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Ahn’s rage threatens to boil over as he strikes at his former master, but he squashes it down. It would not do to lose his self-control at a time like this. He faces the greatest threat he has ever encountered, and he knows losing would be disastrous for the Empire. His personal vendettas against the man provide suitable motivation too, but he has worked far too hard to keep his emotions from ruling him like so many other Sith.
And yet, the galaxy seems determined to remind him of his loss constantly. The ship feels empty, hollow; the world they fight on now forces him to recall his humble beginnings, their first meeting, their first mission, their first conversation. The hole in his soul is felt all the more deeply.
He slashes, breathing hard, and lands a satisfying hit, gouging into Baras’ mask. The mask seems to have taken the damage for the Darth, as Ahn can make out no injury as Baras rips it from his face, but it’s a moral victory.
One he got in part because of his anger, he realizes, and works to rein it back in as Baras scoffs. “Had enough, child? Can you feel your grip on life slipping?” He raises his hands, and Ahn barely gets his blades up in time to intercept the torrent of lightning that blasts forth. “Why persist in this futile gesture of vengeance?”
Ahn’s stomach twists. Vengeance, the thing he swore so rashly in the wake of Baras’ betrayal and Vette’s-
He will never let go of that.
He draws on the Force and shoves, but Baras barely moves, and the lightning resumes with a fury, ripping the lightsabers from his grasp. Dimly, he hears Baras shout in triumph as the purple-blue energy wraps around him, shocking him, frying him. “Let go! Embrace your death!”
Ahn almost does, because what’s the point anymore? As strong as he is, Baras is stronger. He’s betrayed him, taken the person he cared most for in the galaxy, and now Ahn is just so tired of it all-
But Vette.
Her death will not be in vain.
Baras will pay.
Ahn throws his hands out, grabbing Baras’ wrists with the Force and dragging them apart. The stream of lightning is diverted, some of it soaring in the direction of some of the Council members before Baras cuts it off. “Vengeance…”
Baras’ arms are spread. Ahn can see the strain of trying to move them on his old master’s face. “Child, your will is weak!” he spits.
Ahn’s vision goes red, and he shoves . Baras’ arms bend backwards with a loud snap , and they drop limply to his side, accompanied by a roar.
He blinks through the red haze. Baras’ expression is satisfyingly pain-filled, but his eyes still glow with the dark side. As Ahn watches, Baras’ lightsaber rises into the air in front of him and ignites. “My body is merely an instrument for the Emperor and the Force, boy! Limbs mean nothing when one’s control is so refined!”
An image of Tremel, clutching his severed hand’s stump, floats to Ahn’s mind. He grits his teeth.
Baras had played his game expertly. It was only Ahn’s hesitation to commit to the darkness fully that threw it off course, and Baras had resorted to drastic measures to keep control.
The betrayal, the cave in - Ahn not being quite fast enough to protect the two of them and Vette paying the price, his strength of will fracturing. It was only made worse as Draahg caught up to them, and Pierce had taken more blows from a lightsaber than any one person ever should. From the holorecordings, Ahn had learned that Pierce, after being disarmed, had literally grappled with the Sith, buying enough time for Ahn and Broonmark to return. Then Broonmark himself, lost in the dream realm of the Voss and gone when Ahn returned to reality.
Draahg’s return when Ahn and Vowrawn tried to free the Entity had taken Quinn from him, the man thrown into a wall and impaled while he healed the incapacitated Darth. Jaesa, now, is the only one who remains, and Ahn isn’t risking anything. He’s overridden all her commands to the ship and to Too-vee, essentially confining her to the Fury class.
Baras is the cause of everything. He isn’t going to take his friends’ deaths lying down.
As the red blade in front of him blurs into motion, Ahn retreats into his mind, dredging up all the frustration, pain, and hate he could muster for his old master. Power, exhilarating power, floods through him, sweeping him off his feet, rushing through his skull to his gut to his hands, and he lets it free in a burst. Electricity soars from his fingers, catching Baras off guard.
Baras’ lightsaber intercepts the lightning for a second before Ahn flicks his fingers, arcing the blue and purple around the red to wrap around Baras, then pours every ounce of will he has into the display. He can feel the heat through his gauntlets, and Baras lets out a hoarse shout as the lightning sears into his exposed flesh, burns through his robes, and heats his armor until it glows. It echoes faintly in Ahn’s ears, bounces around in his head, encourages him to keep pushing . He lifts a hand, continuing the stream of power leaving his body.
Baras floats into the air, smoking and glowing. He grits his teeth, yellow eyes narrowed into slits. “Boy-”
Ahn roars. A surge of electricity pulses from his hand, and Baras is thrown violently across the Council chamber, colliding with an empty throne and cracking it badly. Ahn whips his arm back and forth, hurling Baras around the room as though he were nothing more than a rag doll. The stream of lightning connecting the Sith and his hand is unwavering, an iron tether between Baras and Ahn’s will until Ahn slams Baras into the floor and stifles the electricity himself.
Baras’ lightsaber leaps into Ahn’s hand, and he stalks toward his fallen master, igniting the blade and basking in the unique sound of the corrupted crystal’s awakening. Baras’ form sparks, and Ahn makes out a tortured groan.
Good.
He stops dead, lightsaber an inch from Baras’ throat. Good? Was that… what was he doing? Baras…
He registers the anticipation thick throughout the room. The Force itself hangs before him, waiting with baited breath. What do I do? he begs.
“Wrath…” Darth Ravage sounds… conflicted? It’s anticipatory, but Ahn senses an element of apprehension.
“I believe Baras is thoroughly defeated, Lord Dru,” Vengean says. The joy in his voice makes Ahn want to throw up. “An impressive act, to be sure. What will you do with him?”
Ahn can’t move. He can’t speak. His rage is overwhelming, and he’d so like to just drive the point of the lightsaber in his hand down into Baras’ throat, but he’s tried so hard to not be the galaxy’s stereotypical Sith. He’s helped so many people, gotten so far without it. He’s taught Jaesa how to balance in the sea of power that is the Force, found a true friend in Vette-
Baras coughs out a cackle from the ground. “Look upon the imposter, Lords! Frozen with fear, paralyzed with indecision! Such power squandered upon his useless being! How could the Emperor have chosen him when he leads even his small crew to ruin? He-”
Ahn snaps.
Baras’ body rockets upward, lightsaber driving through his chest, before soaring back. Ahn keeps the blade alive in Baras’ chest, standing motionless as the man crunches into the wall and stays there, pinned.
The lightsaber drags sideways, freeing itself by ripping through Baras’ side. Ahn clenches his fist, and the blade responds by becoming a disc of red, spinning and slicing through Baras over and over.
It flies back to his hand, and as part of Baras falls to the ground, Ahn can see the damage he’s caused. The wall behind Baras is a mess of glowing slashes, blood misted across it. The lightsaber must have been spinning too quickly to fully cauterize. It likely won’t matter. The first cut had taken Baras’ legs from the stomach down, and the rest had cut his torso and arms into ribbons. They spool to the floor, grisly piles of flesh and fabric, gathering below a semi-conscious Baras.
Ahn doesn’t think. One moment he’s gripping the lightsaber hilt, and the next, it’s blazing through the center of Baras’ skull. Power pumps through his body, beats in his veins, thuds in his ears. His eyes hurt.
What have I…
Blackness creeps into his vision. His head spins. He dimly notices the remains of Baras’ body fall to the ground, followed closely by the deactivated lightsaber. Both make muted thuds as they land in the butchered piles.
The power… the incredible power of the Force, of the Dark… it’s overwhelming. He heaves for breath, searching for the light that he once felt desperately, but there’s nothing. Not a pinprick penetrates the void, and why should it? Everything that he fought for is gone. Nothing he’s ever done could change the galaxy for the better. He’s only lost battles, lost people, lost lives. What’s the point of continuing to struggle?
Ahn
Dru
falls.
The pounding of his heart becomes louder, the fog in his brain thicker. His stomach ripples, churns, and his limbs tingle and numb. The Force groans around him, adjusting, flowing, dragging him down. The darkness grows, confusing him, losing him in the void.
Then the darkness solidifies, hardening into a suit around him, protecting him and covering him like a thousand weighted blankets.
He isn’t sure he cares.
“…That is…” Vengean seems to be at a loss for words. Ahn straightens, averting his eyes from the body of his former master.
“Do you question the Emperor's will, Councillors?” His voice sounds harsher, emptier, deeper.
There is silence for a moment, then Marr speaks. “No, Wrath. We are loyal to the Emperor.” The mask distorts his words, but Ahn senses the wonder and fear emanating from them all.
“Be sure that you are,” he intones. He lets his eyes sweep the assembled Sith Lords for a few seconds, relishing the unease he finds in some of theirs, before turning and striding for the doorway. He stretches out his hands, recalling his lightsabers, and internally misses a beat when his main ‘saber hits his palm. The crystal tries to reach him, but as it touches his mind, he feels it recoil immediately.
The weight of his actions fully hits him, and he feels a slight drop in his stomach. He had saved this crystal. It had trusted him, called to him.
I’m sorry, he thinks.
Doors hiss shut behind him, and he realizes that he is standing in the temple’s lift. He sighs and leans against the wall. The well of power pulls at him, whispers, hisses, Servant, Wrath, Mine.
-
He feels the man approaching him from behind, but he doesn’t turn around. He stares out at the expanse of reddish sand, dotted with moving specks of gray and black.
The presence pauses, and he can feel his eyes on him. He waits, ignores.
“We both know that you know I’m here,” Tremel says. Ahn grips the metal of the guardrail tighter.
“Leave.” He doesn’t recognize his voice anymore. It’s so much sharper and rougher than it should be.
“I find that problems are easier to bear on more than one pair of shoulders,” Tremel answers. He steps forward to lean on the rail next to Ahn. “Even if those shoulders lead to incomplete limbs.”
Ahn doesn’t crack a smile. Tremel’s jesting feels more like an accusation, reminding him of another instance of suffering he had failed to stop, another injustice Baras had forced into the galaxy.
“What would you know of sharing pain, Overseer?” he asks. The words bite, snarl, but Tremel lets out a small, sad laugh.
“I’ve learned much in my exile, Dru.” He leans forward, tries to catch Ahn’s eyes, but Ahn glares ahead resolutely. Tremel sighs. “Did you know that I was forced to kill my daughter? Eskella?”
Ahn feels another pang of regret. That had been his doing, too.
“It was difficult, but I think that it was less so than it should have been,” Tremel muses. “Destroying something of one’s own flesh and blood… It should be such a struggle. Perhaps now, I feel the guilt I should have before.”
Ahn closes his eyes. The darkness is empty, soothing. “Are you trying to make a point?”
Tremel rubs at his wrist, the metal hand hidden beneath his glove. “Darkness does not make a person irredeemable. I would not be here, saying what I am, if that were the case.”
It doesn’t make a difference. Ahn’s changed already. He’ll never be the same, and if he were to find his way back to balance, he wouldn’t trust himself to maintain it.
Which reminds him…
“Overseer,” Ahn says. He senses Tremel’s look, his expectation, and breathes. He hates himself, hates his weakness, hates that his own choices have ripped everything he’s grown to care for from him.
“Jaesa will need assistance at points,” he says. “In those instances, help her. Please.”
Tremel is silent for a moment. “You feel that you cannot continue to train her yourself?” he asks.
Ahn swallows the sensation of bile rising in his throat. “Look at me,” he whispers, and that’s what opens the floodgates. He pushes away from the rail. “Look at me! I’m not the teacher she needs! I was too weak to walk the path I preached! I lost everyone! I’ve ruined lives, and I hate Baras, and I hate Nomen Karr and the Jedi, and I hate myself for becoming the both of them!”
“You are not, nor will ever be, Darth Baras or Nomen Karr,” says Tremel, straightening. Ahn spreads his arms.
“I gave in to my anger! I may have killed Baras, but in doing so, I’ve let him win! I’ve finally become the slave he wanted me to be!” The rage is building up again, and there’s nowhere to direct it. Baras is dead. Ahn should be letting it go. “And as for Karr - what have I done to Jaesa?! I’ve locked her aboard the ship, denied her autonomy-”
“The difference between you and Karr, Dru, is that you care for Willsaam’s safety!” Tremel interjects. “Your actions have her well-being in mind, whereas Karr never saw her as more than a weapon to be forged and sharpened.”
Ahn spins and clenches his fist. A red rock behind Tremel spontaneously explodes into powder. “ Please ,” he grinds out. “I can’t remain her master. I can’t even be near her. I’m different, I’ve corrupted myself, and she’ll be done more harm than good by my presence. I knew I wouldn’t be able to teach her well, and this - this just proves it!”
Tremel studies him, brown eyes scanning Ahn’s body and searching his face. Ahn wants to avert his eyes, hiding them from Tremel’s sight, from anyone’s. He just knows in his gut that they’ve changed, that they now glow with the dark side.
“I sense your resolve, Dru,” Tremel finally murmurs. His face seems to gain new lines. “I cannot convince you otherwise, can I?”
Ahn just shakes his head. Tremel sighs. “Not for anything?”
“I can’t stay,” Ahn declares. “I’m passing the ship to Jaesa. She’ll need it, carrying on alone.”
Tremel folds his hands and looks down. Ahn can see gears turning in his head. He’s in no rush, so he waits, letting the silence stretch onward.
After what might have been an eternity or a few minutes, Tremel exhales. “I will do what you ask, but I have some conditions that must be met.”
“What conditions?” Ahn knows he isn’t going to like this. Tremel is a conniving man, an accomplished schemer, and he doubts any amount of time in exile could change that.
“First,” Tremel begins, “you allow Vengean and myself to help you acquire Baras’ assets.” Ahn hesitates, not wanting anything associated with the man, but decides that it couldn’t hurt. If anything, it means more credits he can pass to Jaesa. “Secondly, you accompany us at least until we arrive at the Imperial fleet.”
“I can’t -” Ahn begins, but Tremel cuts him off.
“I refuse to leave you here. Besides, Willsaam deserves to know why you are leaving, as well as a chance to say goodbye.”
Ahn grits his teeth. “…Very well. And your final demand?”
Tremel places his hands behind his back and fixes him with a commanding stare. “You will make biweekly contact with your charge. I do not care what medium you use - the holonet, holocomms, in person - but you and Willsaam will have some form of contact.”
Ahn wants to scream. Why can’t Tremel see that his continued presence in Jaesa’s life is just going to hurt her? “Overseer, you must understand that I cannot be allowed communication with Jaesa.”
“Why not?” Tremel counters. “In a healthy relationship, there is a bond that forms. Such bonds cannot be broken in haste.”
“I,” Ahn growls, “am a dangerous influence upon her. The darkness I carry will overwhelm her-“
“You give your apprentice too little credit,” Tremel states. “Willsaam is talented and strong, and her conviction is similarly so. Trust her, and retain at least pieces of your relationship. The poor girl has been through much; Would losing another person close to her do any good?”
Ahn’s resolve wavers. As strong as Jaesa is, losing absolutely everyone could be utterly destructive. It had been so for him. Additionally, some small part of him that he’s trying his best to drown out desperately doesn’t want to lose her. Jaesa, to him, is an apprentice and a younger sibling, and he can’t imagine hurting her, directly or indirectly.
“I’m… not the same, Tremel,” Ahn says, his resistance crumbling. “I don’t want to harm her.”
“Then listen to me, Dru,” Tremel says. The tone of command Ahn had so familiarized himself with during his training has returned. “If you refuse to teach her further, at least remain a part of her life.” He offers a hand - the gloved one, the mechanical one - to Ahn. “Have we reached an agreement?”
Ahn caves. “Yes.” He reaches out and grips Tremel’s hand desperately, like it’s a lifeline. In a way, it is; Tremel has made himself the thread binding Ahn to the broken shards of his old life. It’s not a chance Ahn is going to throw away, nor is it one he will forget anytime soon.
“I’m…” he tries to say, but the word sorry sticks in his throat with a lump. What is he sorry for, exactly? His weakness? His fall? His failures, numerous as they are?
“I do not deem an apology necessary, Dru,” Tremel says. “Willsaam likely will not, either, but you must give her the chance to make that decision.”
Ahn sighs and flexes his fingers. “I’ve already agreed, Overseer. No need to continue the pitch.”
“One can never be too sure.” Tremel’s small smirk interestingly puts Ahn at ease. He releases Ahn’s hand, instead putting an arm over Ahn’s shoulders. “Let’s go see my grand-apprentice, shall we?”