingly in place of Glorificus. Isaiah hissed in disbelief. This was Glory's mortal shell. He had never hoped to be able to render Glory so helpless that he might have this opportunity to avenge his fallen brothers. The ritual to send the Key on must have required a truly ludicrous level of power to so drain the Hellgoddess. Isaiah hesitated for a long moment. His was an order of peace and protection. Could he make such a choice as was before him?

Isaiah would make a choice with regards to Glory, one that his soul would have to live with. What his decision was is irrelevant. All that matters and all that shall matter is the fate of the Key. The Key, which had transcended far beyond the reach of Glory or any other in the Monks' home reality, was left to the protection of the Chosen One… a very different Chosen One then the one the Monks had envisioned…

Watto inspected his new prospective slaves with a practiced eye. The human female was just beginning to show the signs of being pregnant. He recognised the signs in her species. He barely restrained a smirk. While he would not be able to get as much use out of that slave for a while, her value was not in her ability to do physical labour anyway. That meant that barring the time immediately surrounding the birth, she was still useful. Better still, the child she was carrying would also be his property too. Three slaves when he had only won two. "It is a deal, Gardulla. These two shall suffice as payment for your debt."

The slug-like alien nodded imperiously and spoke boomingly in Huttese. The silver translator droid at Gardulla's side snapped to attention and translated. "Master Gardulla says that these slaves are known as Shmi and Anakin Skywalker." Another burst of Huttese resulted in another translation. "My Master says that the newborn slave to come is a bonus since the woman is of little use." The Hutt's baleful eye mocked Watto, silently telling him that Gardulla was not a fool to be trifled with.

Watto held his head high and attempted to hide his disappointment at failing to get one over on the Hutt. "Of course, your Excellency. I appreciate the bonus and am in your debt." The words tasted like ash, but the Hutts were not to be trifled with. Watto only hoped that Shmi Skywalker's new whelp would be worth whatever extra favours the scheming Hutt eventually wrangled out of him.

And here we go again…