Ajaur gazed down at the smoking corpse lying on the ground by his feet in disgust, and then deactivated his lightsaber. The whelp, while possessing marginal skill, deserved to join the other bodies strewn around the small compound in which Ajaur now stood. All of them, regardless of sex or species, had one thing in common- the lightsaber marks burned through them by the Inquisitor. Some of them couldn’t have been more than ten standard years of age, but Ajaur didn’t care. They were traitors to the Empire and had thus invoked the death penalty. When it came to carrying out his orders, the Inquisitor was utterly merciless and remorseless. The dark side filled his nostrils with its invigorating power, fueled by the slaughter around him.