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“You must know that it’s no use to continue clinging to the weak ways of the Jedi,” the Inquisitor said, in a manner that would almost sound casual, had he not been twirling around an instrument of torture.
“Is it?” the Jedi replied, voice strained from the pain that had been inflicted on them, but firm and clear. “Or must you tell yourself that because my refusal of the dark side reminds you that you could have chosen differently?”
The Inquisitor flew at his captive, striking them in the chest. He pulled back with a snarl as the Jedi doubled over, blood flowing out of their mouth as they gasped for breath.
“You are a fool,” the Inquisitor hissed, “and you will die like the rest of the Jedi. Forgotten, a failure. A testament to the futility of opposing the darkness.”
The Jedi looked up, drawing in breath slowly as they gathered their remaining strength to speak.
“But I will die a Jedi,” they said. Their heart filled with grief. Grief for all their family who had been slaughtered before them. Grief for themself, not for the fact that they would soon rejoin the Force, but rather that they would no longer be able to carry that light for others. Grief, for the fallen former Jedi that had become so cruelly twisted, who had succumbed, chosen suffering for themselves and everyone else, turned on all that they had once stood for.
How miserable he must be, mired in the consuming darkness. How tormented he must be, seeing another Jedi resist where he had given in.
How easy it would be to become just like him.
The Inquisitor claimed that the ways of the Jedi were weak, but it was from their teachings that this Jedi now drew the strength to resist the temptation of that cruel path of misery. And that was a strength that the dark side could never attain no matter how much it grasped for power.
Deep down, they were sure that the Inquisitor knew that, too.
“Do you not wish that you could say the same?”