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Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stood helplessly behind the ray shield as his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, fought the Zabrak dark-sider.

The light staff blazed red against Qui-Gon’s green; the reactor chamber filled with a harsh buzz as the sabers clashed, plasma hissing.

Master Qui-Gon was tiring, and he could not win this battle alone. If only the ray shield would disengage. Just a little faster. Faster, please, Obi-Wan begged the Force.

Obi-Wan watched in horror as the Zabrak slammed the hilt of his light staff into Qui-Gon’s jaw. As the dark-sider reared back to stab the faltering man, Obi-Wan’s blue lightsaber clashed between them.

Obi-Wan didn’t know how or why, but the ray shield had sputtered and died, allowing him to make it to his Master’s side in the nick of time.

Obi-Wan did not dare to look behind him at his Master’s prone body as he fielded off the powerful blows of his opponent. Seizing the opportunity, Obi-Wan cut through the hilt, rendering half of the staff useless. Now they were matched in reach and the fight grew even more frenetic. The Zabrak gave ground, circling the pit.

It wasn’t until his Master’s still body appeared behind the dark-sider that Obi-Wan realized that this had been the man’s plan all along.

Obi-Wan pushed to try to get behind the Zabrak, around him, to keep him away from his helpless Master, but it was to no avail.

Frantically, Obi-Wan did something reckless. He caught the dark-siders weapon with his own and twisted, sending both the sabers into the pit.

The Zabrak’s yellow eyes opened wide in shock, but Obi-Wan was ready. He lunged forwards, tackling the dark-sider. Caught off guard, the man barely managed to keep his horned skull from impacting with the ground.

Internally, Obi-Wan cursed. With the element of surprise, he had hoped to render his opponent unconscious quickly. Obi-Wan had the sinking feeling that the Zabrak would have the upper hand in hand-to-hand combat. Zabrak were stronger than humans, with horns that could cause serious damage if used, and Obi-Wan struggled to keep the other man pinned.

The dark-sider heaved, aided by the Force, and threw Obi-Wan to the edge of the pit. Obi-Wan scrambled for a grip, his fingers barely finding purchase. Before the Zabrak could move closer, Obi-Wan pushed up, flipping to his feet, and calling his Master’s lightsaber into his hand.

Obi-Wan turned, a grin on his face. Now he was the one with the advantage, and a serious one at that.

He paled, grin falling as his hands began to shake.

The Zabrak had a knife at his Master’s throat.

The man showed his sharp teeth as he leaned over the still unconscious Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan’s heart pounded in his ears. He had been so close. So close to winning, to saving his master.

For long moments they stared at each other, fearful blue eyes meeting malicious yellow.

Obi-Wan dropped his Master’s lightsaber and kicked it into the pit.

The dark-sider froze, his eyes flickering from the pit to Obi-Wan and back.

“Please,” Obi-Wan said, voice crackling, “Please, take me and spare my Master.”

The Zabrak leaned back, his head cocking to the side.

“Surely, whatever the reason you’ve come here for, capturing a Jedi will be a prize you cannot pass up,” Obi-Wan reasoned, his hands open at his side.

“If you spare my Master I will come with you, without a fight.”

Time seemed to stop and all Obi-Wan could hear were the short, panting breaths he took. Releasing his emotions to the Force was beyond him now. Listening to the Force was beyond him. All he knew is that he would do anything to save his Master. The only Master that would take a chance on an angry young initiate; who repeatedly forgave Obi-Wan his rash actions and foolish mistakes. The Master he loved.

“You are a fool,” the Zabrak said at last, his voice somewhere between a growl and a purr, “You have relinquished your only weapon. I will kill your Master and then you. Slowly.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head and took a deep breath.

“You could,” he acknowledged.

The dark-sider shifted and Obi-Wan flinched, his eyes on the knife pressed against his Master’s throat.

“You would give your own life for your Master’s?” the man asked, his voice incredulous.

Obi-Wan could only nod.

The knife moved away from Qui-Gon’s throat as the Zabrak slowly stood.

Obi-Wan dared not move. Was this going to work? Was his Master going to survive this after all?

The man carefully moved towards Obi-Wan, eyes narrowed.

“Take off the robes,” he ordered.

Obi-Wan slowly shed his outer layers.

“Remove your weapons.”

Obi-Wan did as instructed, dropping the knives from his side and the small of his back. He paused before bending to remove the one from his boot as well. He would like to keep a weapon on him, but he dared not push the dark-sider any further.

The Zabrak bent and cut a long strip from Obi-Wan’s discarded robes. The knife had no trouble slicing through the thick material and Obi-Wan shuddered.

The man sheathed his knife and jerked Obi-Wan’s hands behind him, tying them with the strip of robe. Obi-Wan didn’t struggle.

The tattooed man shoved Obi-Wan ahead of him, knife reappearing in his hand to hover menacingly over Obi-Wan’s kidneys.

They paused by Qui-Gon’s insensate body. Obi-Wan saw that his breathing was regular and the cut on his skull seemed minor. Before he could examine any further, the Zabrak grabbed his bound hands and forced him to lean back. The man growled in his ear.

“I could kill him now, and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Obi-Wan’s mind spun.

“You could,” he said after a moment, his voice calm, “but then you would lose your prize.”

The implication, of course, being that Obi-Wan would stop him or die trying.

The man huffed and loosened his grip, shoving Obi-Wan forwards.  

They left the reactor room and Qui-Gon, still alive, behind.

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon POV

Qui-Gon groaned and touched his head, fingers coming away slick with blood. He sighed. Another concussion then.

Feeling no one nearby, he didn’t bother to get up; looking at the metal ceiling, an oddly rhythmic buzz sounding to his left.

Where was he? It seemed important to remember.

A flash of red against green. Yellow eyes.

Qui-Gon sat up, reaching for his saber even as his head spun.

The dark-sider!

Saber gone, Qui-Gon struggled to his feet, stretching out his senses. There was no one nearby and he couldn’t feel his kyber crystal either.

The ray shields hissed as they re-engaged and Qui-Gon’s dulled mind grasped on to the most important thing missing.

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon called as he stumbled forwards, his eyes on the pit. Surely, surely, he would have felt if his Padawan was dead.

Qui-Gon’s stomach sank as he saw his Padawan’s robes, torn and discarded on the floor- his weapons next to them.

“No, no, no,” Qui-Gon said, sinking to his knees beside the boy’s clothing.

He had been taken. The dark-sider had taken him.

Qui-Gon clutched the robe to his chest. The dark-sider had won, then. But why wasn’t he dead? Why had the Zabrak left him alive? Left Obi-Wan alive to take? He had seemed determined to kill them, both here on Naboo and on Tatooine.

Qui-Gon reached out to his Padawan through their bond, seeking answers, assuring himself that Obi-Wan was still alive.

“Master!” was the response to his call, and Qui-Gon let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I’m sorry, Master. I won’t turn. I swear it. I wo-“

Obi-Wan’s desperate words cut off and Qui-Gon paled.

Turn. Fall.

Obi-Wan was in the hands of a dark-sider, possibly a Sith. What would be done to him? The boy was firmly in the light, but the stories told of what Sith did to turn a Jedi. Qui-Gon shuddered and tried to release his fear to the Force.

He focused on the small pool of blood where he had lain unconscious while his Padawan was taken.

Obi-Wan’s knives glinted in the red-tinted light, his robe only lightly scorched by a lightsaber. Too neat. Too cleanly removed.

Obi-Wan had not been taken but had s urrendered .

How else would his weapons be lying there, his robes? If he had been taken, he would have fought too violently for the Zabrak alone to have dis-robed and disarmed him.

Qui-Gon’s heart stuttered. Had his Padawan bargained for his life as he lay helpless? What had he promised the dark-sider to make such a bargain?

I won’t turn.

Obi-Wan’s last words to him.

Qui-Gon hunched forwards and pled with the Force.

“Not again, please, not another one…”

-000-

Obi-Wan POV

Obi-Wan was shoved unceremoniously into Maul’s ship. Thankfully it wasn’t a fighter or something equally as small. Maul pushed him into a chair and kept an eye on him while he dug through a nearby drawer.

With a mental tug, Obi-Wan felt Master Qui-Gon calling him.

Obi-Wan’s heart rejoiced and he quickly sent back as many words as he could through the bond. He tried to hide his dread of what was going to happen to him in the dark-sider’s control.

He could only promise one thing.

“I won’t turn!” he mentally shouted across the bond, swearing to himself that he would not end up as another Xanatos. It would kill Qui-Gon, he knew, to lose another Padawan to the dark side. Obi-Wan would not fall. No matter what the dark-sider did.

The Zabrak jerked Obi-Wan to his feet, snapping a metal band around Obi-Wan’s bound wrist, and the mental connection was abruptly interrupted.

Obi-Wan winced, taking deep breaths as the Force was cut off from him. It was painful, like losing his sight, but Obi-Wan knew he must keep going. Without the Force to rely on, his time with the dark-sider would be even more painful than he expected.

The mines of Bandomeer came to mind, and Obi-Wan shoved the memories back. Stay in the now, he reminded himself; Qui-Gon’s sonorous remonstration echoing in ears.

Though the now was not particularly pleasant. The tattooed man was shoving him forwards, toward the cockpit, and unceremoniously threw him into a fresher. Still tied, Obi-Wan’s stomach impacted with the sink, knocking the air out of him.

The fresher door locked and Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

He could feel the movement of the ship as they took off, clearly whipping around any of the Trade Federation’s fire, and then the distinct feeling of hyperspace.

Obi-Wan’s fingers pulled at the knot around his wrists, but without the Force it was slow going. He had just managed to loosen the knot when his captor returned.

The man grabbed him by his shirt, (how he missed his robes already) and yanked him out of the fresher. Obi-Wan stumbled, causing the man to stop and glare at him.

Obi-Wan straightened, idly wishing his hands were free to rearrange his disheveled shirt. It had come loose from the manhandling and was distractedly slipping from his left shoulder.

The dark-sider started to circle him and Obi-Wan tried not to show how uncomfortable it made him.

“We have not been properly introduced,” Obi-Wan said, trying to regain some control, “I am senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The Zabrak stopped, staring at him with those disturbingly yellow eyes, and Obi-Wan was faintly surprised to realize that the man was shorter than him.

“My name is Darth Maul,” he said at last, his voice curling over the name in some kind of sadistic pleasure. He grinned at Obi-Wan’s jerk of shock.

“That is a Sith title; the Sith are extinct!” Obi-Wan protested.

Maul chuckled.

“As my Master said, you Jedi are blind to the darkness around you. Soon, we will no longer be hidden. Soon the Jedi will pay.”

Obi-Wan struggled to gather his composure. If this dark-sider (Sith!) was telling the truth, then everything he had been taught, all the safety the Jedi Order had been sure of, was an illusion.

If the Sith had returned…

“But not you, ‘senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi’,” Darth Maul said mockingly, “You will not be a Jedi much longer. Soon, you will taste the power of the dark and revel in it.”

Obi-Wan shook his head vehemently as the words registered, glaring at the supposed Sith apprentice. For he had said he had a master, and Sith had, he was taught, the rule of two, so ‘Darth Maul’ had to be the apprentice and… Obi-Wan forced his mind back on track.

“I will never turn to the dark side,” Obi-Wan responded.

Darth Maul gave him a faintly amused look.

“You think you can fight my Master’s will? He will turn you, little Jedi, or he will break you. Either way, he will win. He always wins.”

Darth Maul resumed his predatory circling, and Obi-Wan ruminated on the sudden glut of impossible revelations.

If only he had the Force to reveal if the man was telling the truth about being a Sith; about the Sith returning. If only he could ask the Force what to do. If only he could release his terror and fear and helplessness into the Force. If only…

“You are a skilled fighter, little Jedi,” Darth Maul interrupted his spiraling thoughts, “and though you are foolish, I cannot deny your dedication and loyalty to your Master.”

Obi-Wan turned his head to follow the man as he spoke, but didn’t respond.

Darth Maul stopped in front of him, eyeing him in a way that made Obi-Wan distinctly nervous.

“You have a silver tongue as well, to convince me to let your Master live. Tell me, are you as well versed in strategy as you are in loyalty and negotiation?”

Obi-Wan’s thoughts flashed back to Melida/Daan; his days as a child general leading the Young to victory- of a sort.

Maul must have read something in his expression, or in the Force, because he gave a teeth-baring smile.

“Ah, you are!”

Obi-Wan looked away, refusing to give the man any more information. His shields were pitiful things, unable to be shored up by the Force, and Obi-Wan tried to keep his mind studiously blank.

Maul grew serious once more, pacing in front of Obi-Wan, his hands fisted.

“My Master will be pleased to turn you. Too pleased. I am talented in the use of the dark side, but I lack finesse, my Master says.” Maul’s eyes rested on Obi-Wan for long seconds, and Obi-Wan’s stomach sank as the man’s hand started to reach for his blade.

“You will replace me, I see it now, and I will be discarded,” the Zabrak snarled.

“I will not turn to the dark side,” Obi-Wan said steadily, “I will be of no use to your Master.”

“You will turn! You will be strong in all the ways I am not! You will…” the Sith apprentice stopped, eyeing Obi-Wan thoughtfully.

“Yes,” the tattooed man said slowly, “Strong in all the ways I am not.”

Obi-Wan did not like that tone of voice. Nothing good could come of this. Well, nothing good could come of any of this, but…

The Zabrak pounced on him.

Obi-Wan cried out as he toppled backwards onto his bound hands. He felt something crack.

But that was nothing to the sudden, blinding pain along his left collar bone.

He screamed, the pain unexpected; both sharp and penetrating. 

Obi-Wan forced his eyes open, watery from the pain, and stopped breathing.

The Zabrak hovered over him, grinning. His teeth were red with blood; a single drop sliding down his chin, barely visible against his skin tone.

Did Maul just bite him?!

Obi-Wan’s breathing resumed, catching in his throat as his eyes widened in disbelief.

It was hard to focus and he blinked again, but it didn’t help. It was hot. His stomach hurt. His brain kept giving him flairs of warning as darkness crept into the edges of his vision.

Were Zabrak venomous?

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember reading anything about that in his xeno biology course, but it was getting hard to think, and his shoulder was burning and freezing, and…

“Shh, little Jedi,” the Sith said, touching Obi-Wan’s cheek, “You are mine now.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach lurched; his chest constricting and pressing on his heart as his horror gave way to darkness.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan awoke to his left wrist and collarbone’s throbbing. Pain seemed to radiate down into his chest, a kind of cold burning like frostbite. He shivered, forcing his eyes open.

He jerked back, the back of his skull impacting the table he lay on with a thunk.

Yellow eyes hovered over him. Close. Too close.

Obi-Wan shifted, preparing to roll off the table and get some space between him and the Zabrak, but his heart rate shot up as restraints kept his arms and legs from moving. Wrapped around his ankles, thighs, and upper arms, the thick material abraded his skin as his body instinctively panicked.

The Zabrak seemed amused, leaning against the bed and waiting for his prisoner to realize he was firmly bound.

Obi-Wan stopped pulling, suddenly utterly still. The thick cloth was rough but well-made. That wasn’t what had set his body into a terrified freeze. The cloth was on his skin. His bare skin. He had been stripped of what was left of his clothing.

The cold in his chest curled around his throat as he looked up at the dark-sider’s predatory smirk.

Long moments passed.

“No pretty words for me, little Jedi?” Maul purred, running his warm, calloused hand up Obi-Wan’s side, coming to a rest just below the origin of the throbbing cold pain.

Obi-Wan wanted to protest. He wanted to fight. He wanted to ask what the dark-sider had planned for him. He didn’t want to know. The words dried up in his mouth and he could only swallow. He was trembling from cold and fear and apprehension. The Force help him.

The man leaned forward, his satisfied sigh caressing Obi-Wan’s ear as the Jedi turned away. Obi-Wan’s breath came in sharp pants. He could still smell blood on the Zabrak’s breath.

“You can feel the dark now, can’t you?” the Sith purred, “Sinking into your blood, your organs, your bones.”

His warm hand moved, sliding down to rest above Obi-Wan’s heart.

His sharp fingernails, almost claws, pushed into Obi-Wan’s chest, and Obi-Wan couldn’t stop a small sound from escaping his lips.

The Zabrak let up the pressure, and Obi-Wan thought that his claws hadn’t broken the skin. Maybe.

He was so cold and the cold just kept spreading and what was it going to do to him? What had the Sith done to him?

Obi-Wan felt the cold creeping down his torso; like icy rain that numbed as it slid across his body.

The Zabrak stood, looking down at Obi-Wan with those burning yellow eyes.

“What have you done to me?” Obi-Wan forced out, his voice hoarse.

The man grinned, sharp teeth on display, and Obi-Wan remembered the pain of those teeth as they tore into him.

“Something my Mother taught me, long ago, before even my Master. The Nightsisters have their own magick, you know, and I watched and learned.”

Obi-Wan seemed frozen as the man’s calloused red hand cupped his cheek.

“I have marked you as mine, little Jedi, and in doing so I gave you some of my magick. The Witches of Dathomir showed me that magick lives in our blood, flows through our veins. And what is magick but what the Jedi and Sith name the Force? So, now, as the Sisters do to the Brothers they desire, I have taken you as an eternally devoted servant. Or, in your words, an Apprentice. I have taken your blood and I have given you mine. We are united now and no one can break our bond while we still live. You will become as I am, and together we will be unstoppable.”

-000-

 Obi-Wan lifted his forearm, the only part of his body that he had enough freedom to examine closely, and watched in morbid fascination as thin black lines crept slowly towards his fingers.

It was like poison. It was poison, of a kind. And like poison it spread, at a visible pace, leaving darkness in its wake.

Obi-Wan’s whole body shook and he knew the crawling sensation was those lines expanding to encompass his entire body. Already they had crept their way up his neck and were trailing across his cheeks. His tears followed the tracks.

Whispers had started not long ago, unintelligible but undoubtedly Dark. It wasn’t Maul, his Master, his owner, Obi-Wan choked on the thought; the whispers seemed to slither into his ears.

Obi-Wan wondered if the spreading threads were making their way through his organs as well, twisting them into something just as Dark as those whispers. The way his heart pounded and echoed, his stomach twisted and writhed, Obi-Wan could not discount the Dark its power.

Maul returned, and Obi-Wan looked at him, the pain and disorientation making it hard to react to the Zabrak with more than resentment.

Maul traced the lines across his chest, his yellow eyes glowing in delight.

“It is almost complete,” Maul said, “Soon you will be fully mine, fully Dark. Not truly a Sith, yet,” Maul mused, “but that can be reminded. You will learn and we will defeat my Master.”

Obi-Wan wanted to disagree, wanted to argue, but words were lost to him.

“You hear the Dark, don’t you little Jedi?” Maul smiled, touching Obi-Wan’s ear in a disturbingly intimate way.

“Muted, no doubt,” Maul continued, “but when I remove your chains, the Dark shall be set free. It will burn through you; burning away all that you have known to make you anew. It will claim you, as I did.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head away as far as he could from the trailing claws and glared at his owner.

“I am not something to be claimed,” Obi-Wan snarled, hating the way his voice dipped deep into hatred.

Maul laughed.

-000-

He’s been taken over. It wasn’t so much a fall than a slow, steady immersion. He could feel it in his mind, the whispers becoming entwined with his thoughts until he could barely tell one from the other.

Master Qui-Gon would be crushed. He would feel it down their bond, Obi-Wan knew. Feel the Darkness taking him over. Obi-Wan shivered. His body had already been taken by the Darkness; traced with black markings that echoed his new Master’s (oh, Force).

Before the Darkness took over completely, he had to sever the bond with Qui-Gon. He wouldn’t put him through that. Feeling the pain as Obi-Wan was sucked into Darkness. Qui-Gon could even be contaminated himself, Obi-Wan realized with mounting horror.

As Maul neared to release the suppressor, having strapped him down once again just in case the Darkness proved too strong to control his actions, Obi-Wan felt for the bond he had with Qui-Gon. Grasping it tightly, he made sure the first thing he would do was to rip it out. The pain would no doubt fan the flames of Darkness as it poured into him, but he had to protect his… old Master.

Obi-Wan fought back tears as Maul muttered some kind of ritual or prayer and then removed the suppressor.

It burned! Fire raced up, burning away the cold and tracing through his skin and nerves and he screamed. But he held on to the bond, feeling it flare to life with the soothing green feeling of Qui-Gon’s Force presence battling back the dark.

I’m sorry, Master , Obi-Wan cried through the bond. He ripped the solid knot of threads, years in the making, from his mind.

The pain was blinding and the fire rose up in joy, burning across the exposed mental flesh and burying deep.

-000-

Qui-Gon POV

Qui-Gon staggered. For the umpteenth time he had petitioned an audience with the council and he had finally been granted another one (his first being dismissed, as grief clouded his vision).

Presenting his findings to the council, for he had trailed the path of the Dark-sider, the Sith, back to Coruscant and still searched for his missing Padawan daily; Qui-Gon’s frustration was mounting, when fire seared into his mind.

He collapsed to his knees, faintly registering the shouts of dismay from the Jedi around him. Clutching his head, Qui-Gon felt his Padawan, that clear starlight, aflame with anguish.

I’m sorry, Master ! Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan, cried through their bond, Dark fire licking at his words.

And then there was emptiness and PAIN.

Qui-Gon screamed as he fell to the floor, curling in on himself and clutching his head.

Healers were called but nothing could be done for him, only time. The bond, so strong between them, had been severed completely. Ripped away.

Once time had passed and the pain had faded, the emotional pain surged. His Padawan had Fallen; he’d Fallen suffering and screaming, dragged into Darkness. And yet his last act before it took him was to call out to his Master and prevent Qui-Gon from feeling his Fall.

If anything, it was worse than Xanthos. He had chosen to Fall. Reveled in the Dark and pushed it into Qui-Gon's face. But this. His Obi-Wan, always sacrificing himself for others, this child took his pain and set it aside long enough to say goodbye. Protecting Qui-Gon once again. This child had been forced into the Dark, like being held underwater until water filled his lungs. His Obi-Wan was truly gone.

The entire temple mourned with him, Yoda’s ears low and walking slower than ever. Obi-Wan’s friends kept to themselves, and Qui-Gon knew that Quinlan blamed him. Qui-Gon blamed himself as well. If only he had waited for his Padawan to catch up. If only he had been faster, stronger. If only they hadn’t been bated by the Dark-sider in the first place.

Qui-Gon had tracked down where the Zabrak had come from. With his distinctive color and markings he was tracked to Dathomir. But the Witches there were steeped in the Dark and would not commune with Jedi. It was no wonder that Obi-Wan had been dragged down into Darkness. His captor had been born to it, was imbued by it. His Padawan had little chance of fighting his way out of that Darkness.

And the pain. Burning pain. Freezing pain. Even in the bare moments that Qui-Gon could feel, he didn’t know how his Padawan had lasted so long. How he was still coherent, let alone together enough to give his last moments in the light to his Master. To apologize for the torture he had given himself into.

Qui-Gon had said, at one point long ago, that Obi-Wan was destined for the Dark. He had never wanted to be wrong so much in his life.

If Qui-Gon went on a mission, though leaving the temple without Obi-Wan seemed anathema, would he be confronted with his Padawan, eyes glowing yellow, a snarl on his previously mischievous face? Would he be so twisted by the Dark that Obi-Wan no longer existed?

And if it was a Sith who had taken him, Force forbid- but his instincts said it was so- would Obi-Wan appear with his Master, Darth as his title, and bring back the line of Bane?

There was no coming back from the Dark, Master Yoda insisted. Once down that path there was no turning back.

But for Obi-Wan he would try. He would give his life to return even a flicker of light to his Padawan.

-000-

Obi-Wan POV

Obi-Wan awoke, his nails embedded in red flesh. Maul was above him, on him, pressing him down onto cold metal. Blood, oddly tinged purple, dripped from the Zabrack’s shoulder; where Obi-Wan’s fingernails were still entrenched.  

Obi-Wan’s chest heaved, his body ached, his eyes burned.

Maul’s hand was wrapped around his neck, Obi-Wan noticed, as the grip lessened and the edge of black cleared from his vision.

“Are you back with me now?” Maul asked, sounding winded.

With effort, Obi-Wan withdrew his nails, his hand falling uncontrolled by his side.

There was a long moment when Maul’s golden eyes met his own until Obi-Wan looked away.

Maul stood, but Obi-Wan couldn’t find the strength to move his legs, nevermind stand.

Maul looked battered but Obi-Wan felt it. He was exhausted, his muscles aching, his head throbbing, his heart burning.

The whispers urged him to get up, to make Maul pay, to destroy and kill and…

“You will learn to control it in time,” Maul said, “I will teach you. But, for now, get some rest.”

Maul left and returned shortly with a blanket. Tossing it over Obi-Wan’s still prone and exhausted body, Maul vanished from his sight.

-000-

He was Maul’s kriffing slave. But if anything, his restraints were worse than Bandoomer. He had the Force, but it was some twisted mutation that hurt every time he tried to reach for it, so he avoided it as much as he could. The screams rang in his ears so loudly that Maul’s ‘teachings’ could barely reach him.

The compulsions, however, were always heard and obeyed.

Obi-Wan knelt on his knees before his Master, anger seething in his heart.

Maul took great joy in the power he wielded. He liked to order Obi-Wan about, forcing him to do the most menial of tasks.

And the touching. Obi-Wan hated the touching (the Dark fed on this hate and Obi-Wan hated that as well). Maul liked to trace the patterns on Obi-Wan’s skin. He also liked making Obi-Wan stand in front of a mirror to see the changes.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were pale yellow, like urine Obi-Wan thought sardonically, and the black lines made his skin appear sickly white. He was twisted and this twisting dug deep into the core of who he was.

Maul was going to give him a new name. He hadn’t come up with one yet, stating that Obi-Wan would uncover his name when he used his Dark powers in full.

Obi-wan was almost grateful. He was no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan. He was a monster, enslaved to a Sith. He was a tool for the Apprentice to kill the Master and continue the line of Bane.

He couldn’t even fight his fate. He would fight not to become Sith, but fighting to regain his Light was fruitless. Yoda had always told them that there was no return path from Darkness and Obi-Wan knew it was true.

Even now, at his most rational and controlled, the Dark slithered through him, making him see things that weren’t there, feel rage and anger at everything and everyone who had ever hurt him or might hurt him in the future. Even now, he yearned to kill the Sith Lord, whoever he might be, for training Maul, for sending him to Naboo, for crawling out of the Darkness only to suck Obi-Wan into it.

He hated Maul, but he loved him too, and he hated that. It was, as all things Dark, a twisted love. The undying, obsessed devotion of the brainwashed. Even as aware of it as Obi-Wan was, he could not fight it. It was in his blood, after all.

Maul gestured for Obi-Wan to rise and he did, of course. It was time.

-000-

Obi-Wan scrubbed the blood from his hands. The water had long ago run clean, but he could still feel the blood drying between his fingers, under his nails.

What he actually did and who he did it to was a haze of screams and blood and the Dark’s gleeful cackling. Obi-Wan did not try to remember.

Obi-Wan moved to clean his mouth again, his face. There was blood everywhere and he could taste it. Had he used his teeth? He didn’t want to know.

Maul ordered his presence and Obi-Wan had to obey. Emerging from the fresher, Obi-Wan kneeled obediently in front of his master.

Maul started to circle him, which Obi-Wan hated, and Obi-Wan fisted the tight-fitting black pants that Maul forced him to wear.

Maul finally stopped circling and grinned, looking down at Obi-Wan.

“You did very well,” Maul praised, “A little uncontrolled, but we will work on that. You have power, but you have yet to learn how to wield it, to grab hold of it and force it to do your bidding. The Dark controls you, but soon you shall control it. Then you can grasp the true power of the Dark Side.”

Obi-Wan’s rage simmered. What good was control? It did not save him from being turned. It did not give him the power to fight back!

Maul grabbed him by the hair and forced him to meet his eyes.

“You are projecting again, my apprentice,” Maul said, “Controlling the Dark Side of the Force is not the pitiful channeling of the Light. It is wrestling, grasping, clenching the Dark between your hands and making it do your bidding. The Dark will consume you unless you leash it and force it to do your will. I will teach you how to bend the Dark Side to your desires, my apprentice, and then you will know what true control means.”

Maul released him, but Obi-Wan did not look away, his eyes burning.

Maul laughed.

“You have earned your name,” he said, “Cruor.”

-000-

Qui-Gon POV

He tried. Against the council’s orders, Qui-Gon went looking for his lost Padawan. He tried and he failed.

The Dark was everywhere, Qui-Gon found; it interspersed the Force itself, wrapping around the little lights of life in choking tendrils of death. Entire worlds were slowly being consumed by it. Qui-Gon could see it in the Force, almost visibly growing like a consuming vine, covering and smothering all the Light and life it could find.

The council was blind. The Jedi were blind. Qui-Gon tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen.

He went to Jedha, hoping for help, but though they could feel the Dark, they did not fight it. It was the cycle of things, they said, for Darkness to rise up when the Light grew too strong. They urged him not to fear it, not to fight it. Light would have its turn to rise in time. Such was the cycle.

Qui-Gon would not let it go. Could not. How could his Padawan, his Obi-Wan, be consumed in Darkness and Qui-Gon not fight for him?

So, Qui-Gon searched. Eventually, the red Zabrak was seen and Qui-Gon raced to the system.

He was too late. The Dark-Sider, Sith, was already gone. But someone had been helping him. Another tattooed man, but white instead of red, they said, although the description was vague and the video nearly non-existent. It was clear he was a Dark-Sider as well, using the Force to assist the Zabrak in whatever goal he had.

Qui-Gon traced the Darkness through the streets, following the trail of destruction and death. He ended up back where he began, at the spaceport, and went to the landing pad the Zabrak had forced his way onto.

Kneeling on the hard ground to meditate, Qui-Gon reached out into the Force.

There was the Zabrak, who’s rage lingered like rotten flesh. But below was the twisting of overheated metal, almost glowing.

Qui-Gon shuddered. This scent must be the other Dark-Sider. The other tattooed man felt powerful, more so than the Zabrak, in fact. And yet… there was something familiar as well.

“What are you doing here, old man?”

A voice brought him abruptly back to the present.

“We’ve got a ship coming in and you’re in the way!”

“Apologies, friend,” Qui-Gon said with a bow.

“Yes, well, you better be glad I took the time to warn you.”

Qui-Gon bowed again and departed to his own ship. There was nothing more to be found here.