It had been all he could do to stay upright. Ren had braced himself for that moment, for he had heard Skywalker's stories of the destruction of Alderaan too many times to forget Obi-Wan's reaction, but it was far worse than he had imagined. Billions of voices screamed inside his head, fear and agony kaleidoscoping together, and just as suddenly as they had appeared, they vanished. A half-second later, the second wave hit him, the aftershocks continuing as the remaining three planets were blasted into rubble.
Ren's knees had tried to crumple beneath him, but sheer willpower kept him upright. He would not show such weakness before the crew. But even after the last wave had subsided, he could hear them, the phantom whispers of pain as friends and relatives across the galaxy realized what had become of their loved ones.
It's your fault. You did this.
And they were right. Of course they were, and he should be proud. It would be nearly impossible for the Republic to recover from such a devastating loss. Today marked the beginning of a new era for the First Order, one of victory and prosperity, one that he had ushered into being. And yet here he was, waiting just long enough to avoid suspicion or concern before excusing himself to his private chambers. Not that he needed to excuse himself. With Hux gone, there was no question that the Finalizer was his and his alone. He required nobody's permission to do anything now, nor did he ask for it. Ren had all the power in this situation, and yet he was drowning in the void the Hosnian system had left behind. The trillion spirits joined those of the Jedi, clawing at his mind, adding to the constant reminders that he was to blame. Guilt was bred to be a silent threat, but even domesticated nexus had claws.
To reject guilt was to be a Sith. Jedi harbored their guilt, allowing it to fester within them until it infected their every decision. How many years had Obi-Wan spent in the desert, brooding over every moment spent with Anakin Skywalker and wondering what he could have done differently? Luke Skywalker could have destroyed the First Order in its earliest years, but instead, he had hidden himself away from his failings.
He couldn't allow himself to linger long on those thoughts. Ren sped up, now moving far faster than was dignified. It didn't matter if someone saw him. He could mind-rub the memory away, kill them if they were strong-willed. He had the power to do so. His hand tightened around his lightsaber hilt. Ren couldn't remember grabbing for it, but the weight of it in his hand was comforting. But it's still such a long way until he's back in his cabin – damn Hux for assigning him quarters so far away from the bridge – and he can't do this anymore, and it's not the first time Ren has wondered if he's not as committed as he wanted to believe, and –
The first slash against the wall was unintentional, as he only realized halfway through the strike exactly what he'd done. What if that had been a person? And why should he care? They – all of them – were beneath him. It was his right to do with them as he pleased. Ren knew exactly what he was doing with the second swipe, and he enjoyed every second of it. In moments like this, with the dark side coursing through his veins, thick and intoxicating, he could be sure of what he had to do.
Anger is a path to the dark side. How right Skywalker had been.
They're still in there, but with rage pounding in his ears, he can hardly hear them. Ren drags the tip of his lightsaber along the wall for the next few steps, leaving a thin, glowing scar in the wall. It was juvenile, vandalism, but it worked. And if it kept the leader of the Knights of Ren securely rooted in the dark side, it was more than worth the custodial budget to fix any damage he'd done.
Ren allowed the helmet to drop to the ground as soon as the door shut behind him. The clang of metal against metal echoed in the sparsely furnished chamber, and had the floor been made of any weaker material, it surely would have left a dent. Snoke would never know about it. Hux might see a piece of paperwork cross his desk about it, but he wouldn't care. Some janitorial crew member would get the assignment and spend a few extra hours fixing his mess, but they didn't matter.
Good. Their opinions, their lives, had no meaning for him. The Jedi preached the value of all life, but those teachings, like so much of Skywalker's dogma, was steeped in naïveté.
He wasn't slipping. The shock had merely taken him by surprise. Ren paced around the room for a moment before dropping to the floor. Meditation should help. If he centered himself, processed what had happened, then everything could be back to normal.
The ebb and flow of the Force was like a tide washing over him, and Ren let the currents pull him further in. His breathing and heart rate slowed as he examined the added power that came with the success of Starkiller. The galaxy was slowly tipping toward the dark, and he knew that this moment was the awakening that Snoke had sensed. For here sat the precipice, and beyond this point, the light had no place.